Jo Jo used to make fun of me

ROFL, I have a loathing for cockroaches or any variation. Any encounter with said crusty missiles tempting their fate are usually met with Epic Story Telling in my mind.

“the commander” Basic Training
30 July 2007

Warriors, super heroes, and knights in shining amour come and go from our daily lives. In my travels during my military life there has been one constant; my fear of insects.

I never noticed I had a phobia growing up in Alabama; the big old pine tree roaches were a rare critter which men would crunch under their large feet. You know that sound like ice breaking over a frozen puddle as “the knighted one in plaid polyester pants” would use his weight like a trusted saber while shod in patent white leather shoes. It was a sound that I grew to loathe but would have the occasion to hear after a heavy down pour since insects really don’t appreciate flooding water in their homes.

I think on my life with my family who regaled me with stories of these monsters. Built folklores around these insidious beasts to a point were the mental image brought forth a goose-bumped skin at the stories of “water bugs” in clothing factories. These monsters grew to epic sizes and in strength and intelligence. Sometimes unlucky one would entangle themselves in layers of cast-off thread around the factory floors running under the foot pedals of women while sewing. I remember the stories told of the beasts without heads moving weeks and days (shudder here).

So, is it any wonder these six legged insects had grew to demonic proportions in my mind. During Basic Training at Lackland, Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas; each recruit took turns with the flights laundry duty. Mind you these buildings have been around since the inception of the Air Force. The six-legged wonders were fully dug into the base and the use of entomologic pesticides over the decades made these creatures more pesticide resistant; not to mention Herculean in size and girth.

One afternoon true to my fortune; I pulled the ominous duty of sweeping and cleaning the laundry room; luckily with three other hapless recruits. As we finished the last of the sweeping; our male training instructor ordered us to use hoses to wash out behind the machines. (Please go back and read paragraph 2 in the very last sentence.)

I could feel the blood drain from my face, my heart stop beating and, that gut feeling like a stomach virus coming which makes one rush to the toilet. The other women and I just looked at each other with dread; we had heard the stories of things that went wrong with the laundry room clean up from our older sister flights. Okay, quick thinking and cowardice on my part: I volunteered to man the water hose. In my mind; at least I had a weapon that constantly available. Also remember that we are dressed in full sleeves, pants and combat boots.

Tap….tap….tap…….tap………tap…….tap, the sound of metal tips on the instructor’s shoes on concrete as he went back into the office. One girl manned the tap, and two had large push brooms as I trudged toward the mewling maul of the laundry room. I could feel my body, its cowardice so tense yet--not the water soaking my uniform. My plan of attack was to move into the laundry room, go directly to the back since there were only two drain holes in the middle of the room with the door on the far end.

I am there at the back of the room, water running, looking at my sister and holding my breath while I flood the side with the washers first. My theory, the bugs “if any” would be safely underneath the dryers for warmth and nesting. I also wanted to hold the battle off until the end of the cleanup since there will be screaming and trouble. So, I watched as my flight sisters swept out the extra water.

Mind you in my head; I was having conversations with all of my three inner selves: me, myself and I. “We the three” theorized that by just wetting in front of the dryers perhaps we would get lucky and the male instructor would not notice upon inspection. Yet, the little voices in my head told me; if he did not hear the sound of females screaming that he would know the truth.

I looked at my sisters, the warriors, had to face the awful mess of cleaning out from under the industrial dryers; these machines had have been over 6 feet in height and at four feet wide by five feet in depth. A body could be hidden in the cylinder cavity of the horizontal baskets. There were rumors of couples being caught in the act inside the units.

I took the hose carefully walked the aisle between wall and dryer to the back; I crimped the hose (it was at least and inch thick and black) so only a trickle was let out at first. I scanned to wall to see if any scouts had be sent forth to spy enemies surrounding their fortresses. “Nothing,” on the painted cement walls or ceiling but; I did catch a scurrying shadow towards the back of the wall: the gateway to their world.

I too now, only have one escape route and they have many. So, I let the water hose free and kept it towards the back and the first five seconds nothing happened. I took a breath: the first since, I had been holding it until I heard my heartbeat. Then like a thunderbolt from the recesses of hell, things started moving up, out, and over the machines in a mass blanket of motion.

Like molten lava, screams lit the late afternoon in pungent clouds of smoke. Then the report of broom whacks and boots kicks at the machines begin to vibrate the web like strands of air. Meanwhile, I am starring down the largest, hairiest legged, insect of my entire life. I am going to tell you: the monstrosity and I were in a Mexican Standoff. Never mind, we were both frozen in morbid fascination; his brethren were busy making escapes from the still running water and avenging warrior angels.

In our cowardly fright, both just waited to see which was going to make a move yet, neither of us was going to be the first. Eye to eye--mono y mono as the sounds of the other women splashing in the water, crunching exoskeletons, metal taps on concrete and metal thumps: we stood quietly. I see “the commander’s” long antennae barely moving and the sweat on my body starting to rivulet down my shirt front.

