“Giggle, giggle, giggle

, giggle, gasp, hahahaha, snock, snort … don’t . . . heeheehee … don’t Daddy … hahahaha!”

“Bizzle, Bizzle, Bizzle Bee, the Bizzle Bee is me!” Sandra’s father sang, his fingers seeking openings through the barrage of defensive movements her hands made. He managed to breach her defenses often enough to drive her to hysterics - a stomach thoroughly tickled before he let up.

Even though Sandra could hardly catch her breath from laughing, she loved this little bedtime game. Her father would reach up to the very top of the curtain next to her bed and pretend to find Bizzle Bee. Then his hand would magically become the bee as he made a dive for her tummy, his fingers extended and wiggling.

***

Sandra was always the first one up on Saturday mornings. Dressing quickly in jeans and a T-shirt bearing a picture of Mickey Mouse, she slipped stealthily from her room and plopped down in front of the TV to watch her Saturday morning cartoons. She was careful to keep the sound low so as not to disturb her parents, a courtesy that was surprising in a seven year old. She knew they liked to sleep late on weekends, especially her mother, who slept till noon sometimes.

When a commercial came on, she got to her feet and looked out through the big front window - a window over which her father had nailed a homemade frame containing a sheet of clear plastic. She saw a cloudless blue sky and the bright colors of rhododendrons. The giant blooms made a wall of purple, red, pink and white that was liberally garnished with shiny green leaves.

Having already watched an hour of cartoons, she was becoming restless and her stomach was beginning to grumble. Just then, she heard a toilet flush. Someone was up. A moment later, her father appeared from the hall.

“Mornin’, dandy Sandy,” he said, ruffling her sleep-tousled blond hair.

He was wearing faded jeans and a paint-spattered shirt - work clothes.

“Morning back,” she said, holding up her arms for a lift. “Would you get the Lucky Charms down for me?”

“Sure ‘nough, kitten,” he said, swinging her onto his shoulders with practiced ease.

Sandra promptly reached up and raked the ceiling with her fingers, giggling as she did so.

“Look, Daddy, I can reach the ceiling!”

Gripping both her ankles, he jounced her gently as he crossed over to the dining area and deposited her at the table.

After starting the coffee maker, he set the table for her.

“You up for helping me take down that storm window this morning?”

“You bet,” she said, proud that he’d asked her.

While her father drank coffee and read the paper, Sandra finished her breakfast and went outside. The sun was warm and a gentle breeze ruffled the rhododendron blossoms. Big black and yellow bumblebees were hard at work among the flowers.

Attracted to an especially large purple bloom, Sandra moved in close to smell it. Just as she was bending down, a fat bumblebee alighted. Startled, she jerked back. Then, on impulse, she reached out and gently touched the bee with the tip of her finger. Much to her surprise, the bee stood its ground, allowing her to actually stroke its furry back.

“What on earth are you doing?” her father asked.

She’d been so involved that his voice startled her. She hadn’t seen him come out of the house.

“Look, Daddy, I’m petting a bee!”

“I see that, honey, but aren’t you afraid of getting stung?”

“No. I think it’s Bizzle Bee. I think it likes me.”

In Sandra’s mind, the imaginary bee and the real one were jumbled together.

When the bee flew away, Sandra turned her attention to her father, watching as he slipped the hammer claw under a nail head and began prying. He’d left the nails sticking out a tiny bit on purpose to make them easier to pull.

“Oh, honey, give me that wood block there on the porch. This nail doesn’t seem to want to let go.”

Curious, Sandra got the block and squeezed in behind the rhodies.

“What you going to do with the block?” she asked.

“See, if you place it under the hammer head like this, then pry against it, the nail comes out easier and doesn’t bend as much.”

There was a rasping squeal as the stubborn nail pulled free of the wood. Then, as sometimes happens, the nail flipped from the hammer claw and shot over her father’s shoulder.

“I’ll get it,” Sandra said, crawling out from between the bushes.

Squatting at the edge of the driveway, she scanned the lawn carefully. The grass was fairly tall, so it could easily hide a nail, even one this big. A glint of reflected sunlight caught her attention. It was the nail. It had stabbed point first into the ground and was barely visible above the grass and clover.

“I found it, Daddy! I found it!” Sandra called as she pulled the nail free.

“Yipe!” she screeched, dropping it as though it had burned her fingers.

“What is it, punkin’?” her father said as he hurried from his place behind the rhododendrons. “Did you get stung?”

“No,” Sandra said, pointing at the spot where she’d dropped the nail. Her eyes were filling with tears and her voice was choked. “I think it’s Bizzle Bee stuck on the nail.”

Picking the nail from the grass, Sandra’s father held it up. Sure enough, an especially large bumblebee was impaled on it, right through the fattest part of its furry little body. It was moving feebly, its stinger raised in defense.

“My gosh!” he exclaimed. “Do you have any idea of the odds of this happening? That bee must have been nailed on the wing!”

With tears rolling down her cheeks, Sandra asked sobbing, “Is it . . . is it … Bizzle Bee?”

Squatting down and drawing her close, he said, “I don’t think so, honey. It’s just a regular old bumbly bee. Bizzle Bee doesn’t get out much. He’s probably still asleep behind your curtain.”

* * *

That night Sandra was especially anxious. Would Bizzle Bee come out from his curtain house?