WINGS OF DESIRE

Farewell, My Invasive Species Lover

We‘ll always have the Sheep’s Meadow

My Darling SLF,

I needed to write you this letter, now, while I still have the courage to say what needs to be said.

We need to end this.

I know it. You know it.

These past two weeks have been magical. I’ll never forget the day we met. Just two dreamers, alone in the Central Park Ramble: me, a Golightly who’s loved and lost. And you, a brave Spotted Lanternfly, new in town, ready for anything. My sweet SLF.

I put you in the palm of my hand and we walked and walked. You were so handsome with your black head, grey wings, and red hind wings. And so quiet. You let me rattle on and on and never once interrupted. I thought, that’s confidence.

I could love that.

We have so much in common. We both love the outdoors. We’re both vegan. We both moved to New York City to make our mark, damn the odds. They said my degree in critical theory from Mt. Holyoke would never translate to the job market. We’ll just see about that!

And for you? New York is Insectopia. Look at what the cockroaches have achieved here, in sheer numbers alone. If insects could vote, there would be a cockroach living in Gracie Mansion right now. Obviously, there are hundreds of cockroaches already living in Gracie Mansion right now, but you get my point.

A bug with style can blend into Gotham’s gorgeous mosaic like that.

And I loved being right there beside you. We did it all, didn’t we? Dinners, Broadway, nightclubs, gallery openings. You rocked my world, SLF.

And the sex? Indescribable.

You were the one. I could imagine having grubs with you.

Two days ago, and floating on a cloud, I told my friends about us. I thought they’d be so happy I’d finally found my prince. Instead, they yelled at me: “Idiot!” “Do you seriously not know what that is?” “Jesus, just Google it!”

I Googled it.

Do you know how it feels when the love of your life is called an “invasive planthopper?”

Or that you’re wanted in 14 states for destroying trees and vineyards, for continually bleeding helpless plants of their nutrients?

Or that you made your way around the United States by clinging to the wheel wells of cars and jumping onto trains or planes, laying eggs along the way?

They want you dead.

The Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture said so.

“If you see a spotted lanternfly, it’s imperative to immediately report it online or via phone by calling 1–888–4BADFLY. Especially if you are not inside the quarantine zone.”

“What else? Kill it! Squash it, smash it…just get rid of it. In the fall, these bugs will lay egg masses with 30–50 eggs each. These are called bad bugs for a reason, don’t let them take over your county next.”

Kill it. Squash it. Smash it.

Were they talking about our dreams?

You’re beautiful, you’re sentient, you’ve got hopes and dreams just like everybody else. Before judging you, let them fly a mile in your increasingly destructive wings.

If they only knew the SLF I know.

The haters call you BADFLY. To me, you’re SUPERFLY.

I’m sure my handwriting must seem nightmarishly large to you right now, love, and I hate what you have to read next.

Our time is not now. Society is not ready for us. I’m not brave enough.

Someday, no one will bat an eye when they see a woman in love, her lanternfly husband and their 300 beautiful spotted green-eyed children enjoying a day at the zoo. But that day is not today.

And while I know this town has a big heart, it also has big shoes.

I hoped to be the wind beneath your wings, not a boot on your thorax.

Be free. Be safe.

With all the unkillable, unsquashable, unsmashable love in the world,

Blair

P.S. Enclosed are our tickets to see “The Music Man.” I know how you love Hugh Jackman. Take some lucky, lucky lanternfly.

***

Tender thanks to Amy Sea and Steve Wyatt.

The T. Kent Jones omnibus never closes. Free Parking!

Click the skull. Join the party.