There are a lot of things in this world that inspire awe and skepticism in those they haven't touched, and greater emotions in those they have. I have been touched by something like that. It wasn't anything big like the Loch Ness Monster or Amityville Horror, but it was certainly a once in a lifetime experience. To be blunt, I don't care whether or not you believe me, because I was there.

When I was about ten or eleven (yes, that was a long time ago) I knew a girl named Robin Brewin. She was about my age and, if you'll allow an understatement, utterly beautiful. We shared an innocent, pre-pubescent love that really only involved hanging out together and taking walks around the pond near her house. If there are such things as soul-mates, we were linked before birth.

Now this is where it gets interesting. She had some kind of affinity with dragonflies. I've never seen anything like it before or since. Whenever we walked near the pond I mentioned, all of the dragonflies would stop doing whatever dragonflies do and begin buzzing in wide circles around us. Their incandescent blue and green bodies were quite a sight. They generally tolerated me, with an occasional dive-bomb to make sure I knew my place.

She had a favorite fly she named Cyrenaica. I don't know where she got a name like that, but it sounded nice. Cyrenaica was about four inches long (big for a bug) and had a few red markings on its wings. Whenever Robin held out her hand, Cyrenaica would perch on her fingers like a well-trained bird. That in itself would probably be a story worthy of Ripley, but it gets deeper.

I had known Robin and her insect friends for over a year when my universe was shattered. It was a cloudless day in the middle of August. Robin and I were lying in the sun, dangling our feet in the cool pond water. A flashing carpet of dragon flies covered the grass around us and Cyrenaica shifted restlessly through Robin's hair. All was right with the world until Robin got up, explaining that she had to do something at home. She said she'd be right back and headed for the road.

As I watched the dragon flies return to their daily lives, I laid back on the grass and stared up at the deep blue sky. I closed my eyes and saw her face surrounded by the bright multicolored bodies of the dragon flies. A horrible screech jerked me back to reality. It took my mind to a moment to realize that the noise was the squealing of tires. I normally wouldn't have cared, but the pond suddenly exploded with activity. All the dragon flies gathered into a rippling cloud and flew toward the road. I yanked my feet out of the water and ran after the swarm. I guess I already knew what had happened, but I had to see it.

I arrived, breathlesly, to a sight that would be burned into my brain forever. Robin was lying in the middle of the road a few feet in front of a Buick. A pool of blood meandered through the grooves in the pavement. Her father was kneeling over her, pleading with her to live. A man and a woman, presumably from the car, looked dazed. About three feet over Robin's body, the dragon flies had formed a tight cyclone. As I watched, the dragon flies drifted higher and higher into the sky. The mass of swirling bodies was high above the trees when it finally dispersed and the dragonflies scattered. Robin was dead.

My family moved across the country less than a month later. I grew up and began growing old. Years dragged into decades, and the void that gnawed at my soul got larger and bit deeper. I finally returned to the pond thirty-odd years later to try to find peace. Although it looked the same as it did when I left, algae-scented air was empty of dragonflies. It was as if they had abandoned their home. I walked around the edge of the water a few times, hoping to salvage a modicum of reconciliation. I began walking toward my car when a sharp buzz shattered the silence. I turned around and saw a single dragon fly hovering a few feet away from me. I tentatively held out my hand and it took the perch. I recognized the red markings on its wings. It was Cyrennaica. We regarded each other for a few minutes and my brain swam with agonized and ecstatic memories. Suddenly Cyrennaica flew off over the pond, its wings shining gold in the setting sun.

Life goes on.