Invasion

When I think of our first year of married life, I think of cockroaches. The cockroach infestation began with a single bug. This oval-shaped, flat, black cockroach scurried through the adjoining walls on a crisp November morning. By the time Christmas approached, the invasion had reached an epidemic. Hundreds of cockroaches dwelled within the confines of the small apartment walls. The cockroaches inched across the floor, tucking their hard bodies under tight spaces of counters and inside cabinet drawers. When I turned on a kitchen light, I heard an immediate soft swooping noise as a small army of cockroaches rushed to hidden alcoves. The battalion scurried across the floor, tucking their hard bodies under tight spaces in counters and inside cabinet drawers.

It was impossible to read the microwave clock in our galley kitchen. The illuminated display numbers had grown blank and dark. I looked at the clock and made a mental note to ask my husband to replace the lightbulb inside the machine. I then saw a quick flash of movement in the clock, revealing part of the green-lit number. The inside of the clock display was housing dozens of cockroaches, their heads smashed in tight groups, their round black bodies blocking out light from the clock. The downy hairs on my arm straightened and stood on end as I drew in a sharp breath. 

Seeing the invasion of cockroaches scampering across the linoleum tile and their stacked bodies blocking out the time display inside the microwave clock made my head tremble as my whole body shuddered. Cockroaches are oily to the touch. Even though none of these insects touched any part of my body, the hairs on my arm recoiled as if they had rubbed against their hard, flat shells against my bare skin. My shoulders quivered in repulsion, my wiry brown hair shaking back and forth in tight clumps. 

Were cockroaches hiding in the silverware drawer, touching the utensils with their thin antennas? Could a cockroach pop out of the drain while I was shaving my legs in the bathtub, scurrying onto my exposed body? I suppressed the urge to gag and pushed up my glasses further up my nose. My palms were clammy, dripping with sweat despite the frigid outdoor temperatures. Living in the cheapest apartment in town during our first year of married life was not without its price. 


I would get married exactly when I did if I could do it over again. But maybe, if it were possible, I could do it without cockroaches.