Intruder One

The most common footwear in Hawaii is the slipper, known to the Mainlanders as flip flops. There isn’t much need to shake them out before slipping them on. A little kick sends a millipede or a gecko lurking on the foot strap on their way. In the morning before putting on my sneakers I’ll give them a little rap on the concrete step to be sure there isn’t any unwanted creatures living inside. I have yet to find any.

I’ve camped and hiked enough to know that creepy things can crawl into dark places. Before donning hiking boots, it is a good practice to rap on the heel against a tree stump or hardened earth to dislodge unwanted critters from the cavernous toes. It is wise to inspect where a spider, a snake, a centipede, or scorpion could have made its evening’s nest. This is one reason why boots should not be left outside the tent, even muddy, smelly one. I’ve been to places where I have even slept with my boots inside my sleeping bag so that come morning, my toes didn’t slide into an ice block of stiff leather, which has to be worse than getting bit unexpectedly by a critter.

After my swim at the community pool, I slip off my Chaos—the high-tech slipper—and wrestle my bike socks on over my damp feet. As I do so, I usually sit on the concrete pad surrounding the pool and watch the comings and goings of others. The cute pool maintenance guy who makes mysterious entries through the “staff only” door, the kid coached by a master swimmer, the teens collected on the top bench talking on cell phones. Once shoes are tied and bike unlocked, I swing my backpack on and head to the condo to get something to eat.

This particular day, before I got out of the parking lot I felt something on the side of my foot. It felt like a muscle twitch. There it was again. While coasting I inspected my bike shoe, half-hoping the stitches had ripped out and that was what I felt. But the shoe held together. By the time I got to the fabric store I knew something was inside. Something wedged between my foot and the leather. Something wanted out. And I wanted the same thing.

I couldn’t get the shoe off fast enough. I ripped it off almost before I dismounted my bike and dumped a tail and a semi-swished skink out on the sidewalk. I apologized to him and left him there to die. Except when I came out of the store only the tail was there.

Two days later, his presence lingers. The physical contact and the determined fight for freedom crawls on the side of my foot.