Big Bug Blog

It was a big bug. In fact, my usual repertoire of imaginatively descriptive words would only serve to relegate this truth to cartoon-ish qualities. I am forced then, to assure you in the simplest of terms that the bug was indeed big. Nor is the fact that I have stated this truth in the past tense to be considered with the relief that a permanent, and especially fatal, solution was applied. It is merely that time has passed. It was a big bug, and, wherever it is, it is still a big bug.

It never ceases to amaze me that with all my intelligence, education, and poise, I am reduced to the stereotypical lady-on-the-chair shrieking, mentally, if not in reality, at the sight of the scurrying and unassuming critter darting along a dusty baseboard. To carry this deeply troubling flaw even further, I do not even share the bravery often exhibited by said chair-hopping screamers, to grab a broom and attempt to smash the offending creature from sight. I simply freeze.

Perhaps it is the fact that the large insect has chosen to do the same. After an initial scuttling flight of a few inches upon being unceremoniously caught in the light, it stands its ground and stares back. Thus begins the psychological battle to which I inevitably fall prey.

We begin the showdown of ‘who blinks first’, which is ridiculous since I am sure that bugs, even big ones, do not possess the necessary anatomy to blink at all. Nevertheless, the battle of wills has begun. The oft stated placation that ‘it is as frightened as you’ has never carried much weight with me. These promises seem unlikely in my experience. I am convinced that it knows it has me cowed into inactivity despite my own size, which is formidable at the least, and then uses the opportunity to insure that I will not sleep the rest of the night. Nor cross into this room again without scouring the shadows for its presence for weeks to come. I jump as it flicks an antenna. It is the big-bug equivalent of saying ‘boo!’ and I react obligingly with a gasp, hammering heart and cold sweat. The battle continues since I have made no move to reach for either a broom, or a wad of tissue.

I continue to stare in horrified fascination, unable to tear my eyes from its well-muscled legs and shining carapace.

“I know what you did last summer” the bug's sibilant, hollow words echo in my imagination, but are no less real than if shouted at me in a big-bug voice. Of course, I immediately know to whom the bug refers. It’s cousin Lenny, its Aunt Mavis, its brother Jimmy…or worse…its mother. The ‘big bug’ I encountered in the garage, the one between me and the door to freedom. The one I engaged in a similar battle with just a few weeks previously. The battle I was disgustedly triumphant about ‘winning’ at the time.

I won that battle thanks to a nearby bottle of industrial bug killer with sufficient jetted stream of death to be effective from my otherwise useless hands. I’d watched in nauseated triumph as I primed the hose to full capacity, and let loose a stream of poison upon that bug that should have been sufficient to kill all the insects within ten square yards. As the last of the chemical drained to a mere dribble at my frozen feet, the target in question began its agonizing crawl towards death. I fled the scene of the crime as soon as it had moved from my path to freedom. Gasping for breath outside I was horrified to see it had managed to spastically crawl towards the light of the open door, dragging most of its useless limbs in a shuffling parody of Insect-Oscar-worthy death throes. Making it outside after me, I could hear its dying gasps and knew its unspoken final menacing promise.

Since that moment of my short-lived triumph, I have known the day of reckoning would arrive. As sure as the hair on the back of my neck is standing straight at this moment, I know that to be the case. This big bug cousin, nephew, brother, son, stares me down defiantly. Perhaps my time to pay hasn’t yet arrived, but he knows where I live, and he’ll be back with reinforcements. I back out of the room slowly, never breaking eye-to-eyes contact. I may have gained my freedom now, but my life is irrevocably tainted.

I return to bed, brushing violently at wisps of hair that fall across my cheek, and twitching and scratching my arms uncontrollably. I feel so violated. I sleep under the covers, with the light on. I check my slippers on waking before attempting to retrieve the paper. I peer suspiciously into the mailbox before reaching in to check for mail. I feel unseen eyes upon me. The electrical shrill whine of the cicadas in the trees outside my house seem to grow in strength whenever I venture from my front door, reaching metal cutting intensity. The quality of my life is forever changed. It would have been better if, standing on the proverbial chair, I had been able to grab the broom and whack with sufficient force to add big-bug jr. to my list of conquests. Perhaps my reputation would then have carried back to the colony that I was not to be reckoned with. Instead, in a few moments of frozen hesitation, I have ensured many sleepless nights and a vague sense of unease that will follow me wherever I go and whatever I do from now until I can make a stand.

The bug was big. But beyond that…I was small. For that, I will pay dearly.