Rain from the Stars


The bugs always find a way in. Even when I make sure the doors and windows are shut, they find a way. I'll find a daddy long-legs crawling up the wall of the bathroom, or a moth caught in the light fixture. I'll find an earwig on the kitchen tiles or next to the boots at the front. I hate it but I'm too friendly to kill them.

So I get a slip of scrap paper or an old magazine and try to catch them and take them outside. I can't really blame them for wanting to come in where it's warm and dry.

Rusty makes fun of me for it, from time to time. Usually when I'm running by with a scrap of paper, trying to get the door knob to turn while twisting the paper so the bug can't crawl off. He'll say something about how I'm probably letting more bugs in anyways. Or how it's just going to come right back in.

But he understands why I do it.

On days when he's gone, doing field work for some of the guys or something, I'll go wander in the forest. I really prefer to meet the bugs in their home, and not mine. Little worms under rocks, or centipedes under the ferns.

I used to play with bugs a lot when I was a kid. Especially when my family went to stay with Grand-mere on the farm.

My Grandma always used to say 'bebites, bebites,' when I brought a bug inside. She would get mad at me and yell in French. Maybe that's why I hate to let the bugs in now.

When Rusty is home alone he just squishes them. I know because I've found their little brittle corpses, between the pages of books and under cereal boxes. I don't say anything to him about it.

The other night a moth got caught in our room. After we turned the light out it flew all over the room, landing on all the whitewashed walls. Rusty kept telling me to ignore it. Then he would turn over and doze some more. I wouldn't tell Rusty this, because he'd get annoyed, but I found that moth really calming. Like a night protector, fluttering around my bed, the way I imagined guardian angels when I was a kid.

When we woke up it was gone.