Mosquito Madness

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.