The heat was oppressive and the car was a rusty pressure cooker with no air conditioning and uncomfortable seats with sticky vinyl cushions and poor padding that stuck out in only the most irritating places.

"Will you stop that goddamn noise?" Their father said, almost yelled, not thinking of their tender years, only of his sweaty grip on the faux leather steering wheel and the line of cars and pavement ahead and behind and his pulsing headache that was clouding his rational thought.

"Aaron, honey, if you could please stop singing," their mother said, her eyes cast down at her lap and her short blond hair hanging, gently brushing the edges of her young face. "Daddy's trying to drive."

"But we aren't going anywhere, Mommy," Janie said from the backseat. Her face was plaintive and innocent, her blue eyes wide, already beginning to water.

Next to her, Aaron continued singing to himself, seemingly oblivious. The melody was the fourth movement, the "allegro con fuoco," from Dvorak's New World Symphony. He worked his way through the intricate parts, humming in crescendos and decrescendos, orchestrating with his child's voice as he stared out the window at the leafy green forest beyond the edge of the dark asphalt road. His fair hair shifted in the humid air as his head swung in time with his music, and his pale eyes darted from image to image, taking everything in through split second observations. As they scanned the stationary scene through the window, his eyes focused on something, and stayed. It was something flying a few feet away, a large insect. He leaned closer to the glass, still humming to himself. His small hands gripped the edge of the car door along the window, occasionally drumming in rhythm.

Traffic had not moved at all in fifteen minutes. Their father stared straight ahead and tightly closed his eyes for a moment, then looked again, peering over the faded, cracked blue dashboard at the cars beyond. Most motorists had shut off their engines, and many had actually gotten out of their vehicles and were walking around. As he stared, the feeble breeze that was the station wagon's attempt at climate control rattled from the air vents in the dashboard, smelling vaguely of dried leaves. And then he heard the singing again, the same lines of incessant melody, repeated.

"Aaron, I told you stop that noise!" He exploded, staring over his shoulder at the back seat.

A final note hung in the air for a moment, a slight quaver, a tremolo, at its end. There was virtual silence as Aaron looked at his father, face torn away from the window, his mouth open slightly, as if sighing gently. Their mother just sat, her hands folded and eyes closed. The only sounds were the rustling output of the aged fan and the intermittent rumbling of the engine from deep within the bowels of the car.

The quiet was broken as Janie began to cry, filling the small space that was the station wagon's interior with sound, her sobs hanging heavily in the confined area. Their father shut off the engine. "Everyone get out of the car." He said, his voice oddly calm, "Just get out!"

Aaron watched his father who was breathing hard, the rise and fall of his thin shoulders partially obscured from view by the back of his blue vinyl seat.

Sensing opportunity, Aaron unlatched his seat belt, pushed open his door and waded into the thick, muggy air of freedom.

He walked across the thin strip of dusty shoulder that lay along the road, to the green grass and wildflowers that separated this half of the highway from the surrounding forest.

Lightly resting on a plant on the ground before him, slowly fanning its wings, was his quarry. It was a magnificent dragonfly, an enormous four inches long, it's body glistening green and blue in the brilliant sunlight, it's wings delicate and gossamer, with rainbows in their translucency. More than that, it was his dreams of magic and flights of fantasy and the power and beauty of life in one small form.

As Aaron studied his prize, awestruck, his mind vaguely registered hearing the voices of his parents from outside the nearby car.

First his mother, speaking softly, trying to soothe. "David, I know you're worried, but it'll be okay. And the kids don’t know…you can't…"

"I'm sorry, Karen," his father's voice was stronger, though without he confidence it normally held. "I'm just so worried about dad that I…I don't know. And I don't know how to tell the kids. And this damn parking lot of a road. What the Hell could be wrong?" If Aaron had been paying more attention, he would have noticed tears in his father's voice, but he wouldn't have believed it; his dad didn't cry.

"Come on," she said, her voice gentle. "Let's not worry so much. You can take a break from driving, let's get Aaron and Janie out of the car and we can have a nice picnic along the side of the road." She paused for a moment.

"Where's Aaron?" she asked, a note of panic creeping in to her voice.

Aaron didn't hear the end of the conversation, as he had wandered off, following his flying emerald treasure.

People milled about on the road and the surrounding areas, filling the gaps between cars, some lounging, lying down, others vehemently venting their frustration. They were like the ants milling about in the dust along the side of the road, while Aaron was the dragonfly, apart from them, above them with his own agenda.

His meandering flight took him past people selling cans of pop from coolers, trying to make a quick buck. He passed old cars and new cars, sports cars, luxury cars, and people of all sizes, shapes and colors. But only his dragonfly held his attention.

Then it stopped for a moment, perching on a curious hood ornament. The car was rather unusual, like an old VW bug but longer, a deep maroon with chrome trim, and this hood ornament which looked vaguely like a water buffalo Aaron had once seen on a PBS special.

