One year ago today, in the middle of the night, I bolted upright in bed, irritated by unspecified movement in my hair and on my head. The harsh light was on, never turned off that night so the little parasites were caught in the act. Scratching and rubbing my face and head caused a cascade of fat little fellows, filled with my blood, right down my forehead, eyebrows, nose and chin, my face: a new bedbug freeway. These fat vampires made a plip sound as they hit the sheets in my lap and
I realized what was happening. I remember being disconnected from it enough to feel proud of my bravery. I was being feasted on by tiny, newly moribund creatures and my screams were not shrill and fearful but barking bold expletives as though they would be humiliated by my words. I was frozen in place reaching for bugs on my lap sheet and howling as I popped them, hopeful that my son would soon see this courageous slaughter. And he was there quite quickly I might add, up the stairs, thump thump thump, skipping stairs, he appeared. Before he realized what was happening he shouted in the tired, annoyed tone that sons reserve for their mothers who they feel often exaggerate.
"My god Mom. What the hell are you doing up here?"
Once he saw the bugs, he quickly changed to a hero, helping me out of the nightmare.
Sarah, downstairs served as the calm director of bedbug debacle, in a low voice never leaving the downstairs bedroom, she reined in the rodeo and managed to soothe the household, although I think we all slept with one eye open after that.
In retrospect, I remember when Kevin left that evening to pick Sarah up, I was reluctant to be alone (which is not generally problematic for me). In fact, I left the light on when retiring and I had to force myself to lay down and even then I felt like I could hardly stand to put my head down it just felt so wrong in there, so dusty.
And yet... everything was clean on the surface. It just seemed like no one had been there for so long like it was a dusty old attic.
But I will never forget that smell. And although I quickly deleted the pictures I took, every once in a while, my Google seems to have a sense of humor when it sends me: 'Memories of Hawaii' and one picture of an especially fat bedbug, newly popped.
The picture is not all bad. Although a grotesque misadventure, it reminds me of a photo a big game hunter might frame of the rhinoceros he bested in an African safari.
Throughout the vacation and the next few weeks we remained ever vigilant, washing and tossing anything we thought the bedbugs may have hitched a ride on, and thankfully, we came out clean. The beach house we were transferred to, at no cost, was the greatest gift of all.
Did you ever get a great upgrade you paid dearly for?
At the Best Beach House ever, Sarah took this picture of the only creature with whom we connected as closely as the bugs. He wandered amiably around the neighborhood, jogging with Sarah when he could.