Centipedes, etc.
Centipedes (excellent predatory arthropods) inflict venomous bites through pincer-like appendages. See also scorpions.
In the fall of 2001, I was on the exit ramp from marriage; I was putting down poems with the vegan, anarchist. I was not yet dating the Scorpio who’d be my fifth lover post-separation, my first post-divorce.
Busy trying to figure out single parenting, I didn’t join the anarchist at anti-war rallies in the days after the planes crashed into the towers. While he wrote protest poems, I began noting incongruities about this supposed pacificist in my journal.
Exhibit A: Today, angry with ex-wife; threw phone at wall.
By the next September, I’d be writing in my journal about centipedes and the Scorpio, the man who entered my life in March of 2002—days after my divorce was final.
Six months later, I saw that first lobster-sized exoskeleton clinging to my damp basement wall—reddish brown, years of molted legs and antennas against a whitewashed cinder-brick. It moved swiftly when I approached, skittering under the washing machine to hide in a soft blend of spider webs and balled-up lint.
While centi means “hundred,” centipedes have an odd number of leg pairs (thus, never exactly 100) and the last pair trails behind the body—making it look extralong to predators and single moms.
My two kids were with their dad the night I listened to Ani DiFranco’s Reckoning on repeat until 3:20 am, trying to quell the stress of the centipede invasion. See also, woman awaiting familiar reddish-brown stain, counting calendar squares since that one night.
Centipede reproduction does not involve copulation, but rather, a distinct courting ritual.
COMIC RELIEF: How do you spot two centipedes in love? They complete each other’s centinces.
Here’s how it went down that one night: he orders me to beg him for it; I get off on that sort of thing; I become slippery-so-slippery, sliding down the slippery slope. See also ovulation.
Female centipedes release pheromones to attract males, who then deposit spermatophore for females to take up. In some species, the male performs a courtship dance to highlight the spermatophore for the female.
Immediately after he deposited his sperm, I tell him, “I think my egg’s dropping early.”
“No. No.” He cries fat tears. “I can’t do this.” Now he’s begging me. “Please, please go to the clinic.”
Because they lack a waxy cuticle, centipedes lose water and require a moist microhabitat.
It’s just a pill.
No big deal.
No big fucking deal.
Centipede eggs are laid in a nest in the soil or rotting wood. The female remains with the eggs; she cleans the eggs to protect them from fungi.
On the first anniversary of this new JFK-sized where were you when, I shut off news from the outside world. I avoid newspapers re-running horrific pictures of falling towers, falling people. My ex-husband calls and changes our kids’ visitation schedule again.
In some centipede species, the female sticks around after the young have hatched, guarding them until they are ready to leave … but I cannot parent with another absentee father. I cannot cleave to another noncommittal soul.
If disturbed, the female either abandons the eggs or eats them.
Tomorrow, I will drive to the clinic. I will take that pill. I will solve his dilemma. But today? I will crawl into these walls and hide my molting evolution. I am changing lives.
Author’s note: I am not a bugologist. The centipede factoids in this essay came from information gleaned from Wikipedia, the Library of Congress website, YouTube videos, and even an exterminator’s website.
I love the interplay between the human and the arthropod, creating images of creation and loss.
Thanks so much for reading and for your kind comments, Lisa!