Mosquito Madness

I’m drifting off to sleep, listening to the summer night’s breeze rustling the leaves on the oak outside my window. Peaceful. Dreamy. Safe.

I’m almost asleep when a loud buzzing sound fills my ear. A disturbing annoyance cancels all thoughts of sleep, disturbs all peace. Buzzzzzzzz…buzzzzzzzz…buzzzzzzz. Only a mosquito can make that sound. How did it get in here? Buzzzzz…buzzzzzzz.

I swat and slap at this annoying creature. I’ll get it; I know I will. I’ll knock it down in midair and put it out of its misery. That itsy-bitsy pest can’t survive my powerful swipes. So I swing to the left, to the right, above my head, over my stomach, everywhere. I don’t miss an inch of the darkness. Nothing could survive this extreme attack of mine! I probably look like a crazed wind turbine. There, I’m certain now it has to be dead. I had to hit it, with my arms flying everywhere swatting and swiping. It is probably knocked dead, somewhere on the floor . . . I’ll just clean it up in the morning.

Slowly my panting ebbs. Tranquility is returning. Then I realize my body is tensing, tensing. It is becoming so tense my muscles start to weaken. It must be tense because I am listening, listening. I’m listening so hard my ears feel like they’re twitching. Silence. Blessed silence. No nasty creature here to bother me anymore. The breeze rustles the leaves; I’m on some beach—azure water, giant white clouds like full-blooming magnolias, warm sand. Suddenly, I snap awake: buzzzzzzz…buzzzzzz…buzzzzzz. No! No! No!

Okay, this time I will get it. I swing my feet onto the floor, turn on the light, pick up a T-shirt, and listen. Nothing. I peer everywhere like an eagle. Eagle Eye they should call me—I don’t miss anything. But, I look carefully into the light, and . . . nothing. Do lights attract mosquitoes? I think so. I scan the walls, the ceiling, my T-shirt gripped as hard as possible ready for the assault. Nothing. Silence. I watch the light. I stand still, listening and ready. Nothing. Silence. I wait, stiff as a board. Still nothing.

I decide to crawl back into bed, leaving the light on. I cling to the T-shirt. If that tiny pest is still in the vicinity, the light will attract it, and then I shall swat it, and then finally I shall have a peaceful night’s rest. I wait, listen. A car goes by. The breeze rustles the leaves. How can I hear the buzz with all this racket? I get out of bed, close the window, get back into bed, and pick up my deadly weapon. Yes, now I can hear better; I am ready. The breeze won’t disturb me now. I listen. I wait. First, I lie on my back. I can scan the space in my room now. Eagle Eye, that’s me. I tune up both ears to 100 percent capacity. This is good. I was born ready for this adventurous game.

I feel my back growing stiff. Suddenly I am not comfortable on my back anymore. I need to turn. I’ll turn toward the light. The light should attract this pestering nuisance. All I really need to do is watch the space around the lamp. I wad up the T-shirt. New strategy. Good strategy. I’m ready and waiting. One swipe and this war will be over. That mosquito will never bother anyone ever again.

Then I see it, clinging to the wall like super glue, waiting for me to just smack it. On the count of three, I am going to kill it. One . . . two . . . THREE! SWAT! SWAP! SMACK! SWIPE! Ahhhhhh, at last!

Finally, I’ve put that little bug out of its misery—and out of mine. And I guess I’ll just clean it up (along with the broken lamp) in the morning.