My first memory ever.

Cut to Asheville, North Carolina. The city of my birth. I was five at the time.

We lived in the heart of the Smokey Mountains. A cul-de-sac at the top of a hill. Kinda like a figure nine, with the loop being the top of the hill.

And in the middle of this loop was a single large spooky lookin’ Crab-apple tree.

I remember it was dusk one night and all the neighborhood kids were surrounding this tree. My twin brother and I were psyched because my mother was stuck on the phone and thus unable to put us to bed. It was a feeling of euphoria coupled with paranoia. We were joyful in the way only children can be at the prospect of staying out in the dark with the neighborhood kids, but constantly looking over our shoulders, sure that at any moment our mother would exit the house and scream at us for exploiting her mistake.

In any case, I remember that all of us were picking up the apples around the tree, and lobbing them into the branches and leaves.

Because in this tree were a myriad of bats.

Most could not be seen. It was dusk, a few minutes from total dark, and the tree had a lot of very deep purple leaves. The shadows played about, and we could barely make out the black shapes of the hordes of bats within.

So all of us kids were picking up the apples and lobbing them into the tree. You couldn’t see what your apple hit, but when you hit a bat, there would be a sudden fierce ruffling from within the endless sticks and branches. It was great fun, in a sadistic little boy sort of way.

My twin brother and I were not doing well. We were only five, and most of our apples barely hit the lowest branches of the very full tree. And this had been going on for awhile.

At one point, I wound up and with the most force I could muster shot the apple I was holding right smack dab in the middle of the tree.

We could suddenly hear a great squeaking noise and a larger amount of rustling than we had yet heard. We all took a few steps back.

And suddenly, the tree exploded in activity. I must have hit their leader or something. The entire hoard of bats suddenly took flight, exploding from their hiding positions into a great cloud of winged rats that shot out in a chaotic formation and took to the skies.

We all scattered, screaming like little girls.

End of memory.

Years later, in Topeka, Kansas, I was maybe 12 or 13. One of the activities I enjoyed most in those pre-Manilla Gorilla days was sewer exploring. Topeka, KS, as do most major cities, has a really cool system of sewers that span underneath the city. They were also all large enough to navigate. Some were small enough that you had to bend over like Quasimodo, some so large you could easily drive a car through.

In any case, my friends and I would often go explore them. We’d take cans of spray paint and pilfered cigarettes and go do our thing. We also would take along fireworks or whatever other assorted forbidden goodies we could get our hands on.

The sewers are wonderful places. The feeling that civilization and all the strict demands of authority figures was so close, and yet we were just beneath their radar scopes. We would spray paint messages, light off fireworks (which were spectacularly loud and brilliant in the sewers), and generally make merry in a 13 year old sort of way. It was great. Down there it is warm in the winter, cool in the summer.

Well, one day we were going down “the bridge”, which was a circular tunnel about 6 feet diameter, that connects the cramped tunnels of the residential areas to the gigantic ones of the city. When, ahead of us, we spied a black object.

We would see it fly towards us, then disappear as it stopped on the dark ceiling in some crevice or something. We would think it had left, start to advance again, and then it would pop out again and come our way. Repeat this about 6 times. To a 13-year-old, this is very frightening. And also, it was blocking the one tunnel we could use to go wherever it was we were going.

So we concocted a plan.

We had with us those fireworks, you know, the types that come all strung together and sound like a machine gun when they go off. Our thinking was that bats see by radar, using sound, and if we created a loud enough explosion, it would fuck it up or something. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not sure WHAT we were thinking. But at the time it seemed like a good idea.

In any case, we put a whole mess of fireworks on a piece of paper near where we thought the bat was, lit the paper and ran back, covering our ears.

It took a minute or two for the fire to reach the fireworks. And just as they were about to go off, we saw the bat appear, fly right fucking above where the fireworks were, and disappear into some crevice.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!!!!

Loud as a cannon.

As the smoke was clearing, the bat appeared out of it, making some sort of strange squeaking noise. It was also flying very erratically. When I say erratically, I mean the bat would fly like a drunk driver, and would occasionally smack itself into a wall.

We named him Stupid and he was our companion for the next few months.

