Pests

On the other side of the wall, she could hear the soft drone of motorbikes’ engines as each took their turn speeding past her apartment complex and into the late of night. The sun had long since set and occasional voices could still be heard laughing, speaking something of unintelligible Italian. Huddled under unfamiliar blankets, there she lay, slowly making her way into unconsciousness. The night was fairly warm, yet she had earlier covered herself­ – head to toe – so aside from a small portion of her face no one could see any exposure of skin. Wearing a hooded sweatshirt with its strings drawn and cinched, and pant legs tightly tucked in socks, she drifted to slumbers. The last sound was of a mosquito humming in the darkness, searching for pulsating blood and some meaty flesh to puncture.

 

*****

 

I’m not sure what time it is when I step outside. The day has suddenly surrendered its light in exchange for a darkness that blankets the world around me in a snug embrace. On my shoulders rests a light scarf, which I readjust and pull closer as I walk over to the outside dining table. Mom and Wescott are already there. I take a sweeping gaze and look them each over. Deep in concentration they sit with shoulders hunched over opened laptops. There doesn’t seem to be a need for acknowledgments, so without lingering I unceremoniously take a chair and have a seat. Not five minutes have gone by when a faint plopping noise disrupts the relative silence. And along with it is an even fainter feeling of something touching my shoulder. Something, wet? Glancing across to Mom, I see no reaction or any subtle shift of emotion on her face.  No cognizance of any plopping noise.  So I decide to shrug off the whole thing, but a part of me dares to investigate.  That’s when I look up to the beamed roof sheltering the table and notice a pair of eyes staring down at me.

“Mom. Look up. That gecko just pooped on me.” I don’t know why I should be surprised though. We are in Bali.

“Oh yeah!?” Yeah mom, yeah. Laughter is heard from the other end of the table and I don’t need to turn to know that it’s Wescott.

The moment is then over and we go back to working like nothing ever happened. My fraction of annoyance vanishes as soon as it appeared and I hand Mom my now poopy scarf.

 

*****

 

Sand molds to the shape of her feet. An equatorial sun blazes down and from under the thatched roof where she sat, everything looked as though it was coated in a thick sheen of blinding white. It’s peaceful. Time seemed to move slowly. Everything was where it should be. Yet paradise came with a cost. She believed in that even more when occasional stabs of stinging would ring through to her nerves. Almost like a pinch or a pinprick. And as she focused in on that sudden sensation a tiny black dot appeared at the edges of her vision. Chasing the dot with her eyes, she found that when it moved it left behind in its wake a small itching bump. Ever so gracefully, with a flick of the wrist and a slight frown of disdain, she sent the black bug flying. After some time had gone by and more black dots appeared, a realization came that started at the ceiling. The bugs were falling; coming from above!

 

*****

 

It’s sticky. The air is heavy and thick. I can feel that beads of sweat are running down in rivulets on my body somewhere. Everywhere. The ghost of a draping mosquito net hangs overhead, encircling me in a white haze. I roll over on my left side. Long seconds pass before my eyes finally adjust to the gold morning light. A lone ant haphazardly makes its way across the mattress and stops just inches in front my face as if it could sense the impending doom that’ll send him crashing off the bed.  I’m about to try and get a few extra minutes of sleep when I remember the glass of water I had the night before. This, if nothing else, gets me up and rushing straight to the bathroom.  Once there, I foolishly spend no time to take in my surroundings. And so I’m left relieving myself when a light weight sends shivers racing up and down my spine.  Bending over I see an ant is crawling along my upper thigh, yet I’m still drowsy from the remnants of a lost sleep to make sense of it all.  I just brush him off without any dramatic displays and head to the sink.  My ant causalities haven’t passed, I find, in fact it looks like I might be in the very thick of it: on the walls, stretching over half the bathroom, into my bedroom, and across the floor to the balcony is one long giant ant trail.

 

*****

 

Her eyes flew open and immediately she wished she could crawl back into the safety of her dreams.  Outside the room was a cacophony threatening to distill inside her the calmness that comes with the beginning of a new day. Yet, this new day was one she knew she would rather skip.  The sounds were of obnoxious voices, heavy with misconceived pride, drowned by a layer of premeditated whines, and on top, struggling to own dominance, was another voice (or was it two?) straining with agitation and exasperation.  She wouldn’t let her morning start off like this.  So she waited until the noise had momentarily subsided and then forced herself out of bed.  When she entered the main living room, her eyes took on a foggy look and somehow she felt herself floating away—creating distance from the scene laid out before her.  There were four boys sprawled throughout the spacious room, but that didn’t make a difference. The walls were lopsided, seemingly about to cave in, and all of a sudden it became very crowded and she swore she could hear the noise again despite the lack of moving mouths.  Then, she understood.  Snapping back into reality she couldn’t help but laugh.  Those were all her brothers.