Then someone in their ingenious way of fore-thinking turned off the water. Mind you, I could not hear over the screaming but felt the hose stop silently humming. I and “the commander” are still in our, Mexican Standoff; not moving; to me that would have tempted fate. The space between the concrete wall and the metal dryer was approximately three feet and I liken his antennae to a spitting cobra; deadly. A movement or sound would cause him to move them with accuracy towards the offending sound. I could literally see each individual leg protuberance waving on the late afternoon breeze (probably a figment of my imagination) but, I still see it swaying. I have no where to go but to back out or stay.

I stayed due to the conversations going on in my head between: Me, Myself and I. The three ladies were playing out scenarios of “what if” in the worst biblical scenarios. “What if the commander decides to jump in your face,” “What if the commander runs up your leg after you miss hitting him,” “What if the commander decides to find you in your bunk, tonight because he knows where you live?” There were at least twenty or thirty other questions that “the triad of my personality” used to torture the deepest recesses of my mind and give me fleeting mental images of horror. Thus, I kept myself frozen in place.

I began smelling my own fear mixed with the starch in my uniform and knew the commander could too. My whole body was itching because of prickly heat encased my spine but, neither I nor the commander moved. That is when the resonating, tap, tap, tap, tap--scrap sound ended just behind me in the dryer row. “What the hell are you doing standing here,” shouts male instructor?

Mind you that I am still speechless but used my free hand’s index finger and pointed to the commander. “Well, KILL IT RECRUIT,” he bellowed behind me. To which I simply made the, “UH-UH” sound in my throat. While in my head, I was screaming at the male instructor. “Are you crazy that thing will jump and fly at my face?” Male instructor then bellows, “Kill it now because it is time for chow!” I see the commander calmly turn his head toward the male. (Here alone inside my head lost in thought, I think “would it not be cool if the commander attacks the male instructor instead of me?)”

I see “the commander’s” antennae moving in the air like he is trying to get a feel of male instructor. I was still frozen with no intention of moving while the commander tasted the pheromones of the male instructor’s potency and strength. In my mind, I image hearing the thoughts of the commander. He no longer feels me to be the greatest threat but the male instructor is now in his sights. Not knowing if I imagine this thought but; I can see the commander tighten his legs down but pushing forward, his wings barely lift from his thorax, and the antennae are pulled back.

Now this is where I am going to end this tale of woe but, I will inform you that screams were heard again. This time it was not a the shrill peal of a woman’s but more deafening and a crisp blue uniform and Smokey Hat was sodden with water, dirt and dyer lint. I can also inform you that while “the commander” tried to fly like a kamikaze bent on destruction. He gently glided out of the laundry room and into the hot Texas night. I had watched his exit and knew we meet again.

End of our first encounter more adventures of “the commander.”

Love, hugs and kisses,
Nekkid Chicken

Can You See Me Now

Can You See Me Now
29 July 2007

There is nothing new under the sun. People are born, live and die. Some folks come into our lives because we need them, need us or, a little of both. Thinking back over my adult life; I have recognized and brought folks into my heart. I have chosen to let them become a part of my soul. I remember the talks and times shared. I recalled the strangers in foreign lands; who eyes follow me still through my day’s decades later. I may not have ever met them and broke bread but; I remember them. Now this probably sounds strange to other folks but just give me a minute to explain.

As a military member; one is not always afforded the luxury of staying in a place long enough to forge a bond or write down an address down. One gets to sit in buildings that were makeshift airports, hotel lobbies or restaurant waiting for the next plane or mode of transport. The native tongue drifting in the air like a pregnant pause; you can choose to: sleep, look at people or, fall into a book with head phones on to drown them out. I always picked looking at people connecting through the common mirrors of the soul----eyes.

I have watched women nursing their newborns; noticing how the posture of the pair lends itself to being in a larger womb. Fathers and sons arguing about “Futbol” while drinking café and baguettes and made the silent connection in they possess the same facial outline separated by years. Witnessed lovers so infused in the moments that a scene from “Planes, Trains and Automobiles,” comes to mind. I have seen children sitting in a circle sharing food on a blanket; food flying from their mouths from giggling and talking. I have seen homeless people sitting behind potted plants trying to escape the heat and accusatory eyes of others. I recall with vivid detail the sights, smells, fluidity of movement of limbs, and underlying tones of their lives.

Now you are probably wondering why I have brought this up in this forum. It is rather quiet simple; the blogs reminds me of new and exotic places because of the fluidity and transient nature. The blogs keep moving, cliques (families) are formed, celebrations, and grief are brought to light. While many choose to participate----many more unseen faces are watching, living and marking the moments of YOUR LIVES but the question is: ARE YOU?

Love, hugs and kisses,
Nekkid Chicken