[Two ants have crossed paths. They are arguing about something.]
ANT 1: You have control over yourself, to some extent. You know you do. As much as you think it’s up to the bacteria, and that you can’t outsmart them, you can’t let your life be consumed by that fact. You’ve gotta work in tandem with the bacteria of the world—be friendly and comfortable with them. I’ll ask you again: do you wanna make out?
ANT 2: I don’t want to share bacteria with just anyone. I don’t want to make out with my friends. I really believe in some kind of separation of church and state. And maybe that makes me a hypocrite for preaching about queer radicalism all the time, but that is my position.
ANT 1: You always have been more of a spectator.
ANT 2: A very specific set of conditions would have to be met for me to want to kiss someone.
ANT 1: I wish you would just let your guard down.
ANT 2: But I can’t. I don’t know who you are. There are secrets that I don’t even tell myself.
ANT 1: What are you talking about? We’re friends.
ANT 2: I don’t know who you are, and in this moment, I can’t even speculate as to who you might be.
ANT 1: Okay.
ANT 2: I can only speculate who I might be, and that’s what I do, and it’s what I’m doing now.
ANT 1: What are you talking about? I feel like you’re avoiding the question.
ANT 2: It’s not that question, but the question lying under that question that I’m trying to avoid.
ANT 1: Lying under...?
ANT 2: The question being, of course, whether I’m in love with you.
ANT 1: Woah.
ANT 2: Look at you: slithering on the ground, venom inside you, teeth bared. You’re prowling around, looking to sink your teeth into some unsuspecting creature.
ANT 1: Okay, June. Forget I asked.
[ANT 1 starts walking away.]
ANT 2: You want that feeling of adrenaline that comes when you suddenly feel connected with someone, utterly entangled with them. You want whatever fucked up mess is coursing through their veins to course through yours, too.
ANT 1: And you don’t want that? You must see how weak that makes you sound.
ANT 2: Of course I see that. Of course I see it, you fucking freak.
ANT 1: Woah.
ANT 2: Stop asking me these questions. You have no idea how much I don’t know. Can’t you see that? I don’t know anything, friend. I don’t know anything! I don’t know even a single thing.
ANT 1: Okay.
ANT 2: So, we can’t talk about this right now. We can’t talk about why I don’t want to kiss you, friend, because I myself don’t know. I think we should chalk it up to the bacteria. Maybe it’s the ones in my mouth.
ANT 1: Oh, god.
ANT 2: Fine. Don’t worry. I’m going to tell you—or, I might tell you—why I feel so strongly, in this moment, as you stand here in my path, as you look at me like that, the answer to your question.
ANT 1: Okay.
[They stare at each other for a moment.]
ANT 2: What do you want me to say besides ‘no’? Do I have to spell it out for you? Do you need a beginning, middle, and end? In how many words must I friendzone you right now? In how many words, in how many words, in how many words?
ANT 1: You’ve already said more than enough.
ANT 2: Don’t you have a wife? I respect her too much to kiss you. I want what’s best for your relationship. I want you to choose her over me. There are all kinds of karmic consequences of kissing you that I’m just not willing to take on.
ANT 1: Why do you think you have to deliver a speech to tell me something that should be so simple? Why is ‘no’ so hard for you? Why can’t you just say it? Why do you have to dance around it? I’m so sick of hearing you beat around the bush. If your answer is no, then why don’t you just fucking say it.
ANT 2: No. No. No. No. No. No. The answer is no. It’s no. No, no, no, no, I don’t want to kiss you. I’m not going to do it. I don’t want to do it. I refuse to do it. You can’t convince me to do it—not when you lie in my bed, not when you look at me like that, not when you bring me a muffin. You need to stay away from me. I’m a real live wire, as they say. Don’t touch me, accordingly. David Byrne.
ANT 1: Spare me your hipster rant about the twinks of yesteryear. I think I’ve heard enough. Now, I’m going to go back to where I came from—back to the place where someone actually wants to kiss me—back to my wife. And you can go fuck yourself for all I care, since you’re so insistent on turning down all of the people who are trying to fuck you. I hope you like fucking yourself, July. I really do.
ANT 2: And if I said that I do, then what? What if I love fucking myself, and nobody in this whole world fucks me the way I fuck me? What happens when I love myself the most? I couldn’t love someone else as much as I love me.
ANT 1: My god. You’re a narcissist.
[ANT 2 seems offended.]
ANT 2: I’m a narcissist in the same way that your immune system is a narcissist for not allowing you to accept type A hemolymph.
ANT 1: How do you know my hemolymph type?
ANT 2: It doesn’t matter. My god, this is so like you: to get hung up on a detail, a little smudge on the picture. Please, can you just stop? Please. I’ve had more than my fair share of your advances, no matter how extraordinarily subtle they are.
ANT 1: I’ve never—
ANT 2: Yes, you have. You’ve been sending out signals that are far from opaque. Little whispers, little whiffs, little nudges, little tangles, little tastes, little crumbs of signals for me to pick up on. Of course I know you want to kiss me. And my answer now is the same as it always was. It’s the word that you’ve been so desperately—
ANT 1: No. I’m not going to let you say it. I rescind my offer. I don’t want to kiss you anymore. Not after all of this. In fact, I don’t even want to be your friend anymore.
ANT 2: Wow, June. It’s like that? As soon as the pretty girl tells you she doesn’t want to fuck, you kick rocks and walk the other way and tell your friends that women are bitches?
ANT 1: You’d have to be a bitch for me to do that. The only thing you are is a cunt. You could never be a bitch. You’re not… enough. You are not enough. Not enough for me, not enough for anyone around you. Are you enough for yourself? I sure hope you are, but even if that’s the case, I still feel bad for you, July.
[ANT 2 walks past ANT 1.]
ANT 1 (cont.): What are you doing?
ANT 2: I’m leaving.
ANT 1: But this is your hill. You’re leaving?
ANT 2: Yes. I’m leaving. What you’ve created, sir, is a completely one-dimensional image of me, one that... and now you’re on your phone. Okay. Whatever.
ANT 1: What? No, I’m not on my phone. Well, I’m just texting my wife.
ANT 2: Right. Exactly. That’s good. Great, even. This is great. You should honestly—
[ANT 1 picks up the phone.]
ANT 1: Hello? (to ANT 2) Sorry, July. I got a call from my wife. (to the phone) Hi, babe... What?... You want me to come over now?... It’s an emergency?... You need me so bad?... I need to go help you because there’s been an emergency, and you need me to come over and be with you?... Right.... Okay.... I hear you. Okay, baby. I’m coming.
[ANT 1 leaves without saying another word to ANT 2. ANT 2 stands in silence for a moment before crawling back into the hill.]
crawl in