Scorpion Sightings

It was May 12 when the first scorpion sighting took place at San Dimas Street #2. I waited to write about this until after my niece Natalie’s visit the other weekend. Since her room at our place has a mattress on the floor, I did not want her to lie awake at night, knowing there was a scorpion lurking about.

On May 12, I was cleaning the house—sweeping the black-and-white tiled floor. I lifted up the wastebasket and there was the scorpion, not more than two inches in length. Scorpio did not move, and neither did I. We both froze. I called “Bob, Bob,” but Bob did not hear me from our rooftop bedroom where he was playing music. What should I do? I wondered. I didn’t have the guts to kill the thing, and I figured if I went upstairs to get Bob, the scorpion would disappear. Sure enough, when Bob and I came down the stairs, there was no sign of Scorpio. He had retreated into the hole in the plaster from whence he had come in the first place. Bob took the vacuum cleaner to the hole, hoping to suction him out, but who knows whether that worked.
Two days later, after a big rain storm, the second sighting took place, only this time we were ready for action. Bob and I walked across our star-lit rooftop, flashlights in hand, into our bedroom. Bob immediately felt that we were not alone in the room. He walked over to a side wall and shone his flashlight on the floor. Sure enough, there was Scorpion #2—not moving at all. Bob took off his flip flop and smashed it dead within seconds. In my mind, I had rehearsed doing this myself since the first sighting. Bob had said, “Don’t think. Just kill.” That first day, I was initially spooked. I walked around wondering when and where the next scorpion would appear, afraid to be barefoot. Bob reminded me, “This is Mexico, and only the little light-colored ones have a fatal sting.” Linda consoled me, “The sting doesn’t hurt any more than a bee sting.” With their heartening words, I decided to have courage, and I soon got used to the idea that we were sharing our apartment. Now each morning when I come down the stairs, I greet our friend in the hole in the wall. “Hi Scorpio. How are you today? Are we going to see you today?” Now, instead of me, it seems Scorpio is spooked—at least he’s hiding out.