Sounds that Interrupt the Still of Night
written by: Joan Leotta
Zzzzzzznnnnnnn
Zin zin zin
Between my husband’s snoring and the mosquito that rode into the house on the back of my jacket when we returned from our evening walk earlier this evening, my attempts at falling asleep were doomed.
Zin zin zin
I mumbled to myself, “Where is that nasty little bug?” as I slipped out of bed. Almost tripped on my clogs. I knew if I were going to succeed in getting rid of the mosquito before he bit me, I had to be armed. Glancing around the bedroom in the bit of light provided by the moon through our windows, I spied last week’s New Yorker magazine on the bedside table. Weighty enough, I thought, to squish or herd this little bug away from the bedroom. I’d just have to—zin zin zin! I grabbed the magazine and rolled it up.
Now, where was that noise coming from?
If only I could echolocate like a bat!
I didn’t need an echolocator for that sound. That noise was from my dear husband. I usually turned him on his side after the second outburst, but tonight, I decided I would hunt the small game first. Zin zin zin.
Huh? Was the creature on my husband’s side of the bedroom? I spotted it circling Ralph’s head. Yikes! Ralph’s mouth was wide open. I hoped the mosquito would not fly between Ralph’s parted lips into the minty fresh cave of his wide-open mouth!
To better hone in on the crafty little creature, I decided to add the glow of my bedside lamp to the thin slivers of moonlight seeping through the blinds. Ralph is never much bothered by light—from lamps or moon or even early morning sun. I’d heard insects like to go toward light, so maybe the lamp would also distract the mosquito from Ralph. Hmm, was that just moths? I hoped it applied also to mosquitoes—at least before this one sank its proboscis into my flesh or flew into Ralph’s mouth and left us with—itchy skin or some horrible flu.
The light did reveal the bug more clearly. Zin zin zin.
That skinny little creature was ignoring the light on my side of the room and closing in on Ralph. I clambered back onto the bed and leapt toward Ralph, New Yorker in hand. I swatted, being careful not to hit my sweet Ralph.
Zin zin zin. Zin zin zin. Zin zin zin!
Zzzzzzzzznnnnnn—
I’d angered the little bug. I leaned back on my legs. All that movement in the bed caused Ralph to open his eyes. He saw me on my knees leaning over him, smiled, and rolled onto his side. No alarm. Evidently, Ralph did not see the rolled magazine in my hand.
No more Zzzzzznnnnn. Once on his side, Ralph closed his mouth and began to breathe through his nose. No more noise, but more importantly for this night, no attractive minty-smelling cave for the mosquito.
I waved the magazine about, hoping to see the mosquito who had fled when Ralph turned over. Silence. I let my clogs slip to the floor and pulled myself entirely back onto the bed. I closed my eyes. Forgot to turn off the light,
Zin zin zin
Ack. The mosquito was moving toward the lamp. I sat up, grabbed my magazine. Success! Except how could I swipe at or smash the critter without also killing my lamp? Quick, good reasoning is not my strong point in the middle of the night. Maybe, I thought, I could just encourage it to leave, herd it away from the bedroom, and out the door of our one-story home. I was sure it would prefer the warm, moist Carolina air out there to the dry, cool AC air inside the house.
Zin zin zin
Was that creature challenging me? I waved my magazine at it. The creature flew back toward the wall where the light from the lamp revealed a snapshot of bucolic beauty — a lake in nearby woods. Was the mosquito looking for a lake? Water. I slipped down off the bed again, not even looking for my clogs, and crept toward the wall. Swat! Zin zin zin, zin zin zin!
An angry cry from the untouched insect responded to the sound of the magazine meeting wallboard. My husband must have heard it, too. He rolled once more, onto his back—
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzznnnnnnnnnnnnnn—mouth open again.
Bug spray was out of the question. Didn’t want to poison us along with the critter, so I walked around to Ralph’s side of the bed and pushed him back onto his side, so his mouth fell shut. Having thus protected my sweetie, I turned off my bedside lamp and went out to the front door. I turned on the porch light and opened the main door, leaving only the glass door between us and potential burglars, and invasions of other bugs and wildlife. Who was going to break in on our street, I reasoned. Then I padded back toward bed, hoping the bug would at least make a home for itself on the glass door. There were only a few more hours of night left.
zin zin zin–
The mosquito swept past me toward the door.
I slept for an hour or so. In the morning, with the sun fully blasting, I saw the mosquito sleeping soundly on the glass. I opened the door and, with the edge of the magazine, pushed him gently out onto the porch. I didn’t have the heart to smash him. After all, he’d been a guest in our home!
The bug woke up mid shove—zin zin zin. Before I could determine if he was thanking or scolding me, I closed the glass door and our green metal front door.
Needing a quick dose of caffeine, I walked into the kitchen. From there I could hear zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzznnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Ralph.
The sun was shining full steam ahead into our bedroom, but that didn’t bother him. He had no idea how I had battled all night long between him and the mosquito to try to get some sleep. I put the magazine down on the kitchen table and made myself a cup of coffee. Then another.
I had to admit, even though I had gotten some sleep had not been a total failure, but neither had it been a great success. I had not managed to fully quiet either one, Ralph or the winged one, but at least I got Ralph quieted down—and managed to evict the winged one with the help of the New Yorker’s latest issue. I signed knowing that I’d still have nightly battles trying to sleep through Ralph’s zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzznnnnnnnnnnn.
I looked down at the table. The magazine had fallen open to an ad for a snoring remedy.
Hmm. The magazine had helped me herd the noisy little bug out of the house. Maybe it could also help with Ralph’s sounds. I picked up my phone and punched in the numbers in the ad for Snore-No-More. Made a mental note to be sure to renew my subscription to the New Yorker since it was proving to be quite a practical publication.
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