We would be in the sewers somewhere and we would hear the sound of a bat flying into walls and know that Stupid was around. I have no idea how it survived, as it was probably stone deaf, and couldn’t fly worth a damn anymore, but it somehow scraped by.

In retrospect, I feel kinda bad about it. It was not a nice thing to do to one of God’s Creatures. But little boys are evil things. And that bat sure was funny.

Karma, my friends, is a bitch.

So I’m about 17, outside smoking late one night while on the cordless phone. Across the street there is a gigantic tree, very full, very beautiful.

So I’m standing there, and I see some black object fly out of the tree. I follow it with my eyes, just a passing interest sort of thing.

As I stand there and watch it, It kinda swoops down low and gracefully, and heads my way. I think to myself “this is odd. Some bird is coming right for me.” But just stand there anyway, expecting it to notice me and then alter its course.

It does not.

It goes straight for me, and then SMACK! It crashes into my face. Felt like I had just been socked in the jaw. I drop the phone (which breaks on the cement) and yelp. I had a black eye and my nose was bleeding.

I look down and there is a big-ass bat, with its back broken, lying on the ground. And me with a black eye that lasted for weeks.

I am stunned. I look back at the tree, and see another single black object fly out and swoop in my direction.

I run inside.

I ain’t messin’ with no kamikaze bats!

A few months later I go see a concert. Bush/Hum/Toadies. I got dragged to it, as I abhor Bush, but the Toadies were great, so it was worth it (any band that brings a live donkey on the stage commands my respect). The venue is an old building, used to be a theater but is now falling apart basically.

Hum comes on, and the second they hit a really loud note, a huge cloud of bats comes out of the woodwork. This was amusing, though not scary, cuz the ceilings were very high and the bats were just flying this way and that way up there in a panic as Hum plays an opening number.

I look behind me and realize me and my group of buddies are standing near a large open window.

I look back up, and the bats are all headed RIGHT for us.

Suddenly, the 50 or so people surrounding the window are covered in a cloud of bats. In my hair, on my clothes, smacking into my chest in their desperate attempt to flee the trite alt-rock. The 50 or so people that are getting pummeled by the bats are screaming, everybody else is laughing, the music stops. The bats seem endless. I got pretty scratched up and had bat shit all over my clothes by the time the last bat had found its path outside. All the other people who had been bombarded compose themselves and laugh it off, but not me. I suspected malice.

About a year later. Visiting a zoo. The Topeka zoo has a really cool feature that is kinda like a mini bio-dome that houses a complete rainforest ecosystem.

It also houses a lot of the biggest goddamned bats you have ever seen.

So I’m walking along, and all of a sudden a bat bursts out of the brush and swoops so close to my ear that I could feel it’s wings against my neck. Then it flies up and disappears in some trees.

Whew, I think to myself, that was close!

I brush my shoulder to get all the dirty bat germs off, only to realize (a little too late), that the bat had shit all over me. It was nasty. It must have been saving it for awhile too, cuz there was a lot of it. Bat shit is not really much like bird shit, BTW. It is more like very runny dog shit.

Guano.

At this point, I’m getting pretty paranoid.

A few months later.

I go to my room one night, ready for bed, and the second I open my bedroom door I see these three bats flying around like nuts. I had left a window open, and they had apparently gotten in and now could not get out. I spent all night trying to get them out with a broom. They had broken two lamps, a shelf full of knick-knacks, a stereo speaker I had attached to the ceiling corner and had shit in my closet by the end of it.

I have since had maybe 12 similar encounters with the foul flying demons from Hell.

I am convinced that the bat population is trying to teach me a lesson. Trying to right the wrongs of my youth. I am on the bat shit-list, my friends, and it is no fun. I live in constant fear. I am always looking over my shoulder, examining trees with suspicion. I jump at the slightest squeak. And don’t even talk to me about sewers or Bush.

I am a broken man.

If I could have taken back that apple that hit the bat-leader, I would. If I could restore Stupid’s hearing, I would. But alas I cannot.

All I ask is for the bat community to please forgive me and let me live my life.

But they refuse.

They are a vindictive, stubborn race.

I have a bad case of the bat karma.

Tune in next week.

Same Bat-Time, same Bat-Place.

*twitches*