When I was growing up, I slept on the couch every night. We lived in a small house with only two bedrooms – one room belonged to my parents while the other had finally become my room after my older siblings moved out. The two bedrooms shared a thin wall, lumpy in places where decades of termites had packed their mud inside so tightly that the wooden paneling bowed out at the seams. I could never sleep in that room. I was afraid of the dark, and if I kept the lights on, yellow jackets would fly down through the light fixture in the ceiling which was connected to the attic. (I never set foot in my attic even once, but from what I gather, it was a jumble of bees’ nests and copper wires that somehow never caught fire.) So night after night, I’d wait until my parents went off to bed and then stretch out on the couch in our living room, cuddled underneath a velour blanket to protect me from the window unit air conditioner that was permanently set to arctic. I loved Nick-at-Nite and spent hours watching Roseanne, I Love Lucy, Three’s Company, and Bewitched, but never Gilligan’s Island because that show is stupid. By midnight, I’d get hungry and tiptoe into the dark kitchen to try and dig through the drawer with the Little Debbie Cakes. The plastic would crackle so loudly that sometimes I’d give up and run back to the couch for fear of waking Mom. Because the only bathroom in the house was on the other side of my parents’ room, Mom and Dad always slept with their door open right beside the kitchen. The floorboards underneath the linoleum cracked like thunder no matter where I walked, so my goal was always to take as few steps as possible. If I looked too closely, I might see a large house spider scurrying up the wall, illuminated by the light of the refrigerator. When I was little, I used to run into Mom’s room shrieking, begging her to come kill the spider. If woken up prematurely, Mom was even angrier than usual. She took on animalistic qualities, gritting her teeth and barreling toward her target so quickly that her silk nightgown caught the air and blew behind her; she almost always scared the spider away, but then I was left to deal with an enemy with less legs but far more bite.
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I really like pigeons, more than any other human I've met so far. View all posts by The Bird