Chapter 6 – Climb
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Chapter 6 - Climb

After checking that I knew we gave in tribute of the king, father delighted in watching me spin in place. Citrine, of course, had to join in and see if my gift would fit her too but it was far too snug to even get over her antennas.  

Ha! This is all mine! As the thought sailed through my mind, I scrutinized it. Why was I so happy? It was shaped Bomob...never going to get this. This was something another bug made or lost or left behind. But then the natural world was responsible for everything before, this was just on a smaller scale, right? That thought made sense but, call it my reptilian brain, something inside me still squirmed. It wasn't enough for me to reject the gift or even think poorly of it for a second, but I still had thinking to do.

I always had trouble with my teeth. Mom only cracked the whip about things that mattered directly to her. Since the insurance with her business completely covered everything, I could wind up with dentures for all it mattered to her bottom line. She still grilled dad about some sound-blasting brush and how much it cost. One of my many fruitless, pointless, unending battles with her was when my doctor recommended something similar for me. I created a chart, like a school science experiment poster, of expenses and benefits. Mom's premium could go up if I didn't take care of my teeth because of this and that thing I found. I might as well have been tossing pebbles at a wall. 

Deflating my demands, I went from petitioning for a comparable brush to begging if I could share dad's as withering, soul-breaking words imposed the new reality that I didn't care about my teeth anyway, I just wanted something new and shiny. Yes, mother. Whatever you say...

And now, I didn't have to worry about teeth. Maybe. I did have to worry about "The Death", among other things. 

When I adjusted the little bug tunic in a way I was satisfied with and Citrine had given up on me and was lavishing attention on Sana, I told father, "I'm sorry there are so many things I don't know."

His head cocked to the side as though I'd said something peculiar. I braced myself with my arms in close, but he just caressed me gently across an antenna and inquired, "Sorry? My little one, you were born. And, no matter how you were born, never be sorry. We are together. Whatever you lack now, you shall soon gain in plenty. Please, ask anything you wish."

 Would you still love me if I told you I used to be so much bigger than you and regarded things like you as the worst kind of pests? Would you love me if I had thoughts of things and places you can't even comprehend? Would that bring scorn, shame, or fear? Best not to risk it.

I started with "instar", that was one thing I heard in passing and forgot to check on. Father bent down and encouraged me to scamper onto him. I fell, several times, which wasn't his fault but from how poorly I could keep these limbs in order. He rocked and adjusted himself, so my falls only hurt my pride. Laughter echoed through the mud, but I had no idea where and who. It wasn't Citrine. 

With a clearing sound, father silenced the laughter but didn't scold by name. Forget whoever was laughing at me, I was going to get on top. I didn't have claws or fingernails, but I had some kind of grip. My brain burned like it hadn't since my first memory of learning to walk. 

One leg, another leg. Slipping slipping. Scrambling. Flailing, flailing, failing, falling. In the mud, I remembered mom's stories about what a handful I was, always climbing out of my crib and causing her grief. With menace cloaked in a laugh, she joked about whether I would walk if she broke "my tiny legs". 

Before father could right me in the mud, I rolled over and got to my feet. It wasn't the shift. That weathered scrap of bug clothing was helping. The problem was me. In mother-bug's grasp, I was fine. In the touch of fastidious sisters, I only had to sit there. Dragged along or swooned over, I need only plant my feet and hang on. Climbing was new and harder than anything I'd tried before in this world.  

On a human scale, it had to be absurd. It was like not getting on top of a roll of quarters. Even for people, it had to be like a low fence. But I was a newborn. And I didn't have these secrets of the egg sleep everyone else seemed to have. And I was used to two legs, not all of these. 

And a dozen other, tiny excuses like my mom was still there, whispering them in my ear. But she was gone. And this was all on me now. 

After another fall, I set my body. Looking at the target and the entire vista around silently judging me, I pushed out of the mud. No hesitation. Go go go go...leg leg leg leg leg leg grip move grip move grip push move GRIP PUSH MOVE MOVE MOVE!

It took all I had and such concentration but I kept climbing to the lip of father's back/shoulder and felt like I had just sprinted for several miles. With mother-bug's help, he dabbed me with moisture that felt so much better than what Citrine had dunked me with.

Between the soft orbs of water clinging to me, his voice echoed through himself and me as he proclaimed, "I am so proud of you, my little one. Every step you take matters and you have so many ahead of you. Never let them be in vain. Now, you have many questions and I have so many things to tell you..." 

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