The other morning, I was in the bathroom ready to take a shower. I turned on the water, picked up my bar of soap, stepped into the bath and began to draw the curtains. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something go flying into the bath.
Startled and operating solely on instinct, I leapt out of the tub and lost my hold on the bar of soap. Once I found the soap (which had traveled quite a bit of distance), I turned my attention back to the shower. There, crawling across the floor of the tub, desperately trying to escape the running water, was the rather large unidentified insect I had seen a few days before.
Background: Several days prior to the aforementioned scene, I had walked into the bathroom to find this insect perched on the wall. As I looked at it my first thought was, “That’s a very large insect.” I don’t have a smart phone so I couldn’t take a picture to research what it was, and honestly, even if I had a smart phone, I don’t believe I would have used it to play National Geographic Insect Photographer. On the heels of the, “That’s a very large insect” came, “Normally, I would find a way to catch you and let out. But you’re really quite too large for me to deal with right now, and I’m not very confident that you’ll make it easy for me to catch you and release you into the wild suburbs of Brooklyn. So, I’m going to walk away with the hopes that someone else who lives in this house will help you in whatever way s/he can.” And so I walked away.
Later that evening, I cautiously entered the bathroom and after a painstakingly deliberately slow search, found no signs of it. The next time I went in, I did the same thing. Inevitably, my concern at finding the insect waned with every visit I made to the bathroom. But as I now watched it struggling to escape the water from the shower, a part of me admitted to knowing (akin to a sixth sense) that it had never left the bathroom.
Epilogue: I recount this experience as a reminder to face, head on, that which can be faced in the moment, instead of leaving it to someone else. Had I been braver about making an effort to help the insect escape the house two days ago, I wouldn’t have had the experience of our reunion a few days later.
I am sad to report that the unidentified flying insect ended up in a watery grave. I was actually quite upset at not being able to help it and went as far as to say a prayer for it.
Later that morning, I was waiting on the subway platform to make my second connection to take me to work. I had been singing to myself. I hadn’t done that in a while—singing out loud, albeit to myself, in public. And I was singing a song I hadn’t thought of in ages; Let the River Run by Carly Simon. Next thing I knew, I felt what I believe to be a flying insect, swoop by, brush against my lower lip, and speed away. I remember clearly thinking, “It’s almost as if that insect just kissed me!”
Personally, I'd like to believe this meant I had been forgiven for the role I played in the earlier insect encounter.
It clearly felt like an open and shut case of Kiss and Run ;)
Just sharing :)