I ate a bug—not just any bug. I ate a roach. The memory still makes me shiver.
My friend, Francis, was one of those people who just never seemed to get a break. When she was young she was taller than the other kids so she slumped and developed humped shoulders. She had crooked teeth that her parents never had the money to fix and she had to wear thick glasses. I don’t think she ever had a date. She lived at home with her parents until she was 40 and she worked as a teller in a bank for 20 years.
Francis was sweet, cheerful and had a big heart and I never knew anyone who didn’t like her. The problem was, Francis didn’t like Francis. She was always insecure and self conscious and she never felt “good enough” or “pretty enough” or “smart enough”. Even when people attempted to engage her in a conversation she would visibly shrink and look at her shoes.
I worried about Francis. I wanted her to be happy and I wanted her to have a husband and a home of her own. I offered to introduce her to some nice men I knew but she always turned me down. People invited her to parties but she never went. No one wanted Francis to end up alone, she was such a sweet person we all wanted her to be loved.
At last Francis got the courage to leave home and get her own apartment. It wasn’t a very good apartment and it was only one mile from her parents’ house but to her it was her first step out into the world.
Francis decided to have her first party in her new apartment and invited people she worked with and her friends. She borrowed card tables and folding chairs to seat all fourteen guests.
It was obvious she’d worked for days to have everything perfect and she’d cooked all the food herself.
I sat next to Francis and she filled a bowl with her own homemade soup and set it in front of me. I scooped up some soup in my spoon and just before I got it to my mouth I saw a dead roach floating in the soup.
I looked up to see Francis smiling happily at me waiting for me to taste her special homemade soup. I looked around the table, everyone was watching me. I couldn’t say “Oh, there’s a roach in my soup.”
If I put my spoon back into the bowl someone else might see the roach floating around. If Francis knew there was a roach in the soup she’d be humiliated and probably never have another party in her life. I couldn’t embarrass her.
I smiled at Francis, opened my mouth and swallowed the soup and the roach and drank a lot of water. I told myself people all over the world since the beginning of time had eaten bugs and survived and bugs are a good source of protein.
Everyone had a wonderful time, the food was delicious and Francis was thrilled her first party was a success.
I’d like to say her life changed and she found a wonderful man and lived happily ever after but she didn’t. She kept her job at the bank, she never dated, and she never took a vacation, but once or twice a year Francis would invite her friends for a special dinner and I never missed one of them.
Eating a bug is a small price to pay to make a friend happy. I wanted Francis to be happy but I was making up rules about what would make her happy and I was wrong.
I think Francis is happy just the way she is. She didn’t need me to “fix” her life because it wasn’t broken.
She seems happy to be single and she is comfortable with her job at the bank. She either visits or calls her parents every day.
Her life wouldn’t make me happy and my life isn’t right for her.
I worried about Francis not being loved but I was wrong. She’s loved by her family, her co-workers and her friends. I need to let Francis be Francis because that is what she does best and I like her just the way she is. I like her so much, I’d eat a bug for her.
Crying Wind is the author of Crying Wind and My Searching Heart, When the Stars Danced, and Thunder in Our Hearts, Lightning in Our Veins. All her books are available from Indian Life.
