The problem, in my not-spider-body, was that spiders still kind of freaked me out, a little. If I was to build some sort of spider village (think ant farm here), I would have to capture spiders, no? So. I told mom.
“That’s a fabulous idea, Susie.” She was folding laundry on the table and I was sitting with my feet and knees up on the chair, with my arms holding them in place while I rested my chin on them, my knees that is. Not my feet. THAT would be a trick only a very adept spider could do. I mean. So. I’m sitting there stating my case like I was a prosecuting attorney or something.
“See, mom. I bet no one would ever ever ever do a spider farm. Right?”
“It’s a brave undertaking.”
Undertaking. I blew air through my nose in a snigger.
“What?
“Nothing, mom.” Uh-oh. “Just thinking about my idea.”
“I love your brainchild.”
Snigger. Snigger. She was killing me, you know?
“My brainchild, mom, is from your child!” I laughed out loud.
“You’re so silly sometimes. It’s as if you have a bee in your bonnet today.”
God. I’d only heard that saying one once a real long time ago when mom and dad made me watch this lame-o old movie in grainy black and white that sounded like the actors were speaking through an empty cardboard toilet paper roll one that had piped-in music as background!
“I definitely have a bee in my bonnet, mom.” More like a spider in my bonnet. Skwee.
She pulled off her barrette and tugged on her hair re-twisting it tighter and then re-clipped it.
“Mom?”
“Hmm.” She was folding a pair of my doofy cotton underwear that made me look like a dwarf-sized premature grandma.
“I hate those things.”
“They’re cute.”
“Phh. They’re Underwear by Hideous June.”
“Oh. Susie.”
“K. So, mom?”
“What honey.”
“Will you help?”
“Help?”
“With my project.”
“The spider project?”
“Ya-huh.”
“Oh. I don’t know, Susie. I’m not a big fan of arachnids.”
I was impressed she knew the word. Big points for mom.
“Great.” I lost all muscle there, limping out on her the way--dropping my arms from around my knees and letting my thighs land hard on the seat of my chair and letting my feet fall to the floor.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Catch one?”
“No.” Mom did this funky little "shh, shh, shh" and then, acting like she had a key in her fingertips, she locked her lips with said key and tossed into oblivion.
“Mo-oo-oooo-oooom.”
“No.” She put down one of my favorite gray tee-shirts. “Now. Susie. It’s your project. If you want to do a spider project," her mouth bent and her neck muscles formed into tight ropes that looked like cables leading from her jaw to each collar bone, "you have to take full responsibility for it.”
“Gahhhh.”
“Don’t Gah me.”
I got up off my chair and slumped my way over to the refrigerator to add more goat’s milk into my glass. I know. Weird. No? But mom says cow’s milk causes too much phlegm (khach-khach) and makes me hack loogies. She hates it when I hack loogies. So, goat’s milk, it is.
Then, mom goes on. “I’ll watch you catch a spider. If you want.”
“Really?”
“Sure. But, if it looks too risky. It’s a no-go. We’ll stop your project immediately and try to think up another one for the Queen.”
“The Queen!” Roar. Mom. Ya just gotta love my mom.
“Do NOT repeat what I just said to ANYONE. You hear.”
“Mum’s the word, mom.”
And, as usual, we said the phrase together. “Keep it under your arms!” And, we both placed one hand under under one arm and made fart noises. Something dad taught us. 'Cause he was so classy that way.
We giggled and then she put her hand out for my glass and started drinking.
“Mom." glug. "Stop." glug. "Stop." glug. "Mother!” And proceeded to drink half of my goat’s milk.
When she finished, she said, “Get more. There’s more.”
“Mother. Gahhh.”
FOURTEEN - My Wimpy Mom
Dew had settled on the ground. That’s how freaking early it was.
Delilah and I had returned only hours before from one of our sojourns to Morlson’s. I’ll tell you about it in a minute. My noggin felt like lead.
Mom woke me before getting ready for church. Even after I’d warned her not to enter my room lest she turn into a giant turkey pie and be eaten by her workmates at Costco as one of their sample dishes.
She woke me after she had her first cup of coffee—with agave nectar, please, and real cream. Mom refused to worry about a spreading hip, thigh or tummy. She always said that if she had “to quit drinking real cream in her coffee, then, just shoot me.” Knowing full well I’m a pacifist and would never own a gun let alone shoot one or let alone, again, shoot my own madré. For heaven’s sake. What does mom expect of me. I’m just a kid.
