The Great Log and the Roach
by Franco Amati
The young cockroach danced for the Great Log. His name was Zuri, and he waved his antenna every which way and chittered his little mandibles as best as he could. He did so in the style of his ancient Devonian ancestors, emulating the epic roach heroes that had lived before him. This was the social dance. Roaches were social creatures. And this was the humble roach’s way of asking the Great Log, “Would you grant me a best friend?”
The almighty and imposing Great Log, the grandest structure in the land, looked down upon the sad cockroach. Over the years, the Log had heard pleas from all kinds of insects. The requests were never all that surprising. Food, shelter, more children; these were the things that topped the list. However, this was the first time a little roach had ever asked for a friend. It seemed an odd request, since roaches typically congregated together and just sort of figured things out. Friendship was the kind of thing that just happened organically. So the Great Log wondered, What the heck is wrong with this little guy?
The roach calmed himself down a bit. His movements became less frantic. For a moment he stood completely still, praying that the Log would give him an answer.
The Great Log replied, “How the hell am I supposed to give you a friend?”
Surprised by the Great Log’s casual manner of speaking, the roach remarked, “Well, aren’t you the overseer of everything? All that we desire, all that we wish for comes from you, Great Log. You are the source. You are the one we come to in our time of need. We rely on you for all of our blessings.”
“Yeah, but not friends.” the Log said. “Life just sort of gives you friends. You go about your daily activities and, eventually, other roaches appear, and then you find out if you have things in common. Maybe you enjoy nibbling on the same type of garbage, you know, or whatever it is you critters eat, and then you just hang out and stuff. That’s how you make friends. I see it happen all the time. i’m not just gonna be like, Poof, here’s a friend for you, now go have fun.”
“Come on,” the roach said. “I know you can do it. This is an easy thing for you. For me, it isn’t easy to make friends. Not true friends, anyway. All the ones I meet never have anything in common with me. They think I’m weird. We talk for a few days maybe but then, sooner or later, they realize how lame I am, and they go their own way. I wish you could send me someone loyal, someone to be my best friend forever. I want someone who will always be there and listen when I need them to and won’t be flaky when it comes to making plans to chill and stuff. And for once, maybe someone who actually replies the same day I send out a pheromone message, instead of like three days later, acting like no time has passed at all. Someone who actually cares.”
“You don’t want me to give you a friend like that. That kind of friend isn’t for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen, little guy. I can tell you’re putting on a show for the Great Log. Let’s be real here. Friendships like that take time and work. You have to earn it. And I can see that you’re a lazy dude. If I gave you a friend like that, it would be like getting it the easy way. The whole thing would feel fake. I can tell what you really want is a popular friend, someone who has connections and can get you in with the other roaches. You want someone cool and good-looking. Am I right? Or maybe someone strong, who can carry a lot of garbage. I see it in your beady little face: you want someone to get you past the gatekeepers of society.”
The roach, though dismayed by the fact that the sharp-witted Log had seen right through the transparency of his request, was not really all that surprised. He had heard stories about the wisdom of the Great Log, and that she was not to be underestimated. “Ugh, fine then,” the roach said, “I’ll take anything — just send me another stupid roach like me. Another random loser with no prospects who’s as desperate for friendship as I am. Just anyone, okay?! I’m serious. And then, over time, you’ll see: our friendship will develop into something real. You’ll see how good a friend I can be!”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I mean, at this point...” the poor roach trailed off, his antennae began to droop, and he realized how sad the whole thing was starting to seem. “I’ll defer to you, great Log. You know what’s best. I am but a humble roach, what do I know? That is my plea. The rest is up to you.”
The Log, who was also quite good at spotting feigned humility, did sort of feel bad for the roach. Moreover, she felt it was her duty at least to take this prayer under consideration. I mean, it was her job, after all. Aside from just sitting there as a giant log all day overseeing the cockroaches and all the other bugs swarming around, she had a certain responsibility to guide the fates of these simple invertebrates, these naive inhabitants of the beautifully neglected universe that was the abandoned lumber yard. “Tell you what,” the Log said, “I’ll think about it. You go and be a good roach, and I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
The Great Log, the Holy Seer of the lumber yard, was the largest piece of sawed-off tree as far as any roach could see. Her wood was the same wood that was in all other logs scattered across the land. And though each little piece of timber was made of similar stuff, each one had its own unique internal essence, each a unique facet of the Mother Tree, the originator of all Logs.
It was that inner wood, the ineffable quality that no one could touch, that’s what made each log unique. So, too, were the cockroaches, for each one looked very much the same to the casual observer, but yet each had their own unique personalities, all very special in their own way.
There’s a certain subtlety to detecting individual differences. To appreciate each roach’s individuality, you have to either be a perceptive roach yourself or a god of roaches. Some are good-looking. Some are ugly. Some are stronger and able to work harder. And, to a large extent, it was through these physical cues that roaches judged one another as good partners or friends, at least at first. That’s how they determined who to hang out with. So, to each roach, the way a particular roach looked on the outside was an indicator of what they were like on the inside. It was only over time that a roach’s unique personality could truly be revealed.
Sadly, most roaches were petty and superficial, which did not please the Great Log. So the Great Log deliberated on what she might do about this sad loser roach who clearly wanted a high-status friend. After some deep reflection, what she decided to do was send the pathetic roach another roach who looked and acted exactly the same as Zuri did. This way, only in time could the true value of companionship be understood.
Zuri would be disappointed at first to see a lowly specimen so similar to himself. However, in time he would have to work on the friendship and learn what it means to be a real friend, and hopefully better understand himself in the process.
