10 June—The big news is that between 11 a.m. and noon yesterday, while I was diligently tending to my daily screed, Joey Chabadnik the mayfly flew off. Or was blown away. Or was eaten by a cute little anonymous Black spider with eight short legs who was loitering on the window screen Joey had been relaxing or languishing on or stuck to with death-glue for about a fortnight.

I miss him already. I wouldn’t miss his namesake.

I don’t reckon Joey was blown away by a sudden gust of wind, as I, with my very own two cataract-free eyes, saw him steadfastly cling to the screen on at least three windy days when leaves were blowing against it, dangerously close to him. Was it by will or the aforementioned death-glue that Joey clung to the screen? Shortly before 11 a.m. yesterday was one of those gusty occasions. And he was clearly on the screen. That was the last time I saw Joey Chabadnik.

As for the little Black spider, on the other hand, you never know. I don’t know his species. Or even if he was a he. Not that it matters these days. All I can say with certainty is that the spider wasn’t a tarantula or a Black widow (male or female) or any color recluse or Argiope. And in all events I refuse to condemn the little guy because of his pigmentation.

Yestermorn was quite rainy and there was groundwater all over the place—some of it holy, as it happens, courtesy of Saints Anthony and Michael. It’s common knowledge that mayflies of the female persuasion like to deposit their eggs in water. So I like to think that a lady mayfly sensed the time was right for Ephemeropteral rumpy pumpy—the only kind good, dutiful mayflies indulge in.

Could Joey Chabadnik have been aroused from his deep slumber by that lady mayfly’s come-hither pheromone, which provoked him to fly off to do the only thing guys like Joey live for? Sadly, after he may have had his way with that lucky lady mayfly, Joey probably lived or will live for only another day or two at most. Might he find his way back to the screen that was his home for a fortnight, to die near the only one who cared?

Could the lucky lady mayfly have shared what some people call the ultimate experience with Joey Chabadnik, shortly whereafter she dutifully deposited the eggs he had blessed with his vital essence? Had she done so, she likely didn’t live longer than an hour or two. (Lucky, my ass.) Thus, two individual mayflies—probably total strangers to one another—might selflessly have joined in nuptial bliss to sacrifice their lives in order to propagate and proliferate their ephemeral species. What a couple!

That, then, is truly the ultimate experience. The only ultimate experience. The end. And we must hope that the offspring of Joey Chabadnik and his lady mayfly will not be aborted before they hatch by some malign, malicious, murderous (and of course liberal) predacious bug, bird, or fish. If, however, Joey’s progeny are allowed to hatch, that’s a different story . . .