“Come on. Get up.” She tugged at my covers and I tugged them back over my head, against her.
“What time is it?” Silk check: mouth face hands. Wipe. Set.
“Seven.”
“In the morning?”
“Of course in the morning. Get up.”
“Mom. Doesn’t church start at ten?”
“There are spider webs just waiting for you outside this morning.”
“Later. Let’s do it later.”
[Pause]
[Pause]
“Later may never come.”
I slid the sheet just off of my head, to the bridge of my nose. She had just slid a finger underneath one of her way blue eyes. The tears mixed with her quickly reddening whites making her blue irises look even bluer if that was at all possible.
“Okay.” I whipped the sheet off and sat up. I grabbed her around the shoulder and held her for a moment as I spoke. “Can I pee first before spider duty?”
“Go.” She wiped her face with both hands and stood to let me out of bed.
When I passed her she slipped her hand down my arm to my wrist. And, when she pulled her hand back, she gasped.
“God. What do you have on your arm?”
“Silk.” Shoot. “These must be some pretty crappy silk pajamas. Falling apart, and all.”
“That's not silk.”
“Hmm. Dunno.” I shrugged. “Gotta pee, mom.” I made it sound as urgent as urgent can be.
“Go.”
I ran out of my bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. She had begun wiping at her hands and lifting the sheets to inspect where I had been laying before I high-tailed it out of there.
But, the bed wasn’t guilty. The webbing didn’t come from there. It came from me.
“And, where’s my loofah!” She yelled toward the bathroom. It sounded all muffled and angry through the door.
It was like she had x-ray eyes and watched me pull it out of the lower cupboard. “I have it in here.” I yelled back, quickly scrubbing off the rest of the sticky thin threads from me.
“I want it back, young lady.”
Dang.
“I need it!” I whined.
“Susie.” She waited before saying this and, honestly, it kind of stung, her words. “You’ll be the death of me.”
I rolled my eyes as I sat down on the toilet but mom wasn’t finished.
“I’ll cut it in half. Okay?”
“Okay, mom! Cool! Thanks!”
FIFTEEN - Spiders B Our Bizness
We’re now thinking about putting a sign on the door of mom’s car that reads:
SPIDER WRANGLERS, WE STRRRETTTCCCHHHH OUR RATES FOR YOU!
Just kidding. But, I was thinking about it, you know.
Mom was right. There were about one thousand gazillion spider we
bs all over our front yard. Hanging like nets in trees. Looking like trampolines on the ground. The weather was turning all Halloween-y and the dew from the cool wet nights rested in the tiniest droplets along each tract of webbing making them appear magical and dangerous at the same time.
The only other lights on that early was a glow emanating from freakshow's house across the street, that and the street lamp on the corner, four doors down.
Mom noted about a dozen webs in the bush that lined the front of our house just below the kitchen window.
“There.” She pointed. Her breath billowed around her like a ghost escaping from her mouth. “See how many?”
“Way to go, mom.”
Then we both stopped.
We kind of froze.
We stared.
For like an entire week.
“Well.” She finally said to me.
“I have to pee again.”
“You have to do it or pick another science project.”
“Gahhh. Mom!”
“Look. It’s chilly. If you do it fast...”
“Like removing a bandage?”
“Right. Like removing a bandage. It won’t be so terribly terribly terribly disgusting.” Mom's whole entire body quivered. We could've gotten by with just one "terribly."
Mom shuddered again, made a minuscule squeal, then she rubbed her upper arms crosswise. Then she let out another little bleak-sounding thing.
“You’re so brave to let me do this all by myself, mom.”
“Hush. Stinker.”
I looked at the Tupperware bowl in my right hand and the sheet of cardboard I’d dismembered from an old shoebox in my left. My body leaned in toward the bush.
“Wait!” She screamed and jolted me out of my state of concentration, making me jump about a mile up in the air.
“What!” I yelled back.
“What about an egg.”
“Now? I thought you said waffles this morning.”
“No. Not for breakfast, silly. For your science project. You know. To incubate and hatch. I mean. I’ve been thinking about it and, really, honey. Doesn’t it seem just a bit safer to hatch and egg than this?”
