As spring sets in, the air growing dense, the smell of leaves and rain redolent, I think back to one thing.
Bug spray. It came in a brown glass bottle, with a pump, it had a harsh chemical smell, a smell that meant relief.
Growing up in rural Alabama without the benefit of A/C, the only thing separating you from the humid night was a rotting metal screen that covered the open window. Cricket and Cicada serenaded you to sleepy land, scratching mosquito and chigger bites from the after dinner neighborhood game of tag, as you lay in wait.
Waiting for the attack. Laying in bed , the sheets sticking to your damp sweaty legs, and that tiny buzz of a mosquito flying around your ears . You don’t dare leave the safety of the sheets because doing so would result in multiple bites, but they always found your ears.
Probably filled with DDT, the magic brown bottle, kept by the bed, sprayed the air killing the buzzing mosquito ong with some brain cells no doubt.
Today I doubt I could hear the buzz, my ears no longer as acute as I was back then, but I can still remember that smell. The brown bottle hero, protecting me from the nocturnal mosquito, the buzzing bee, the frightening deadly wasp.
Relief in a brown glass bottle.
©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2013, written entirely on my iPhone.