I beep the remote at the AC/heater, the long narrow contraption that hangs from the ceiling corner of each room. I keep the corner of my eye on it to make sure it actually turns on, because it's tempermental and sometimes it doesn't. I'm holding Oz (he sits proud and upright and forwardlooking in the crick of my arm--which he couldn't do without my support--as though I'm his trusty steed, carrying his royal highness through the enchanted forests of our home). There's an odd scuttling sound and my eye corner spots something dark drop with a quiet thud, a swift path straight down out of the opening heater door into the carved-wood Croatian vase that decorates my dresser, only a couple of feet from where I'm about to put my sweet baby down to sleep.
"Nathan!" I shriek with my best girly shriekiness. It was too big to be a spider--had to be too big to be a spider, even compared to the terrors that I've twice found lurking on our bedroom crown molding. "I think it was a gecko..." I tell him unsurely. That skittering just didn't sound right. I hadn't gotten the gecko vibe. I catch geckos with my bare hands. I don't really think it was a gecko.
He takes the vase into our shower and carefully dumps its contents. A 5-inch centipede hits the tile with what can only be described as a clatter and is swiftly dispatched with a flip flop.
This is Okinawa is a series meant to capture observations and moments in our last days here, the sorts of things I like to think I'll never forget but know I will. (I doubt I'll get very far before my computer gets packed up.) Read more about Oki here and here.