squish

All things grow up, not just humans. A gypsy moth caterpillar is quite the sight. Covered in hairs of pure gold, their traffic light backs shimmer with each scrunch and wiggle. Quite the stark contrasts to the adult versions, white, black, grey… cold.

We used to play with them when we were kids. We would sit there for minutes, which felt like hours, just admiring them, but making sure not to touch them, as we did not know what they were. It was not a fear of the unknown, but rather a respect for it… admiration even. Besides, they were pretty.

One day, one of my friends picked one up; we looked in awe. None of us had ever done this before. It stood still for a second and then began to crawl over the tops of his fingers, like a surfer going over waves. Those golden hairs, the traffic light back. Oh my! However, after a quick, yet careful inspection, my friend’s face shifted from awe to something else.

“These are nothin’ but moths before they grow up,” he gruffly muttered.

He then picked the gypsy moth caterpillar, ever so gently, up off his knuckles with his forefingers… and squished it. He then wiped his fingers on his shirt and went back to playing with sticks. The caterpillar laid their motionless. Not a scrunch, nor a wiggle.

I saw some more caterpillars nearby. They looked the same as our friend, one might say identical in every way, but something was off. Yes, something was distinctly off; these weren’t special at all.

I let one crawl on my hand. It felt weird, but it wasn’t scary. No, it was just a stupid moth. I placed it down and jabbed it with a stick. My friends joined in. The ones we didn’t squish with our sticks, we crushed with our shoes.