What the new year brings

I began the new year 
suffocating a bug.
This does not bode well for 

my year ahead.

On New Year's Day,

a stink bug crawled across my kitchen counter and

reflexively,

automatically,

impulsively,

I covered it with my drinking glass.

Yes, I just set my drinking glass on top of it.

This is my INSTINCT, to kill.

The rawness of this

is frightening.

The base of the glass had a slight stem,

allowing a pocket of air

for the stink bug,

meaning it wasn't immediately killed,

but slowly tortured,

with its air limited,

its freedom taken.

This is worse, isn't it?

I have long left bugs for others.

It's who I am.

Growing up, in Navy housing,

I was notorious for 

capturing not killing

leaving 

someone else to find and handle.

I still giggle at the memory

Dad's early morning find

a discarded bowl on the floor

followed by his jumping

"WHAT THE?!"

as a cockroach raced away.

Maybe I'm not a killer.

Maybe I wasn't trying to kill the stink bug.

Maybe it was a reprise of my cockroach dance,

me not wanting to deal with this

punting the task

hoping someone else would take care of it.

After 34 years, my husband's on to me, I suppose.

He didn't move the drinking glass.

I told him the bug was there.

He told me he thought I should deal with it.

This is a supportive spouse, right?

Not an enabler.

Fostering growth and all that, right?

He wants me to learn new things, right?

Spirit of the new year and all?

I cannot imagine killing bugs.

This isn't goodness within but

pure selfishness

I cannot witness this

sensory overload

the grisly demise

the damp and squishy paper towel

the green color of tiny guts

even the slight hiss of 

that final moment.

Unbearable, it is.

I can't.

The drinking glass sat 

on the stink bug 

for three days.

I knew it was high time to wash the drinking glass

dispose of the body

deal

to be brave

except

glass is weird

you can see in it

I saw

the stink bug was still moving

for real

I saw my reflection, too

eyes wide, at this knowledge

My lack of immediate action

led me someplace worse

I didn't kill the bug outright

but slowly tortured it over a couple of days,

eliminating most of its air.

Shouldn't I have just killed it?

swatted it?

smashed it?

been done with it?

I had not killed the bug

I had tortured the bug

For. Three. Days.

This is much worse, right?

Who am I?

what to do?

what to do?

what to do?

I found an envelope from

a dear friend's thank you card

(where she had glowingly noted

how kind and loving I was,

irony not lost on me)

I slipped the envelope under

the drinking glass

carefully carried all

out of the kitchen

a slow walk

a funeral march 

to the backyard

where I

set the stink bug free

into the safe surrounds

of the spiny mahonia

I watched it

falter

flutter

disappear

all the while

hoping

for its forgiveness.

Footnote: After this 'interlude,' I read up on the brown marmorated stink bug . . . only to further my confusion about what I 'should' have done, how I 'should' have reacted to this find in my house. Wait, I 'should' be killing these? They are considered serious agricultural pests, introduced to the Mid-Atlantic from Asia in 1998. They devour plants, particularly fruits and vegetables. They 'winter' inside homes - and there are sometimes hundreds inside houses (oh, please, please, no). 

If I see any more, I may construct this trap, taking my malevolent tendencies to a whole new level.

To the year ahead!

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I wrote this post for Slice of Life.  All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, on Tuesdays. Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!