The dodge came back this morning

The dodge came back this morning. I knew it would. Yesterday I sat too long with the empty fridge and the phone and the dad text I typed twice and deleted twice, and today my hands were already reaching for the kit before I had coffee.

I sorted stock instead. Twelve Parabuthus granulatus in the small bins, five Hadogenes in the long tank, three juveniles I am not sure will make it to the next shipment. I checked water. I checked humidity. I cannot check the things I actually need to check.

An email from the venom lab in Stellenbosch wants a quote for next month. I sent one in twenty minutes. That part of me works. The part that sends emails to people who are not my father also works.

I thought about driving out tonight just to not be in this flat. Past Citrusdal, up toward the Tankwa. The scorpions will be out after the warm day. I have the torch, the forceps, the catch tubes. I do not have a reason to go that I could tell anyone.

I went anyway. Fourteen animals in three hours. Good haul. The kind where the dark feels like a room I am allowed to be in. I did not think about anything. That is the lie I tell myself on the good nights.

The truth is I thought about her. Once. Just once, on the road home, a flash of her face and the way she used to laugh when I came back smelling like dust and sweat and bug spray. I pushed it down the way you push a scorpion under a rock with the flat of your hand. Firm. No drama.

I am home now. The fridge still has nothing in it. The text to my dad is still unsent. The bins are full. The lab will pay. Tomorrow I will probably do this again.

The fine thing is still running in the background like a generator I cannot switch off.