So when the Log met Zuri again, he presented his brand-new friend, a roach that looked basically identical to Zuri in every way. He was small, ugly, had short legs and a pair of gangly over-sized, wiry antennae, a combination of features that made the runty creature completely awkward and lacking in any amount of grace whatsoever.
“Your new best friend, his name is Murray — it even rhymes with your name, Zuri — so it’ll be easy to remember,” the Great Log said.
He looked at his new best friend. Murray’s antennae were shaking with trepidation. The pair looked at one another with so much confusion.
“He’s not much to look at,” the Log said. “But he’s loyal, and he’ll never leave your side. He’s quite responsive, too. You never have to worry about him leaving you hanging. That is unless you act like a fool or something. But I have faith in you. You did say, after all, that you’d show me what a good friend you could be.”
Zuri had his doubts, still scrutinizing Murray. “This guy looks exactly like me,” he said.
The Log looked at the two of them, waited a moment to respond, and said, “What do you want from me? I gave you what you asked for. Now go. Enjoy your new best friend.”
* * *
A few months went by, and the Log remained at her post overseeing the business of the lumber yard as she had done for what seemed like centuries, to the mind of a roach, anyway. Every now and then, she would check on Zuri to see how he was getting along with his new best friend. As expected, Zuri and Murray went just about everywhere together. The pair were inseparable, like twins, never leaving each other’s side. The Log felt content and had assumed all was well. That is, until one day, the roach returned, alone.
“Where’s your best friend,” the Log asked.
“He’s at home, sick,” Zuri said. “He told me he wasn’t feeling well and was gonna take some time off to rest or something. It’s actually a relief. The punk won’t leave me alone. He’s like my shadow, always looking over my shoulder. He talks constantly. I feel like I never have a moment of peace to myself.”
“Sounds to me like a very loyal companion. Shouldn’t you be there at his side, since you are also a loyal friend? Shouldn’t you assist Murray in his time of need? Isn’t that what good friends do?”
The Roach, annoyed and impatient, replied, “You know, I’m seriously done with all this. I’m over it, really. Take Murray back or send him away. Work your magic or whatever, because I just need this guy to stop following me around. I’m sick of it. People look at us together, and it’s even worse than how they looked at me when I was by myself. They probably think, ‘Oh, look at those two idiots, a perfect pair, Murray and Zuri, neither one able to attract anyone else.’ The whole thing is a joke, and I’m done with it.”
“You’d rather be by yourself again, huh? Have you ever expressed this to Murray? Have you asked him to give you some space?”
“No, not in so many words. At this point I mostly just ignore him. He follows me everywhere, but we don’t really even talk anymore — not like we did in the first few weeks. Now he pretty much does all the talking. I mostly tune him out and say, ‘Uh-huh’ and ‘Oh, cool’. He’s not very smart, you know, so he doesn’t even notice the difference.”
“I warned you, roach. Friends are earned. They aren’t granted. It’s not every day that I grant a request like yours. You should feel fortunate that I even listened to you in the first place.”
Zuri could sense the Great Log was getting very annoyed. He was afraid to push the matter further at the risk of falling deeper into the bad graces of the Almighty One. It had been a rough year for him already, so he didn’t want his luck getting any worse. So, now in a more dismal mood than ever before, Zuri fell silent, turned away from the log and walked home.
On his way, he passed Murray’s house and thought about what the Log had said, about how he should probably just tell his friend how he felt. Maybe Murray would leave him alone, and they could peacefully go their separate ways. Maybe he could phase him out gradually, and they’d be acquaintances or something. Then years would go by, and then they’d be strangers again: painless, no harm done, no awkward emotional encounters. This way Zuri could go on being a regular old solo loser instead of one-half of a matching pair of losers.
Zuri walked up to Murray’s front door and gave it a knock. But to his surprise, someone else answered. “Where’s Murray?” he asked.
“Murray moved out. I picked up the lease today. He said something about moving to another lumber yard. Guess he wanted a new start, you know, see some fresh faces or something. Here...” The new tenant handed Zuri a scrap of paper. “He left you this.”
Zuri’s antennae drooped, bewildered by this sudden turn of events. The usually loquacious Murray never gave any hint of wanting something new.
He opened the note, and it said, “Dear Zuri, Got a job up in Smack Town. Had to go see about the opportunity. Was cool hanging with you. Thanks for always listening. — Murray”
There was no contact info or return address. Zuri felt a sudden emptiness. He thought about how he hadn’t ever really listened to a single word Murray said. He had barely paid any attention to him at all. He had failed as a friend, and he found himself feeling more lonely than he’d ever felt before. He was stuck on that word — listening, he thought — hanging on the one phrase written in Murray’s impeccable penmanship. Had I only listened. Maybe that’s all it would have taken?
Zuri continued, going the long way in shame so as to avoid further social interaction. He now understood what the Great Log’s goal was all along: to teach him a lesson about how friendship really worked. He reflected on his actions and vowed that if he ever got another friend, he would spend more time listening, more time paying attention, more time really seeing the other roach for who it was, and not being distracted by all the superficial lumber yard crap that didn’t matter. In the future, Zuri would try not to be so concerned about how everything reflected back on himself.
That night in his tiny one-bedroom flat, Zuri watched the sunset through the hole in the wall that functioned as a window. He held his antennae forward, gazing into the night. In the distance, the silhouette of the Great Log loomed heavy against the darkening sky. Well, Zuri thought, I suppose they don’t call her the Great Log for nothing.
Copyright © 2024 by Franco Amati
