|Admit it. This is terrifying.|
Debbie's family lived on a ranch not far from ours.
Her father had worked for my parents as a young man, before he had married.
They had remained good friends.
As had Debbie and I.
Once we had made our respective appearances (ie. born).
In our senior year, I stayed with them for a semester.
They were kind, wonderful people.
Very clever and full of fun.
Debbie fit right in.
Most of the time . . .
Debbie and I had a room in the basement.
Lovely twin beds and assorted other furniture.
With the lamp hanging over her bed.
This is an important point.
She was also terrified of moths.
Another important point.
And I liked to read at night after climbing into bed.
These all tie together.
Let me explain . . .
It was late.
Debbie had long been trying to sleep.
I was reading.
It never occurred to me that I was being inconsiderate, as the room's only light hung directly over her.
And attracted any moths that might be in the vicinity.
She tossed and turned and finally huffed and, throwing back the covers, got out of bed.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Bathroom,” she mumbled.
Just then, a moth that had been fluttering around in the light for the past half-hour, made the mistake of appearing where Debbie could see him.
In a blur, she headed towards the door.
For some inexplicable reason, the moth followed her.
Out into the dark hall.
You never can tell with moths.
There was another horrendous screech and Debbie darted back into the room, jumped into her bed and pulled the covers over her head.
The moth fluttered in happily behind her and was soon once more dancing in the light.
“Shut off that stupid light!” Debbie said, through the covers.
I stared at the quivering lump that was my friend.
“How on earth did you know the moth followed you into the hall?”
“He touched my face! Shut off the light!”
Imagine. Frightened of a silly moth.
Now if it had been a spider . . .