"So your friend likes water buffalo, eh?" A jolly voice asked. As Aaron rounded the hood and walked to the wide grassy median that separated the north and south lanes of the road, the speaker came in to view. He was an older man, very old to Aaron. Also very big compared to Aaron.

"What's your name?" the man asked reclined in a battered looking lawn chair, a smile on his weathered face.

"I'm Aaron." He wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, but his mother had never said anything about not talking to strangests.

"That's a good name," the man said, nodding his mostly bald head solemnly, his fringe of gray hair rustling slightly in a lethargic warm breeze. "You can call me Edwin. How old are you, son?"

"I'll be nine this fall," Aaron said, his hands in the pockets of his beige shorts. His attention alternated between this man and the dragonfly, which was still perched on the hood ornament, it's wings slowly beating.

"What brings you out here?" the old man asked, trying to get a little more conversation. He adjusted his pink and blue checkered shirt. "Me, I'm off to Florida. Can't stand the state itself, mind you. Too much pink and turquoise in the buildings if you ask me. And it's just too damn hot, pardon my Quebecois. Give me a good Moose Jaw winter over Florida any day. If it weren't for the manatees, I wouldn't bother to go at all."

"We're going to Florida too," Aaron said, excited, his attention momentarily shifted from his dragonfly. "Me and mom and dad and Janie. We're going to see my Grandpa and maybe go to EPCOT center."

"They've got some manatees there at EPCOT. You look for 'em boy. They're beautiful and majestic creatures." Edwin leaned forward as he said this, lending it an air of solemnity. Aaron nodded seriously.

"I will," he said, falling in love with the man.

"Well, you should probably get back to your family; I'm sure they're worried about you," Edwin said, leaning back in his chair again, beginning to open a yellowed newspaper that rested on his lap.

"I don't want to go back yet; my dad was yelling a lot and being mean." Aaron ran a hand through his hair and looked down.

"He didn't hit you, did he?" Edwin asked suddenly concerned again, a fire awakened in his deep-set eyes.

"No, he never hits us, but sometimes he yells really loud."

"Oh. There's nothing wrong with that then." Edwin said, once again relaxing. Then he looked at Aaron closely. "But if he becomes emotionally or physically abusive, you come let old Edwin know. You got that?"

"Yes sir," Aaron said sheepishly, he glanced over at the dragonfly. It had just taken off from the hood ornament and was starting to slowly fly away.

"You better catch up with your friend," Edwin said, now immersed in his newspaper. "Have a good trip."

"Good-bye," Aaron said, as he ran off to catch up.

"Such a nice boy," Edwin muttered to himself, turning the page to read the comics. "Reminds me of myself at that age."

The dragonfly flew onward, ever onward, and Aaron followed, captivated, sometimes running sometimes skipping, his loose, untucked Yoda T-shirt rippling with the breeze of his travel. Most people just ignored him; they had other things to worry about, but some watched and smiled, remembering what it was like to be a child.

Gradually Aaron noticed a column of thick black smoke that rose into the sky, bisecting the deep blue vault, the burning sun on one side, with a cloudless expanse on the other.

The smoke was rising from the body of a semi-truck, that lay on its side, the trailer and cab blocking the entirety of the two lanes of the highway. It's top was facing Aaron. The hood was charred and the trailer punctured in several locations. Off to one side, tow trucks and their crews were trying to figure out just how to clear this thing out of the road, while police stood around and did the same.

And then Aaron noticed the tall, lean shape of his father talking to one of the police officers running his hand through his dark hair nervously. And Aaron thought about how long he had been gone from the 1976 royal blue Subaru station wagon from which he had escaped.

And Aaron slowly backed away, wishing he had chameleon powers and willing himself to blend into the background, just in case he suddenly developed them.

But it was too late. His father had spotted to him, and ran up to him now. "Aaron! Thank God your safe." The pleasant tone of relief in his father's voice, and the smile on his face surprised Aaron. Maybe I'm not in trouble, he thought.

Then a cloud as dark as the smoke from the wreckage behind him seemed to pass over Aaron's father's face. "You're coming back with me right now. You're old enough to know better! You'd better start behaving on this trip or we won't go to EPCOT. What were you thinking running off like that?" As if in explanation, the shimmering dragonfly alighted on his shoulder, a brilliant counter point to the anger on his face set against the dark smoke behind.

And Aaron's father's hand reached up to his shoulder, as he looked at the magnificent insect.

And he swatted it down to the ground, where it smashed against the dusty shoulder, and his foot came down on it, crushing it against the ground. "Damn Georgia pests."

Aaron let out a shriek of agony and ran towards it, but his father picked him up, hoisting him over one shoulder like a sack. "You aren't running away again this time."

As Aaron struggled, captured by his father's grasp, slowly being hauled back to the confines of the family car, he stared at the dragonfly lying in the red hued sand just a few feet away. It's wings slowly moved, trying to catch the air, but the swarm of ants that infested the earth had already covered it, marring it's beauty with a writhing black mass that tediously picked it apart, devouring it alive, ripping apart its body and soul as it desperately tried to fly.