Sweet Talk
by Victorya
I think it crawled out of the tub because it was too big to fit under the door. Cockroach, La Cucaracha, whatever language you used they still freaked me out. And there I was, new in my apartment, having a nice quiet dinner with my cat—candles and everything. Señor Fluffypants was always so polite, looking up between bites off of his plate, sometimes making eye contact while scooping up something with his paw. I had made a special dinner for our housewarming—baked chicken and mashed potatoes. I put tuna juice in his potatoes and butter in mine. I also made some greens; the Señor liked to nibble on mint while I preferred spinach sautéed in garlic and olive oil.
I thought the Señor would notice the roach before I did, he was always so protective of me, putting his giant orange striped body between me and any fly or spider that made its way into our lives. I thought of getting the roach myself and saving my sweetie the trouble of getting down from the table, so I walked over to the roach expecting it to scuttle away. I think more than anything it's the way they move that freaks me out. As I got closer the roach ran toward the light, toward me, and began pushing at my shoe, like it was begging me to stomp it. I lifted my foot and it ran under, its antenna pointing up and just waiting, perhaps hoping I'd rest my foot on its body.
I moved my foot to the side and the roach ran there and soon it became a game of me putting my foot down without squishing the roach. I looked over at the table, the Señor had moved over to nibble on my chicken. He always had such a ravenous appetite and we shared plates most nights anyway, so I smiled and watched him lick his lips. He did so enjoy my cooking.
The roach was bumping me again so I decided in this case, not to kill it. I actually put down a bowl of sugar and decided to let him eat. I watched him dip his antenna in, and wondered if roaches even liked sugar. I hadn't thought of that but had no really rotten food that I thought it might prefer. The roach's antennae pushed around the crystals frantically; I saw a pattern forming.
"Please." When I looked down I saw that written in the sugar and couldn't believe it. I knelt down closer and the roach nodded to the sugar and then to me, it ran and bumped my foot again.
"Really?" I asked. Do roaches want to die? Is that why they run into homes? All these years I thought it was for food, for the warmth and safety under a fridge. I shook the plate and the words disappeared, like a sweet etch-a-sketch.
"I don't get it," I said, both feet firmly on the floor. The roach looked at me and as much as I've ever seen one sigh, this one did. It was exasperated, like I wasn't understanding, wasn't helping. I was the simpleton here. It pushed its antennae around the sugar again.
"She left," was written in the sugar.
The Señor had curled into a ball next to my plate, content in our first meal together. I looked back at the roach; it really just seemed so fed up. But to kill a bug that wanted to die—was that mercy or murder?
"Who left?" I asked. Again the look.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I just didn't realize you things had relationships." Did cockroaches love? Did they date, marry—did they have lovers? Did they enjoy snuggling up to each other like The Señor and I? And how much did I want to get involved with a lovelorn suicidal roach?
The roach walked around the plate and bumped me once more. Instead of stomping it, I leaned over and shook the plate.
"What did you do?" I asked. If I knew anything it was that there was something that caused a woman to leave. I would never leave my Señor but he would never wrong me. "Did you hit on another roach while she was carrying your eggs?" I was beginning to enjoy this, holding so much power over the roach. Usually when I stomped one I felt nothing, it was a disgusting nuisance, nothing more.
The roach shook his head. "No," it wrote into the sugar.
"Are you sure?"
"I love her," it wrote.
"If you love her, why would she leave? Maybe she didn't love you." I shook the plate again.
"She does!" he wrote.
I heard The Señor purring in his sleep, he was such a loving companion.
"If you love each other, then go to her," I said. "Beg for forgiveness—maybe she needs you to chase her." I remembered the time The Señor got out of the apartment when I left the door open just a crack. I chased him three blocks and then held him tight and forgave him. "Love is about forgiveness and understanding." I said.
The roach put his antennae back into the sugar, but didn't write. It was obvious he was thinking about what I said. Then he nodded, a resignation perhaps, or realization that I was right. It started to crawl, that creepy scuttle type crawl, away, dragging its antenna on the floor. Then I realized what it was doing, it was going back to its lover, its wife or girlfriend, to perhaps raise the eggs and make more. Then I realized what I was doing, where there's one roach there's a hundred and this one already confirmed there was more somewhere. So I ran over, jumped, and squished it. The Señor woke up at my noise. I sang him a soft lullaby and watched his eyes close into sleep once more.
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