The World Won't End

The afternoon started simple enough. Every monday I volunteer for a center downtown. Normally I take the stairs down to the street, but for some reason the fire escape called to me. It's a bit romantic, I think, when you take the fire escape, when you could take the interior stairs or an elevator. It was hot, over 90 degrees, but I didn't mind. I made my way carefully down the three stories. As I got to the bottom, I noticed something beneath the wrought iron steps.

It looked like a frog, at first. I'm afraid of frogs, but I got out my digital camera and decided to at least get a picture of it before fleeing. As I bent closer, I noticed that it looked like no frog I had ever seen. Dark brown, with strange limbs. It was as I got nearer, that I realized it was not a frog, but a bat. A baby. Its eyes were not even open.

It did not look good. It reminded me of newborn puppies I'd seen in books and movies. It could open its mouth and make a noise that seemed a cross between a bark and a chirp. I looked for a nearby nest, but I couldn't find any, assuming it had fallen the three stories from a rain gutter. I couldn't think of anything to do, paralyzed by the frailty of this creature, while the air was as hot as an oven. I thought of carrying it somewhere, but I couldn't think of anyone that would care. It looked about dead. Its breathing was not steady. Sometimes it would not move for several seconds, then sort of spasm and breathe quickly. I thought of calling the animal shelter, but something inside me knew that the bat was near death.

I felt helpless. I couldn't leave and I could hardly stand to watch. I whispered to this bat, "I'm sorry." Absurdly, I prayed for it. Not for a miracle survival, the way I might have if I were more of a dreamer, but that God would take care of it, make sure he was OK, wherever he was to go next. I almost began the Kaddish, but I am not Jewish, and I only knew the first few lines in English, which aren't very helpful. I stayed with it for a while. Until it didn't move. I wanted to bury it, but I was afraid of touching it. I don't know why.

I walked back to my car, three blocks away. I didn't cry, but my eyes were watering, mostly out of rage and a lesser amount of sadness. My hands became fists that dug into my pockets as I passed downtown window shoppers. I began to think of the unfairness of it. The thing had just come into the world. It didn't even get a chance to fly yet. That's what it was supposed to do; fly. Then I became angry with myself, getting so worked up over a little bat. Nothing earth-shattering, the sky has not fallen.

I began to think about the things I'd seen from nature, and fate. The horrible things. Last summer, I saw a duck nearly kill another duck by drowning and vicious pecking. It would have been absurd, had it not been so violent. Last summer my Siberan Husky who had been my friend for nearly 15 years had to be put to sleep. I wonder what I'm supposed to be learning from this. I feel like God is trying to teach me something. Perhaps I am over-thinking this.

I don't know.