It was Summer. It was night. It was Minnesota. Stopping at a highway rest area on our way home, the boys pranced toward the bathroom. That’s when we noticed one of them, a large bug. The boys were convinced it was a hornet, I had my doubts, but I was not overly concerned. Keep our distance and everything should be fine.
Returning to the car, we headed on our way. Then after five minutes, my 6-year-old son Ben shouted, “Dad, there’s a bug in the car!” Really? Screaming about a bug? A little bug? Just as I was about to minimize his concerns, I felt a heavy thud in the back of my neck. The suspect bug was indeed big. I guessed about the size of a golf ball, perhaps larger. Maybe gerbil sized. Certainly something from long ago. Yep, it could well have been a Jurassic bug. Fear seized me. My right hand swatted at the back of my head wounding the massive insect, who retreated somewhere toward the passenger side of the car.
Convinced I had mortally wounded my insect foe, we continued on our drive, until my 8-year-old son screeched. The bug had returned and was venturing in and out of his “trash bin” (the area in the car door closest to his seat, where he places his trash). Gum wrappers. Broken crayons. Rocks. They all end up in that door. Now the trash heap contained a huge buzzing beast of an insect. Smart bug. Good cover. Pulling off the highway, I bravely thrust my hand into the trash bin. The bug, tetanus, rodents, they were all of concern. Thankfully none were found.
As large trucks zoomed past me, I reentered the car and continued on our voyage. Uncertain of the monster bug’s location, we all fearfully listened. Waited. Cowered. I placed a baseball cap on my head with the anticipation that I would need to use it to swat at the flying adversary. Suddenly, gasps and terror filled the car. The leviathan bug had returned. He was perched on window ledge of the passenger door window.
His silhouette against the backdrop of a recently set sun, the enormous bug appeared to a flying hamster. A wicked creature borne from the very bowels of Hell, it had only one mission: the complete destruction of our family. Out of my reach, I saw only one option. A terrifying prospect. Roll down the window and release the furry of the passing wind upon the nightmarish critter. Fumbling for the master controls, I saw the Devil’s spawn glance into my eyes. Opening the air hatch, I saw him struggle to hold on. Hearing the beast let out a buzz that seemed to curse mankind, he leapt into the air. His goal was my death, but the roaring speed of our car took hold. I glanced back toward the road and quickly returned my gaze at the passenger window. The flying rodent was gone. Either vanished into the night or hiding in the shadows of the glove compartment.
Rolling up the window. Hearing the muffled rush of wind past the car. We listened for the buzz. The buzz that carried fear. We sat in silence. We listened. We waited. It was all we could do. The miles rolled by, but the fear remained. The fear remained.