The Diving Beetle

The Diving Beetle

The Diving Beetle

I told you it was a pyramid scheme. You don’t remember?

We were drinking whisky. It was spring.

You were convinced that if you invested the money that your dad had left you, you would be rich. Mega rich. And you were going to buy a house for me in Petaluma. You don’t remember?

I said you were crazy thinking that beetle juice, oh yeah, that diving beetle juice would cure all.

Including everything I suffered from.

Insomnia, hives, anxiety, allergies, poor memory. Truly, you don’t remember?

Well I do. You were wearing a blue cashmere coat that day.

It was overcast. Even the air tasted gray.

You announced, I have something to show you. Don’t tell anyone.
Not even, Willow. Definitely not Willow.

You put your hand in your bag and pulled out a square bottle
with a pyramid-shaped stopper.

In the bottle was a beetle. Dark brown with olive streaks. It scared the hell
out of me. But I was mesmerized.

What the…? Jesus, it’s moving!

You said the liquid emitted from the beetle’s body had a powerful anti-oxidant,
an almost supernatural quality to heal the human body.

The bank had just transferred the funds into your account and you were about to write a check to the president of the company. What was it called? Water Tiger.

That’s right. Water Tiger.