Inspired by a quote from Maya Angelou: “You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”
It wasn’t that long ago when Ethan was rarely bothered by mosquitos,
but this year he’s being eaten alive by them.
He used to sit outside, feet up, without a single beat
of wings around his ears. Now it’s a constant battle he can’t seem to control.
At night, he hears the buzz, a high-pitched beat,
relentless, like a blog post that keeps getting hits. It wasn’t
uncommon for him to be a victim, but not to this degree. That
annoying whine, a mosquito choir in his room, long
after he’s turned off the lights. It’s like he can’t let go
of the itch, the sting, the frustration. Ethan wasn’t when
he was expecting this plague. Where did they all come from? His elevator
of emotions rises and falls, anger simmering to disbelief. Was
it the wet summer or just his luck? Why couldn’t they go bother
someone else? He’d trade his house for a desert, by
God. His blogging about it has become a therapeutic release, them
and their incessant need to feed on him driving him wild.
To express how he feels, without a hint of rage, he pens a blog: “Describe
an emotion without using the emotion,” he types. “Imagine an itch
you can’t scratch, a high-pitched note you can’t turn off. It’s like you’re in an elevator
that stops on every floor, even the ones you don’t want to visit. Your
skin is a canvas, each bite a stroke in a maddening art piece.” As if the mosquitos can
read, he posts, hoping for a viral hit. He imagines the tiny wings decide
to swarm someone else, their numbers thinning. Not
that his words would drive them off, but perhaps control
isn’t about the bites but about his reaction. Could he find peace in all
this chaos?
Ethan reflects on Maya Angelou, her wisdom a balm for the soul. The
quote he loves: “You may not control all the events that
happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” Events
unfold, and while he can’t stop these tiny vampires, he can happen
to reclaim his evenings, find joy in spite of them. To
surrender to laughter, to see the absurdity in the situation, but
not the defeat. He slaps his arm, a mosquito squished, you
little bugger, you met your match. His blog readers can
feel the humor, the resilience in his words. Life decides
to throw mosquitos his way, but Ethan stands firm, refusing not
to let them ruin his summer. He’ll beat
them at their own game, with words and wit, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll be
the one laughing last. A golden shovel, digging deep, reduced
the sting with every line, the blog a swatter by
another name. And though the bites remain, they itch
less in the light of his humor. He reads Angelou again, “not to be reduced by them.”
As Ethan closes his laptop, the elevator of his mood
rises to the top floor. He can feel the beat
of contentment. It wasn’t that long ago he’d have been defeated, but
now he knows, with a smile, that even mosquitos have their place. You
win some, you lose some, but in the end, the itch
is a part of the dance, the rhythm of life’s beat.
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