Last night, via twitter, @brokeymcpoverty told us about Armando the Ant, a lovely little creature who’d been living in her bedroom. Unfortunately, it seems Armando’s life had to end because of some liberties he’d been taking. Several of her followers, myself included, teased her about the consequences of Armando’s life coming to a sudden and violent end. When I woke up this morning, an idea had formed and I decided to write it out. With pieces of stories brokey has shared about her grandmother, I quilted together my own story. It started out one way and ended another, but I hope it still works. Armando, our time was too short. Peace to brokey and her family. 

Alphonse the Ant and Vivian

In a land much closer than you think, there lived a young woman named Vivian. She was a very responsible and intelligent young woman who put aside her dreams of teaching other young women how to body roll their way to happiness. She had to take care of her grandmother, Mama Sweet-Sweet. Mama Sweet-Sweet couldn’t remember how to make coffee any more, and it made the family sad sometimes.

Vivian, responsible and intelligent, lived with Mama Sweet-Sweet but had her own section of the house. Vivian needed her privacy. She created new body-rolling routines every week and practiced almost every night so she wouldn’t forget her own happiness.

One night, in the middle of a particularly difficult routine, Vivian noticed a small dot on her ceiling. She didn’t think much of it and continued to work on the best way to add rappity-rap hands to a body roll. Soon sweat beaded her brow and she stopped to take a break, reasonably satisfied that the move no longer looked like she was slinging away cobwebs. She raised her water bottle to drink and saw that the dot had moved closer. Pulling up a chair, she stood in it, getting as close as she dared.

It was an ant— ink-black with a hint of sheen, an animated sliver of coal. Releasing a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, Vivian slowly extended her finger, preparing to end the ant’s life with a little pressure.

“Please don’t do that,” a voice threaded from a dozen other voices rang out. Vivian gasped, the sigh of relief from mere seconds ago now tinged with fear as it returned to her. She looked around her room for the source and scrambled from the chair.

“Hello! Hey. Look up here!” The group of voices, speaking as one, came from the ceiling, from the little dot of an ant Vivian had almost crushed.

“What the feezy!” Vivian exclaimed. The only person allowed to curse in Mama Sweet-Sweet’s house was Mama Sweet-Sweet.

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax. My name is Alphonse. Relax,” Alphonse the Ant said.

Vivian pressed the back of her hand against her forehead.

“What did I eat today? I’m tripping balls, man,” she muttered to herself.

“Listen, it’s cool. You’re not hallucinating. I really am a talking ant.” His voices folded over, magnifying into one that was loud enough for her to hear. Vivian looked at him from the corners of her eyes.

“Are you, like, a prince that’s been turned into an ant by an evil stepmother or something?” She wanted to make sense of the situation but was pretty sure she was losing her mind.

“What? No. That’s stupid,” he scoffed.

“Okay.” Vivian sank onto her bed. Alphonse the Ant trailed closer.

“I was supposed to be with my crew, doing the whole worker ant thing, but I got separated. Thought I smelled something sweet so I stopped in here. Couldn’t find it in the usual places so I crawled up this way. Y’all keep a clean house, I must say. Very impressive.”

Vivian thought it looked like his head bobbled in approval.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t worry. I’m the only one here. For now,” he said, voices heavy with intent.

“For now? What does that mean?” Alarm colored Vivian’s response.

“I can keep this place free of all kinds of pests if you just set out a bit of that sweet, sticky stuff over there on that big wooden box for me every now and then. I’ve tried to get to it, but it’s locked up somehow, and I can’t figure it out.”

“The hair stuff on my dresser?” Vivian stood and picked up a jar of Kinkopolis pomade, a natural hair care product, made with fruits, berries, and Queen Nzinga tears. She brought it close to Alphonse so he could see.

“Yesssss,” the voices chorused.

“All I have to do is give you some of this and you’ll protect the house? How can you do that? You’re just an ant.” Vivian, responsible and intelligent, was skeptical.

“I am a talking ant. I got this.” Alphonse’s multi-voiced confidence leeched through Vivian’s concern and soon she placed a small scoop of the pomade on a window sill for him. He scurried to it and the sounds of his pleasure echoed throughout the bedroom.

Over the next several weeks, Vivian, responsible and intelligent, and Alphonse the Ant built a routine. During the day, she tended to Mama Sweet-Sweet and at night, after her mother took over caretaker duty, she practiced her body rolls, with Alphonse offering suggestions and snacking on Kinkopolis.

One morning, Vivian and Mama Sweet-Sweet were having breakfast when the grandmother mentioned she hadn’t seen Miss Lou-Jean walking in front of the house for about a week or two. Miss Lou-Jean was a few years older than Mama Sweet-Sweet. She’d been what they called a firecracker back in her day, scandalizing the neighborhood with her red nails and lipstick. She even dyed her hair blue-black so that red lipstick shone from her face. Oh, she was something. Then one day, she fell in love with a postal worker who delivered his love somewhere else. Miss Lou-Jean thought maybe his love was still on its way, that he’d tucked it in a bottle, wanting her to get it special, and not in an everyday envelope. And maybe that love had melted and dissolved until it was mixed up inside the bottle, so she had to drink it all down, to get the dizzying warmth that happened the first time he kissed her.

Over the years, Mama Sweet-Sweet would give Miss Lou-Jean food, clothes, and other personal items. She’d talk to Miss Lou-Jean, as best she could, when everyone else stayed away or when the children teased her. And now, Miss Lou-Jean hadn’t been around in over a week.

