KZ spends his nights harvesting bat guano for Crimson Nectar Farms, a local orchard growing blood oranges. One night, while in the caverns, he comes across an injured bat he takes home to nurse back to health.
KZ has a second job as a model on an adult webcam site. He starts chatting with a man there, Mac, who claims they share a past. Mac likes what he sees. The more they chat, the closer he and KZ become. But insecurity grows when Mac makes a derogatory joke about KZ’s other work. Still, KZ throws caution to the wind. When he and Mac meet, a magical night under the stars unfolds with no tension or signs of disrespect, just sweettalk, laughs, and bonding. It ends with a kiss and a promise for more.
To KZ’s surprise, his date shows up the next day naked on his doorstep. Things unravel quickly from there, with KZ left to wonder, was anything the night before as it seemed? Can the story the naked man is telling be true? Will love bite or is KZ smart to be twice shy?
“Who’d wanna hang out with Batshit KZ anyway,” he quietly asked.
The breakup with Harris had taken a toll. Though Harris was the one who’d strayed, he’d blamed it all on KZ.
“We don’t even see each other.”
This was Harris’ most common complaint.
“You sleep all day when I’m at work, KZ, but then, when I suggest we go out in the evening, you say you get too tired if you don’t rest before work. Just admit you’re antisocial and weird.”
“I’m antisocial and weird.” KZ had no problem admitting it. Not then, not now, to a gazillion bats who likely couldn’t care less.
He also had to admit that wasn’t fair to Harris, who liked to be the life of the party. Come to find out, he’d strayed early and often during the eight years they were together. KZ knew. He could tell by the way Harris stopped touching him when they had sex. They were barely a year in. Still, he hung on seven more, and when it was done, KZ placed the blame on himself.
He tried to change. He toiled at a day job a while, but invoicing stock for an aircraft parts manufacturing plant felt stifling and downright painful. Fluorescent light gave KZ almost daily migraine headaches, another side effect of the diving accident during spring break 2009 that put him in a hospital bed for two months and left him with permanent brain damage not obvious to others, but obvious to him.
“You’re so fucking weird.” Harris was angrier than ever when KZ quit.
Medical reasons or none, KZ was honest. “I miss the night. I miss the bats, and I want to keep doing it for Opa.”
They went together to Tempo a few times, an LGBTQ+ nightclub with music that was too loud and crowds that were too big.
“You’re not having fun.”
“No.” KZ was honest that time, too. “I’m not.”
“You’re not even trying.”
That wasn’t true at all. Sitting there as a swarm of bats that would stretch across a four-lane highway hovered over his head didn’t bother KZ at all. He wouldn’t even freak out if they all landed and hung from him, like crystals from a gothic chandelier.
“You guys are pretty shy, too, huh?”
Being in a room with more than three people, on the other hand, could literally take KZ’s breath away. Rather than show concern when KZ had a panic attack at Tempo, Harris complained he was embarrassed.
And then there was the bat thing.
Books.
Videos.
Photographs.
T-shirts.
Kitchen towels.
Plates and bowls.
Christmas tree ornaments.
Plush, stuffed replicas and other toys, some quite realistic, ceramic tchotchkes on display not just at Halloween, KZ collected them all.
“Sleeping on bat sheets is creepy!” Harris beefed. “I feel like one is gonna crawl up my ass in the middle of the night!”
And yet, when in the right spirit, he was the one who’d gifted KZ an anal vibrator one Christmas called -- Harris gave KZ three guesses -- The Bat.
KZ had gotten it in one.
Opa Mitch liked bats, too. Half of the collectibles KZ owned and much of the knowledge he possessed had come from his grandfather. They’d suspended bat houses from poles on every Zapp owned property. When KZ moved into his current apartment, he affixed one to the railing on his fire escape. So far, they all remained unoccupied. With all the caves and caverns Arizona had to offer, apparently not many bats were looking to downsize.
To butcher the fish in the sea metaphor, Harris wasn’t the only bat in the cave in the southwest. Maybe there was another out there who could accept KZ and his oddities.
Then again, maybe there wasn’t.
Once KZ figured the colony had all exited the cavern for the night, he headed up the mountain with his digging tools and cart. He would only enter if he was certain he wouldn’t be an unwelcome guest.
Eventually, the climb became a serpentine trek through and between a maze of gray and orange stone. Some spaces were wide, some so narrow, had the cart not folded, it never would have fit past. Jagged rocks pointed down. Sharp ones jutted out from one side then the other. The walk was not quick. KZ’s footsteps echoed. It was cold enough for his breath to show, even though the inside of the cavern felt warmer that night than it was out on the cliff.
No windchill effect.
A path lit only straight ahead, KZ had to be careful. Occasionally, he would aim the light down at the ground to be certain nothing was impeding his path.
A shocking sight -- a sad one -- nearly stopped KZ’s heart when he finally reached the mouth of the cavern the bats inhabited. There was something on the floor not even twenty feet from the entrance.
