Liz gets out of the shower and puts on her bathrobe. She looks over at her husband who is brushing his teeth. “Sam, do you think this is a bat bite?”
Sam continues to brush his teeth, pretending he hasn’t heard his wife over the buzz of his electric toothbrush.
“I was taking a shower and noticed these marks around my ankle. I have no idea where I could have gotten them? Do you think they could be bite marks? Sam, can you hear me?” She huffs.
She turns to face the bathroom mirror. Her vanity is neat and organized. Q-tips in a jar, moisturizer, sunblock, and face wash on a tray. They moved into this house a few years back. They loved the idea of having two separate bathroom vanities. The space and time of those morning moments forever appreciated.
“Huh.”
She looks in her mirror examining her skin. New sunspots, perhaps blemishes. She touches each new freckle looking for reassurance before applying her moisturizer. Maybe it’s just age, she thinks. Liz hesitates and decides to not pick up the tweezers. It takes constraint, and today is not a good day.
“Do you want coffee?” Sam asks as he gets dressed.
A navy-blue polo shirt and khakis. He has a uniform, and his job doesn’t even require a uniform. He thinks I’m the one with issues, Liz muses.
“Yes, I want coffee. Do you have to ask?”
Liz brushes her dark brown hair. She stops periodically to admire how patient she has been, allowing her hair to gray naturally. The strands glisten and shine though fragile. She takes a deep breath and looks at her ankle again. There are two tiny marks that look like bite marks.
“What if I die of rabies? Can you please look at my ankle and tell me I’m not crazy,” she insists.
“Liz, you are not going to die from rabies. I can’t believe this. Is this going to be like the time you became obsessed with Hantavirus?”
“What if I do nothing and it’s a bat bite?”
“Liz, we are all going to die someday.”
“That is not helping. I don’t want to die. Wouldn’t it be just my luck to die of rabies from a bat bite during a global pandemic… started by a bat.”
Sam sighs. “Liz, where would you have gotten a bat bite?”
“I don’t know, but it is possible, maybe it bit me while I was sleeping.”
“Um, no. There is no evidence of a bat in our bedroom. Why do I even indulge you?”
Sam heads downstairs. “I’m going to make the coffee. Why don’t you check the bedroom for evidence of bats?” Sam says with a bit of sarcasm.
Liz, still in her bathrobe, paces her bedroom floor. She tries hard not to look for bat droppings. Then she peers behind the drapes and under the bed. She picks up the mattress. Nothing indicating bats reveals itself. Not yet. She sits down on the bed.
“Maybe, I’ll be ok,” she tries to convince herself. The coffee grinds away, drowning out her intrusive thoughts for the moment. She is relieved. Worry is the layer that surrounds everything. It’s thick and hardest to permeate. To function, one must crawl around, the small spaces below completing everyday tasks. The rational layer; a sliver beneath the weight of ALL the worry.
She hears the clink of a spoon. The smell of caffeine wakes her from her stream of consciousness.
Sam is carrying two full mugs as he carefully walks back up the stairs and to their bedroom. Liz is still not dressed for the day. Sam hands her, her mug, and smiles.
“Liz, it will be ok. Drink your coffee. Then get dressed.”
Liz smiles back and says, “Thank you.”
She sips her coffee. It’s perfect. Cream no sugar. Just the right temperature. Sam sits down next to her on the bed and takes a sip of his coffee. There is quiet. You can hear the birds chirping outside and the trash truck stopping next door. Two barrels. One for trash and one for recycling. Each bang back down on the pavement.
“Maybe, it’s a spider bite?”
“Yes, maybe it is a spider bite.”