Coming Home: In marriage, some secrets should be kept secret
by Jessie Veeder
“Oh, by the way,” he said as he pulled on his pajamas pants and emerged from the closet. “There was a bat in the bedroom while you were gone.”
I sat straight up in bed, groaned a long “Noooo!” and clamped my hands to my mouth as I flashed back to the days of living in the old farmhouse and the traumatizing experience of discovering a really (like really) large family of bats hibernating in the space between the door and the screen we never used.
These things you never get over, no matter how rustic you think you are.
And, just to be certain we were both up to speed on all our bat incidents, my husband took the next moment to compare the most current bat situation to a similar episode in our past. Because there’s more than one.
“Remember when we had that bat in the bedroom in the old house?”
“Who could forget.”
“And we were laying there and it just flew in out of nowhere, through the fan blades and then all over the house.”
“Thanks for the reminder. I wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight anyway.”
“Yeah, well it was like that only it was in this closet. It flew out, right at me,” he explained as he reenacted the event, arms waving, voice rising, my stoic husband suddenly becoming animated at the memory. “So I quick got out of the room, closed the door and ran downstairs to get reinforcements.”
I don’t want to know what the reinforcements were. I don’t want to know how he got rid of it or why, for some reason, the racquetball racquet that had been tucked away in the cobweb filled corners of our storage space long enough for it to become a sports-shaped fossil was now mysteriously laying next to my husband’s boot collection. I just want to imagine the bat was a figment of some sort of sleep-walking dream so I can continue to feel civilized in the new house that my husband was supposed to promise to make bat proof.
“How did it get in here?!” I whined as I scanned every corner of the room looking for an answer. I pulled the covers up over my mouth and waited for him to reassure me that it was indeed a dream or, at the very least, an isolated incident.
But that’s not how my life tends to go out here.
“I don’t know. It could have come up through the vents from the basement or something.”
“The BASEMENT!” Do we have bats in the BASEMENT?!”
“I don’t know….”
I stared at him, wide eyed in silence from behind my cover shield, willing him to give me a better answer.
“Yeah. It occurs to me now that maybe I shouldn’t have told you. My dad suggested I don’t tell you… but you know, I want you to be on the lookout.”