Thursday, December 6, 2012

Skink in my Sheets

*As posted 29, May 2012*

For some seven months now I've been wrapped up in this struggle. I usually consider myself the victim in this situation. Still, I'm not proud of everything that has transpired. A fair warning: like many weird stories this one takes place in the bedroom.

It usually starts somehow as follows: I come home after a long day at the fish farm, and go about my routine. I slurp down the last of my ramen noodles just before the sun sets and light a candle. I make my way to the bedroom and tune in to the World Service. And in that presumed privacy I strip down to my skivvies, you know... to keep cool while I'm stretching. My attention is usually on the shortwave radio, so I rarely notice when I'm being watched. She'll be lying there, like the skink she is, pressed between my sheets completely silent. Completely unwelcome. I don't know why she keeps showing up, what she expects. She can't possibly think I appreciate her sly intrusion. How she manages to slink in there, undetected, time after time.

I'll admit it was cute at first, even a little flattering. I used to feel bad when I chased her out of the mosquito net, back when it all seemed so innocent. Back before her perseverance bordered on insanity. She always scurries away dramatically, as if I were out to do her some harm. It used to be fun, like some sort of dance, something you could laugh about, but lately it just seems sad, even pathetic.

I've hit new lows. The other day I just picked her up and dropped her on the floor, without uttering a word... I don't even know myself anymore. Of course all of this makes a man ask some pretty tough questions about himself. How could I be this callous? What is it about me that draws such reptiles into my bed?

She was there again last night, curled up with her head under the pillow. When I discovered her she played dumb, again, as if she was there by some mistake... again. I shouted. I'm not proud to say, but I really let her have it. The worst part about it was that she just sat there, looking at me with that unblinking stare, with her head cocked to the side... she licked her face. Completely disarming. That's when I noticed she had had another accident. I stopped yelling and tried to calm myself. This happens from time to time. She spends so much time in there, that once in a while she'll leave behind an almond sized turd. I felt bad. It had to be really embarrassing for her. I heaved a big sigh, flicked it away (“at least you didn't try to hide it under the pillow again”) and, for the first time, I relented to the absurdity and made to lay down -but then , just as I was giving in, she bolted up in a panic, clawed her way through a space under the netting and disappeared under the bed. She'll be back tomorrow, she can't help herself. Crazy-ass skink.

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