“Have you seen her?” Mama Sweet-Sweet asked Vivian.

“No, ma’am,” Vivian responded, idly scratching her leg and trying to avoid looking at the loose way her grandmother chewed bacon.

“You got fleas, girl? All you do is scratch lately. I hope you don’t have them bedbugs. I saw something on the news about them last night…” Mama Sweet-Sweet talked about a news item that had aired over six months ago and dots connected inside Vivian’s head.

“May I be excused, ma’am?” Vivian asked. Mama Sweet-Sweet was changing, but home-training did not.

“Go on, girl. Maybe you need to wash better,” Mama Sweet-Sweet suggested, but Vivian was already racing toward her rooms.

“Alphonse! Alphonse!” Vivian stage-whispered. “Get out here now!” She looked down at her legs and the red welts peppering her skin.

“Here I am,” Alphonse spoke from Vivian’s headboard. He was bigger than before, well over an inch long and the choir of his voice was fuller.

“What happened to Miss Lou-Jean?” she demanded.

“Ah,” he said. “I wondered when you’d notice that. She was a pest, right?”

“She was an old lady! Where is she?”

“The summerland.” Vivian could have sworn he shrugged. “She’s fine now. She’s better and y’all don’t have to worry about her begging any more.”

“She didn’t beg. Mama Sweet-Sweet gave her those things. They were friends, kinda. They had a routine. If Mama Sweet-Sweet doesn’t stay on her routine, it gets crazy around here,” Vivian explained. She didn’t want to talk about the tantrums, the confusion that swells in her grandmother’s eyes until it becomes anger that leaks down Mama Sweet-Sweet’s face and wears away Vivian’s faith.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought I was being helpful and sticking to our bargain,” Alphonse the Ant exclaimed.

“Yeah, about that,” Vivian, responsible and intelligent, brushed away his apology. “Have you been biting me?” She stretched out a leg and displayed the angry marks along its length.

Her question was met with silence.

“What the hell, man! This was not our deal. You were supposed to keep shit away like roaches and termites and other ants not people, and you sure as hell weren’t supposed to be biting me!” Vivian jabbed the air in front of Alphonse.

“Vivian! I know you not cussing in this house!” Mama Sweet-Sweet yelled from the kitchen.

“No, ma’am,” Vivian called back, rolling her eyes. She turned her full attention back to Alphonse and spread her hands, waiting for his explanation.

“Look. See. That stuff—I don’t know. I guess it gets on your hands then on the sheets and then on you. And it’s so sweet, so good.” The choir of his voice echoed the last word and Vivian’s eyes widened.

“I should’ve smushed you when I had the chance.” Vivian approached the headboard.

“No, don’t! They’ll come…” Vivian used one of Mama Sweet-Sweet’s JET magazines to crush Alphonse. A quick burst of shimmering black dust lit the air, followed by the scent of burnt sugar. Vivian fanned the dust, but the smell remained. She sprayed some air freshener and went back to the kitchen to check on her grandmother.

Later that night, when Vivian returned to her bedroom, the odor was still heavy. She went through her usual schedule and found she missed Alphonse’s encouragement as he purred through a dollop of Kinkopolis. She refused to be sad and worked through a complicated routine of body rolls and dutty wines. And just before she dozed off, she said a quick prayer for Miss Lou-Jean.

In her sleep, Vivian brushed at her neck, wondering if the drawstrings from her satin cap had slipped out and were snaking around her. Then it felt like the strings were sliding across her fingers. Her stomach. Her legs. Vivian opened her eyes. Her bed was covered in ants. She tried to sit up but the weight of the insects held her. Vivian whimpered, frozen in place. She felt the ants crawling over her neck onto her cheeks. She sneezed, her body automatically trying to dislodge whatever was creeping into her nose. She closed her eyes and felt the pricks of little legs walking over her lids. She heard the echo of the name “Alphonse” sending her to the summerland, away from the grandmother who needed her. The pop and hiss of his name grew louder until it competed with the sound of Mama Sweet-Sweet calling her.

Vivian jolted awake. Mama Sweet-Sweet stood in the den, in front of her, holding a half-full coffee pot in one hand and a mug in another. In the kitchen, the remaining brew dripped through the coffeemaker and, with nowhere else to land, sizzled onto the warming plate. Vivian hurried to the kitchen and placed another mug under the drip to collect the rest of the coffee. Mama Sweet-Sweet followed her.

“I made some coffee so we can watch the rest of my stories together,” her grandmother smiled at her.

“Yes, ma’am, you did, but you could’ve woke me up,” Vivian said. She didn’t want to take this small victory away from Mama Sweet-Sweet so, to avoid a fuss, she pulled a washcloth from one of the cabinets to clean up the mess on the counter. An ant, light brown in color, inched its way close to the sugar bowl.

“Well, that’s why I made the coffee. So you could wake up,” Mama Sweet-Sweet answered in the matronly equivalent of “duh!” before taking her coffee back out to watch television.

“Yes, ma’am,” Vivian absently replied, hardly aware that her grandmother had left the room. She picked up a sheet of coupons from yesterday’s paper and slid it under the ant. The insect tried to get a grip as she eased open the door leading from the kitchen to the backyard. Vivian, responsible and intelligent, flung the ant into the grass, away from all the sweetness in her home.