The dawn broke. Waves sloshed against the windblown sand and drifted our rowboat like detritus. At the foot of the pier, two officers with white block letters printed on their backs cut a beached baby whale open with surgical blades. They towered above the creature as if the longer they stared at it, the sooner they could identify the bones in its belly. The spectators on the beach glanced at one another to figure out the moral of this bizarre scene.
The bat circled the children three times before returning to its home in the closet.
“Who let the bats in the house?” asked a boy.
“Bats are fascinating creations!” said Claudia with a grin. “Did you know a bat can collapse their bones to fit into the tiniest crevice? Bats only need the slightest of cracks to move through,” she indicated a small space between her chubby thumb and forefinger,
Today I made a decision. I won’t avoid the creature, the night watchman reclining in the street, watching the fresh-faced girls in sports suits, the men in checks and plaids. My racket bag knocked against my hip, and somewhere past him a ball was struck on clay, that clean double note. I’m having a good day no matter what.
I had just attentively read Saint John’s mystical visions—known as Apocalypse—and was sharply struck by these revelations since what merely slips past spirits offended by the throng and the tumult of worldly things stays a while and engraves itself upon a peaceable soul. Sleep burdened my eyes as I was still reflecting upon that book, and I believed I witnessed the destruction of the human race in my dream.