One day, in my youth, I found an ice cream cone on the street, and despite it being covered in ants and yellowjackets, I ate it. When I told my mother this, she brought me to the ant hill and made me apologize. The ants, all soldiers, would not accept my apology. What I'd done would only be punishable by death. My mother, not expecting this outcome, panicked and hid me in the attic of our house, where I discovered the yellowjacket nest. The yellowjackets, to my surprise, struck a deal. I would be allowed to live if I could name the entire colony. Yellowjackets can't be fully content unless they're named by an enemy. It took me a month to name the 5000, but I managed it. At the end, my mouth was swollen from speaking names. Now, I avoid ants at all costs. When I'm stung by a yellowjacket, I wonder if it's one of my children making me cry. Are you Joan, are you Henry, are you Joseph, are you Amadou, are you Cayetano, are you Morgan?


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