We spent the weekend away, with friends, talking about things that are important, and some things that are arguably less important. It felt nice to be surrounded by people who were equally disturbed by current events and who were also trying to appreciate the day for what it was. Sunny and mild, the leaves beginning to change and fall, the air a mix of decay and freshness. We drank a lime rickey, I bought a new pen at a store that closed years ago and is now reopened and somehow looks like it’s been there forever.
When we got home the house was cold because we weren’t home to open the windows and let in the unseasonably warm temperatures. I dumped my bags on the floor and headed for the bathroom. I pulled down my pants, sat on the toilet and looked to my right, towards the door where we hang our towels, and there it was. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like a clump of hair and dust had somehow clung to my husbands towel. Maybe while he was bringing it back to the bathroom from the bedroom to hang up it had dragged on the floor a bit. A little sweeper.
I have a keen eye for these sorts of things and I knew immediately what it was and screamed: “We have an emergency in here!” My husband knows that typically means there’s a spider in the bathroom, and casually made his way down the hall towards the sound of my voice. It wasn’t a spider. It was a many legged fuzzy thing with a serpentine spine and the ability to flatten itself and squirm its way into and through all manner of crevices. They live in the basement and occasionally make their way to the first floor where they terrorize me with their speed and agility.
My whole body was tingling as I finished up my business and crept out of the bathroom and gave clear instructions as to where I had last seen this nightmare bug. It was swiftly taken care of but my body still highly attuned to its presence keeps looking for it on the towel, on the floor, the image of its many legged body burned onto the interior of my eyelids. I will never understand how my eyesight is so abysmal when I want to see something small from a great distance and is somehow, inexplicably razor sharp when I spot something that might be a bug. If this is my super power I do not want it, thank you very much.
Logan M. Shannon 