The Cockroach Story You Requested -I Deliver on My Promises

Okay, folks. You asked for it, and I am going to deliver it. Because you enjoyed the frog story and the snake story, I promised to tell you the cockroach story.

Summer 2016 - It was one year after my husband had died. I was still in a walking coma and was barely functioning. My sister thought it would be good for me to be surrounded by family and participate in water activities, which she knew were my favorite, to help ease the pain of facing the first anniversary of Sid's death.

For one week every July, she rents a huge house on the beach in North Carolina. They are large enough - 5-6 bedrooms, 4–5 bathrooms, a giant kitchen, living room, dining room, and a host of other rooms, to accommodate a slew of family and friends. The house sits mere yards from the cresting waves and wild surf of the Atlantic Ocean. The house also has a private pool. Click this link for a glimpse of the fabulous accommodations. 

This particular year, the house guests included my sister, brother-in-law, my youngest nephew, his wife, and their 3 kids under the age of 8.

Being the elder stateswoman of the family, I was given a bedroom on the lowest floor with a private bathroom. No other bedrooms or baths were in that section.

Although excited to be surrounded by enthusiastic children and my first love - the majestic Atlantic Ocean, I was unprepared for the energy of kids who NEVER STOP MOVING.

On the first day, by 8 am, everyone had eaten breakfast, suited up in swimwear, slathered in sunblock, donned wide-brim hats and life vests, and were running to the surf before I had a chance to brush my teeth.

Realizing that we no longer possessed the strength or balance to withstand the force of the mighty ocean, my sister, brother-in-law, and I sat in low sand chairs at the shore, watching the family action while the cool water lapped at our feet.

Two hours of wave jumping, swimming, and body surfing later, everyone ran upstairs to grab snacks, change clothes, then head to the ferry for a trip to town.

Two more hours of walking around in 100-degree heat and humidity, lunch in an air-conditioned restaurant, a jaunt to a block of gift shops, and we were back on the ferry heading home.

Upon arriving at the beach house, everyone changed into their bathing suits and headed to the pool.

Except for Auntie Joan who was going to drop dead right there in the living room if she didn't rest. Bouncing up and down, all 3 kids asked why I wasn't going to the pool. Because I'm old and am going to die if I don't get a nap.

I lumbered downstairs to my room, so exhausted I wasn't able to remove my clothes before I collapsed on the bed. Feeling grimy from all that activity and humidity, I got up to go into the bathroom to wash my face, when ……………I saw it. On the tile surrounding the tub………a GIANT BLACK COCKROACH. I live in Florida. I'm used to seeing cockroaches. But I had never seen one the size of a mouse with long skinny legs scampering up the bathroom wall. The only thing I could do was scream………a screeching, blood-curdling scream. Again. And again.

With lightning speed, my sister, 3 kids, and 3 more adults trailing behind came racing downstairs, thinking I had a heart attack or had been assaulted by Freddie Krueger. When I managed to sputter out - c…c…c… cockroach. Giant cockroach, I got two reactions.

The first was three kids falling over themselves laughing and singing the song that will probably be written on my gravestone - "La Cucaracha". How the Hell they knew that song, I have no idea, but they were relentless. La Cucaracha, by the way, had made himself scarce ( My screeching probably frightened the bejeesus out of him) and was nowhere to be found.

The second was my sister, who was mad as a hornet, and gave me "the lecture." Stop being such a baby. What a drama queen. You scared the shit out of everyone. We thought you were dy………..and then she saw it. Mouth agape, eyes widened to resemble hula hoops, she grabbed a shoe, gave another one to me, and between the two of us, we managed to squash him into an early grave, but it left a disgusting mess.

She left me to clean it up, while she ran upstairs to call the landlord, who promised to have an exterminator out the next day.

I then went upstairs to the kids still laughing at me and singing La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha, at the top of their lungs.

After supper, I went downstairs carrying a can of Raid. I proceeded to spray every nook and cranny of that bedroom, bathroom, and closet. I slept all night with the lights on and looked in my slippers, all around the floor, and in every corner of the bathroom before I walked anywhere.

The next day, the exterminator came out and did whatever exterminators do, and promised us that we would not see any more cockroaches. Ha! A lot he knew.

Although another cockroach the size of King Kong did not appear again, his smaller relatives did make appearances, which forced me to sleep with the light on for the rest of the week, killing off various members of his family every time I went into the bathroom.

And the kids continued to sing. Which they found hilarious. They were rolling on the floor laughing every time they sang the La Cucaracha song.

At the end of the week, my sister and brother-in-law took me to the airport, and although my sister politely invited me every year after that, (praying I would refuse), I granted her silent wish and never returned. Not only is the activity level more than I can bear, but I also get slower as I age. I cannot outrun a cockroach. Especially one the size of Mighty Mouse.

So it's 6 years later, and you nice people requested that I tell this story. Before I sat down to write, I asked the 3 kids, now ages 13, 10, and 8 if they remember the year I accompanied them to Carolina Beach. The 10- and 13-year-olds laughed and said, "Oh Yeah!"

I innocently asked what they remembered. In unison, they yelled - "YOU SCREAMING." And then they burst into song - La Cucaracha. The 8-year-old, who was 2 at the time, said he didn't remember the screaming, but he remembered the song, and he joined his sisters in singing. The 5-year-old hadn't been born yet, so he was clueless about the incident. But that didn't stop him from accompanying his siblings in song.

One of my goals for living with my sister in Chicago this last year was to establish a memorable, lasting relationship with my great-nieces and nephews, who, due to my serious illnesses and the pandemic lockdown, I had not seen in 3 years.

As I get ready to return home to Florida in a few weeks, I can say -Mission Accomplished, although not in the way I had imagined. Who would have thought that the most lasting memory the kids have of Auntie Joan is of her screaming at the sight of a mammoth size cockroach and them dancing around her singing La Cucaracha! La Cucaracha!?

NOTE: Some Vocal and Medium writers put disclaimers at the end of their stories, saying that they were written as satire or comedy and not to be taken seriously as truth. Not me. Everything I write is true. Did it happen to me as I have written it? Yup. It did. As did the incidents in my snake and frog stories. Stuff happens. To me. All the time. 

Originally published in the Medium publication, Illuminated Curated.

©Copyright 2022 Joan Gershman