To be Afraid of a Fly

Dorm showers are an experience. Especially when you live at the end of one hallway, and the bathroom is located at the other end. So you have to plan for the trek. 47 steps one way--there's little room for error. If you forget the toothbrush--teeth just are not getting brushed. If you forget the towel--you're dripping wet when putting back on the robe. You gain an appreciation for running water. 

After having successfully made the trip to the shower, all accouterments at my fingertips.  I entered into the shiny white cylinder, excited to take a super-human speedy shower.  

From across the faucet, a giant beast started flying my direction. A mosquito, as large as my head, viciously aiming to take me out--I expertly avoided him, instead swatting him into the water stream, where he'd meet his watery grave. I felt empowered to send this evil creature to his death. 

The bug shot to the ground, immediately pinned down, squirming for his life. But it's legs were still moving, desperately trying to escape the constant slam of water. His status as a behemouth monster had evaporated as I watched it shrink smaller and smaller under the pounding pressure. Most of it's size had been made up of long, spindly legs, which were now soaking, twisted, and strapped next to his helpless body. 

I turned off the water. But it was too late, it clearly could never fly again. Painfully, I put it out of its misery. It was so fragile--so easy to crush. My heart sank when I turned the water on again and washed the remains down the shower drain. 

I found out later, what I thought was a hawk mosquito, was actually a crane fly. Totally harmless winged creature, who flew into the water stream, not to attack me, but to escape--what would be his chamber of death.  

For days I couldn't get this poem out of my head: 

Allowables, by Nikki Giovanni

I killed a spider

Not a murderous brown recluse

Nor even a black widow
And if the truth were told this
Was only a small
Sort of papery spider
Who should have run
When I picked up the book
But she didn’t
And she scared me
And I smashed her

I don’t think
I’m allowed

To kill something
Because I am

Frightened

The scene of him struggling to stay alive when I thought he was such a threat, simply because I didn't know what he was; that image has stayed with me. 

Humans do that to lots of creatures. Including other humans. In part, it's in our nature. But we're also remarkable beings in that we can overcome our instincts, we can change our nature.

What can we do--how can we be advocates for those smaller or different than us, rather than be afraid or fight them?