Daddy said he saw a man in the road. What man, Mama asked. A man, Daddy said. Big. Red eyes. White cape. Sounds like a bird, Mama said. No way, Daddy said. Too big. Too wide. Something not right about those eyes. Like you could get stuck in ‘em. Like they’re sucking you in.
Like the sun, I said. ‘Cause of gravity.
Sure, Daddy said. Now go to bed.
Ducky’s mama saw it too, on her way home from book club. She said feathers, not cape. White feathers. A crane? No, not with those eyes. Bug. Bug feathers. Wings, too. Wings and big red eyes.
Compound eyes, I said. That’s why they look funny.
Ducky’s mama made a face. Ducky and I were supposed to be playing in the yard; we’d come in for some lemonade and tracked dirt on the carpet. What’d your daddy say it was, she asked. A man, I said. Hm, she said. She pursed her lips. Ducky and I gulped lemonade til our stomachs ached.
The newspaper called it man-sized. Bird-like. Ducky called it the Almost-Bug. He wanted to find it. We searched every bug book on the library’s shelves. I taught Ducky ‘bout wings, how it’s like rowing through air. We looked for bugs with feathers. Moths have ‘em, he said. They’re fuzzy. I know ‘cause they stick to my shirt.
People said it started chasing them. Flew a hundred miles an hour. Stopped right at city limits, though. Never crossed the border. Never hurt anything, either. Cops kept looking for it and never found a trace. Moths are drawn to light, I thought. Unless this one was drawn to something else.
When the bridge collapsed, the whole town heard it. Biggest twig to ever snap. Took twenty seconds to bring it down. Later, they said it was a matter of millimeters, a crack just deep enough for disaster. Ducky’s daddy was taking him across the river.
After, no one saw the Almost-Bug. People started saying it was made-up. Even Daddy didn’t believe it anymore. Said it must’ve been a bird after all. What about the eyes, I said. Sun eyes. Compound eyes. Bird eyes never sucked you in.
Hush, Daddy said. That’s over now.
I kept looking. Little over a year had gone by since Daddy saw it on Route 62. What was different now? Too much. Too much to pin down. Mama says things happen for a reason. It must’ve had a reason, too.
I stole the bug books from the library. Moths see in ultraviolet light. They smell from over a mile away. Mama brought Ducky’s mama casserole and came back crying. There are things we don’t know, can’t know. Ducky knew moths were fuzzy.
We build bridges different now.