There I was, innocently flipping the switch on my bedroom wall, reminiscing about the nice evening my husband and I had just had; riding bikes, watching the sun set over the river, watching a movie, my head in his lap so that he would play with my hair…When out of nowhere I felt a swoosh go right by my head, followed by flapping wings. My feet registered what was happening and started moving towards safety before my head did, my fight or flight instinct alive and well. Evidently, the flight aspect is my go-to when faced with what my body thought was grave danger. I screamed and ran, ducking at the same time as if under fire, to the bathroom, where I promptly slipped and fell, while trying to slam the door. After I assessed that I wasn’t seriously hurt, I opened the door a crack, to see a bat, frantically making a bee-line, or maybe a bat-line, for my head. I slammed the door shut, only to realize too late, that my phone was on my bed; I had no way to summon help.
“Wait, yes I do,” I thought, “I can open my window and yell to Tiny,” who was in the garage at the time. I’m not much of a yeller, so when that failed to elicit a response, I resorted to whistling, actually more of a high-pitched squeal until I saw a shadow and heard my husband say incredulously, as this is the first time I’ve summoned him with a whistle in 28 years, “Is that you Bugs? WHAT are you doing?” In a shaky voice, dripping with adrenaline and fear, I shouted to him, “I’m trapped!!” “Huh?” he said, struggling to reconcile the peaceful easiness of the night, with the note of hysteria in my voice. “I’m trapped!” I cried again, as my plight came out in a tumble of strung together words. “There’s-a-bat-in-our-room-and-I’m-stuck-in-the bathroom!!” And, just like any hero who is worth his salt would, he replied, “I’ll be right there!”
And he was, work gloves and an old flannel shirt on, a hat on his head, and a towel in his hands, as if he had a “bat disposal kit” at the ready, for just such an emergency. “C’mere, c’mon,” he cajoled the frenetic bat, while I peered through a slit in the door the width of a dime, and shouted unhelpful exclamatory remarks. “Get him! Get him! Oh, he’s terrible! I hate him!” “What?” he said, huge smile on his face. “He’s beautiful! Look at him!” ” I don’t want to look at him! I want him to go!” Just then, he lighted in the corner of the room, and my batman snuck up to him, covered him completely in the towel, and with a triumphant look towards the slit in the bathroom door, said “Don’t worry Bugs, I got him, you can come out!” Breathing a sigh of relief I emerged shakily from my hiding place, while he brought the bat outside and freed him.
It was at this point, I noticed that I had skinned my knee and bruised my thumb while I was fleeing. It made me think of how ridiculous I had just acted, especially considering that I am a nurse, and should be calm under pressure; and I am, but apparently not when frenzied, flying mammals are involved. I mentally added bats to my growing list of fears that I’m developing in my advancing years: surly dogs, mice, heights and now bats. I also realized that I am more of a runner than a fighter, and that conveniently my husband is a fighter. I don’t think this is just a gender thing, because I know for a fact that my own daughter is a fighter, something I learned quite by accident, when taking a walk with her when she was 16, and I cowardly jumped behind her when a German Shepard lunged at us. Using my own daughter as a human shield was not my proudest mom moment, but it did allow me to get a glimpse of her strength and fearlessness. “Get out of here! Go on home!” She demanded with such confidence and authority that the dog, who no doubt outweighed her, stopped in his tracks and slunk back to the decrepit, elderly house trailer he had attempted to defend.
Winged intruder gone, I conducted a thorough search of the bedroom for guano, then gratefully dropped into bed, but not without a wary, soured feeling which particularly distressed me as I had taken advantage of the beautiful day earlier, and washed and hung all the bedding out on the line. The sun-drenched, fresh smell I had been looking forward to all evening now felt tainted, but at least the bat was gone. “That was fun!” Tiny chuckled, reliving the moment with a smile on his face. When I didn’t respond, he looked at me and his expression softened, “I love that you were so afraid of that bat, it was very endearing.” I smiled at him, grateful that he relishes any opportunity protect me, even if it’s only from a bat. “Well, I love that you weren’t.” I said. So, content with our day, the fresh linen and each other, we slept.
