Cicada Girl
A magical event happens during the summer in the Chicagoland area every 17 years. Millions of Brood XIII cicada’s emerge from… frankly I’m not quite sure where. Husks cover every lawn, tree, and sidewalk as their mating calls creciendo in a constant background siren song. The last cycle happened in 2007, the year of Obama, Shrek 3, Brittany Spears’ shaved head, and for me personally, 4th grade.
And to get ahead of the allegations, yes, I was the girl who ate cicadas. It started as a dare, and then I just liked the attention. Always dead; sometimes raw; preferably grilled. When the summer ended I felt a distinct nostalgia for the cicadas. Seventeen years felt like an impossible amount of time to wait for the mysterious phenomenon to happen again. On a late August afternoon, I stood at the end of my driveway staring at the blanket of beady red eyes dotting the suburban landscape. Doing the math, I would be 26 the next time I saw them. I knew in theory that eventually I would reach that age, but it felt forever at some distant point in the future.
Every once in a while, I would remember my old friends and Google when we would be reunited. Invariably, it was a few more years down the road. And then, on a visit home last spring, a friend mentioned that 2024 was the year of the cicadas. My jaw dropped, and I was immediately back at the end of the driveway, remembering, in a truly visceral way, how I contemplated adulthood. An intangible future now turned into reality.
I know in theory, eventually, I will reach the age of 80, but that will forever be some distant point in the future. Not being able to imagine being 80 feels like a disgustingly naive thing to write. At the same time, it's a bit relieving that writing it means I’m still on the premature end of the stick.
Ultimately, I think I just have a thing about time. Looking at pictures of my grandparents as children, I’m struck by how they had no idea where their story would take them. I’m tempted to see it as inevitable. But that’s just because I’m the one who knows the ending.