This past weekend at a family function in Texas, I had something of an alarming encounter. Actually, I had two.
The function took place in a rented hall in a park, and I soon found the interior of said hall rather stifling and creepifying. What with certain social anxieties, being immersed in a large group of humans tends to make me uncomfortable, let alone humans who expect--nay, demand that I interact with them. People who know me tend not to invite me to their parties, not because they don't like me (because let's face it, I'm spectacular) but because they know that I'd just be miserable.
After greeting the seemingly-endless parade of extended family members and allowing my person to be hugged far more times than anyone should have to endure, I was getting a bit twitchy and wild-eyed. The odds of my being able to stave off the impending panic attack were looking nil. With as much decorum as possible (well, I didn't hit anybody) I excused myself to scuttle behind the bar and extract from my purse a book and my cigarettes, and then I fled.
Once outside the hall, I walked down the lane a bit and crossed the river by way of a train bridge. On the other side I found a cozy, secluded spot on the riverbank with a tall oak tree whose roots formed a niche perfectly shaped to sit in. I plunked down, lit up, and gratefully oozed into the safe shelter of fiction like a neurotic snail.
Happy hours were spent in this manner. The story, solitude and nicotine calmed me right down and every so often I'd look up from the book to admire nature's rich pageant all around me. I was most fascinated by the river, because it was blue. It was really, actually blue. In Florida, where I live, all the water is brown, contaminated, and full of snakes and alligators. This, however, looked just like the water on TV, and it was full of cute, fluffy duckies that were emboldened by a lifetime of receiving breadcrumbs from parkgoers. These ducks had no problem whatsoever swimming right up to me and floating well within arm's reach, expecting food.
I was soon to discover that the ducks were not the only hungry river denizens.
I was fully engrossed in my book, nearly bent double over its pages and making my really weird, scrunched-up, 'reading' face that a friend of mine once said makes me look like Renee Zellweger after licking a turd. I was vaguely aware of a short of shuffling, slapping noise getting closer, but as this had nothing to do with the thrilling adventures of Daenerys Stormborn, I ignored it. Then I felt a sudden tap on my leg. I looked down, and my first thought was, Holy guacamole, R.O.U.S.'s are real!
This beast was actually, I later was informed, a nutria. Nutrias are semi-aquatic rodents originally native to South America and known as a pest species in Texas. Not knowing this at the time, I at first thought that it was some kind of mutant. Not technically a Rodent of Unusual Size, a more apt description would be 'Big-Ass Rat With Flippers'.
I stared down at the B.A.R.W.F that sat at my feet. It looked back up at me, unafraid and expectantly awaiting scraps like a little dog.The brazen rodent had actually clambered up out of the river and batted at my leg with its webbed paw, and was now looking right at me as if to say, Here I am. Aren't I cute? I would like my bread now.
Rodents don't bother me. I've had pet rats for years, and the B.A.R.W.F.'s dark brown fur and shiny black eyes reminded me of my d'Artagnan back home. Once I got past the flippers and the creepy orange teeth, it really was cute. I felt sorry that I hadn't brought any food from the hall with me, and entertained the notion of going back to get a miniature sandwich for the B.A.R.W.F as well as another beer for me. But I decided not to, as any sudden movement like standing up would probably startle the B.A.R.W.F. into biting a hole in my new pantyhose and also my tender flesh.
I shrugged in as non-threatening a manner possible. "Sorry. I don't have anything for you."
The B.A.R.W.F stared at me for a little while, probably deliberating whether or not I was lying, then turned and shuffled off back to the water and swam away.
But then...
The next time I heard footsteps coming toward me, you'd better believe I looked up immediately. This time it was no hungry river-monster, it was something much worse: another person. It was a middle-aged-looking male person that I did not recognize as even one of my most distant relations, heading right for me, who was tucked into this secluded corner of the park, as it was getting dark.
One thing I am thankful for is that in situations like these my brain goes into this Default Danger Mode where it immediately bypasses fear and goes straight to defensive hostility. It saves time and a lot of stress, but the downside is that it has this side effect of inexplicable confidence that causes me to drastically over-estimate my fighting ability. You wanna approach me in a poorly-lit space when I'm all alone and there's no one within five miles to hear me scream? I dare you. Wanna sneak up on me in an alley with a switchblade in each hand and a gat between your teeth? I'll be sure to give you your liver in a easily-transportable plastic snack baggie when I'm done with it.
As Herr Creepenheimer creeped on over, I looked right at him (no longer making the Renee Zellweger turdface) and readied myself to swing the full weight of my book into his jaw. If need be, I would call for my friend the B.A.R.W.F. to come and aid my attack.
"Good evening," said Laird McCreeps.
I reponded with only a glare that said, Do not tempt me to feed tiny chunks of you to the duckies.
"Are you a Christian?"
Just like that, my vengeful bloodlust deflated. He wasn't a creeper, just a nosy religious fellow. "Is it any of your business?" I replied, my voice a bit sharp with residual aggression.
"Oh, I believe that leading as many people as possible into the light of our blessed lord Jesus Christ is the business of every good Christian Soldier."
Why do they call themselves that? What do Christian 'soldiers' ever fight, other than their own masturbatory urges?
"That's very nice of you, sir, but I'm not interested."
And then he produced a tract card and dropped it onto the open pages of my book. "Well, okay. I don't mean to bother you or anything, just take a look at this, and think about it some. Maybe you can use it as a bookmark."
I said nothing. The Christian Soldier smiled and departed, and I shut my book. Clearly, the park was no longer safe. It was getting too dark to read anyway.
I returned to the hall just in time for everyone to hug me goodbye.
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