The other night, as I was preparing for bed, I made my usual trek to the thermostat to crank up the air conditioning. This ritual follows my nightly checks of the locks, switching off the lights, and planting a kiss on my sleeping son’s forehead. My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the new book I had just purchased, hoping it was by my bed rather than left in the car’s front seat.
As I stood in front of the thermostat, finger poised to tap the screen, I glanced up and froze. Right above the thermostat, a scorpion was perched, its yellow, segmented tail wriggling ominously. My heart raced as a wave of panic washed over me.
I can’t stress enough how much I detest these creatures. If there were a word stronger than “hate,” I would use it here. I understand they are living beings, but honestly, they give me the creeps. Judge me if you must, but I would not shed a single tear if every scorpion on the planet met a horrific end. In fact, I would lead a chorus of fellow scorpion despiseers, celebrating our newfound freedom to walk barefoot in our homes during the sweltering Arizona summers.
Yet, here I was, faced with one that threatened to ruin my evening calm. A string of expletives escaped my lips as I confronted the beast.
You might be thinking, “Olivia, you’ve lived in this house for a decade and encountered your fair share of scorpions. What’s the big deal?” You are correct, but previously, I had the comfort of a partner by my side. Being married meant I could scream for help, and a swift stomp from a size 11 cowboy boot would resolve the issue. Alone, I had to face this creature myself.
Having been single for several months, this scorpion was the most significant challenge I had encountered since my divorce. Balancing work with my lively special needs child? That was a pop quiz. Navigating financial changes? A minor test. Learning to suppress disappointment and resentment for my son’s sake? Those were mere warm-ups. This scorpion represented everything I doubted I could manage as a single mother. It was the ultimate trial.
I had to conquer this test. I am a woman, hear me roar… or at least listen to me stifle the nausea rising in my throat. I dashed to my closet, surveyed my shoe options, and selected a sturdy platform wedge before returning to confront my adversary. ONE deep breath, TWO raise the shoe, THREE—stop counting, Olivia, or you’ll dissolve into a puddle of despair—GO!
With a swift motion, I knocked the scorpion off the thermostat and onto the floor. It tried to escape, but I was determined now. Forget freedom songs; what erupted from me was a primal battle cry—AY-YAY-AY-YAY! I swung that black patent wedge as if I were wielding an axe, because, in that moment, my life depended on it.
The scorpion met its demise on the first strike, but I delivered two more blows just to be sure it wouldn’t rise again like some arachnid horror. Three decisive hits, and it was over.
Victory! I couldn’t help but break into my celebratory dance, which bore a striking resemblance to a wedding reception’s awkward moves, when a small voice interrupted my revelry.
“Mom, did you get it?” My son stood there, pajama-clad, eyes wide with concern. He shared my aversion to scorpions.
“I got it, buddy. I was so scared, but I did it,” I reassured him. His face relaxed, and a smile broke through.
“Good job protecting us, Mom! You are a killer of scorpions!” My little champion hugged me tightly. In that moment, I recalled what I often tell him: bravery isn’t the absence of fear; it’s about feeling afraid and pushing through regardless.
With my arm around his small shoulders and the weapon still in my grasp, I realized—I can handle this. I can be brave. I am a scorpion slayer.
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Summary:
In a candid recounting of a frightening encounter with a scorpion, Olivia Carter reflects on her evolution as a single mother and the moment that tested her bravery. Facing the dreaded creature alone, she finds strength within herself and ultimately triumphs, reinforcing the lesson that true courage is doing what needs to be done despite fear.