I woke up and the bed bug was sitting on my oriental rug, talking about “Jane Eyre” with a personification of a family made out of snot. The snot son was excited to no longer be trapped in a pair of smoker lungs, and he was playing Pokemon Blue on a really old Game Boy Advance.
My arm was full of sores so deep that if I lifted a small flap of translucent skin and peered inside, I could see into a Japanese train where businessmen were sleeping in small bed units. One of the businessmen was smoking a black cigarette and eating a peach.
The bed bug saw that I was awake and looking at my sores. We made eye contact and he looked away sheepishly. We hadn’t been talking much since that time we had gotten bourbon drunk on a rainy night and ended up eating a whole box of Lucky Charms together. I said, “See, it gets better than gnawing on me in my sleep.” We got in a bit of a fight then, which I felt bad about. He had given me surprisingly kind advice after my girlfriend left me. She was deaf in one ear but I’m not sure why that’s important to this story.
Seeing the personified snot family sitting on my rug once again did not please me. I made coffee and eyed them in a way that I felt said, “get out of my house.” The dad had this disgruntled recession-survivor era about him, and he smelled like dirty leather. I got the sense he felt entitled to be wherever he was. I knew it was time to try harder to get the pests out. Then maybe I could get my girlfriend back. I walked into the closet in search of any weapons I could find.
Check back for part two next week.
–Becky Lang heard about bed bugs on the radio once and they seem really scary