Turn and body slump. “Mother. You mean the egg that Billy Walton will incubate and hatch and the egg that Cinda and Melinda will incubate, the egg Jennie Castravetti will incubate and hatch and the other egg that Matt-the-freakazoid-Ryder will incubate? And...”
“Okay! Stop! You’ve made your point.” Then she got all bold. “Fine. Get the darned spider.” Shudder. “I just can’t watch.”
Then SHE LEFT ME THERE! Oh, brave of bravest mothers sending her one and only single solitary daughter to the gallows.
“Mother!” I called after her but by then she’d reached the door. Mom turned back. Now, here’s where I learned that for some things in life you will always be alone. She shook her head in these tiny little jerks and grimaced, shuddered again and slammed the door behind her.
“You’re very brave, you know, mom!” She’d moved to the kitchen window by then and held a hand over her mouth as she watched me.
Body slump.
I looked at the aquarium sitting on the edge of the porch. It looked like a mile from where it needed to be. I set down my Tupperware bowl and my cardboard. Mom’s hand dropped as she watched. Then, I picked up the stupid aquarium and stared at her through the window. Her hand rose again to her mouth.
I walked back to the Tupperware and cardboard, near the bush where my spider hung in its web.
After setting the aquarium back down on the ground, I stood and stared at the spider. It was way too surreal to deal with.
I bent down, in a squat and watched her but must've been breathing too hard because the soft blast of my breath hit her web and she began this rapid-fire bouncing thing that, I assumed, was meant to detract danger from around her. Or, at the very least, be some sort of warning.
I felt a shudder building up inside of me, growing along my spine but refused to let mom see me get all grossed out like that.
Successfully, I suppressed my true feelings and picked up my Tupperware and cardboard again.
Then, I just watched the spider. In a way, I felt sorry for her—not sure at that point if she was a she but I wasn’t about to lift her up and inspect her poopy butt for gender. No. I was sorry, that her life, as she knew it, up to that moment, would change forever.
I could relate.
A pang of guilt coursed through me but if anything would impress the beast of all teachers, Morlson, this would. Spider-bite Morlson would think I had turned into the Ninja of all high-schoolers who do science projects. I, in Morlson’s eyes, would become Science Project Ninja-Girl! Certainly, she’d pass me, based on this project alone!
The spider... remember? Was doing her spider thing. Hanging there. Waiting. Waiting and hanging. For a bug snack to innocently fly into her web of sheer and utter death.
My guilt left.
And, as fast as my guilt left me, my hands clapped the Tupperware and cardboard over her!
Trapped!
I looked up and mom was jumping up and down. Like she was so happy I had done it that I bounced too but not so much that the spider would escape, run up my arm, into my hair and make me do the freakiest “I’ve got a spider in my hair” dance, EVER! Bleeee. Shudder.
I dropped the Tupperware and cardboard inside the aquarium. Big mistake.
The spider FREAKED OUT. She went zinging back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.
Mom suddenly appeared by my side.
“Agggg!” I screamed when she touched my shoulder, making her scream too.
But, then she laughed out loud. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Susie. You did it!” And, gave me a super-squishy big hug which I successfully wriggled out of because the spider had begun crawling up the glass.
“Mom! Quick! Get the lid!
She screamed like one of my girlfriends and I did this thing with my face—like a frown with a bunch of squinting like, did you just scream like a teenager?
“Sorry.” She ran over to get the lid on the porch where I’d left it. The spider still tried to make her escape. But I kept tapping at the glass wall of the aquarium and knocking her down. Mom came back and relayed the lid to me, not wanting to get too close.
One problem we spiders have. We cannot, for the life of me, maneuver over glass or on porcelain sinks very well. It’s crazy weird.
SIXTEEN - New Housemates
Things happened quickly after our spider’s capture. We moved her into the bathroom, into the tub, just so we could double protect ourselves from her. Mind you. She’s like one-thousandth the size of me and I’m half the size of mom and yet here we were all heeby-jeebied up.
Plus, Delilah exhibited this undying interest in her and I felt the need to protect our new guest, being of my ilk and such. So, we locked her in the bathroom.
But...
She had to eat. Outside she had a total 24/7 buffet of crawlers and flying insects and now, the bathroom, for the most part, 98% bug free, had little for her in the way of nutritional ambience.
So, now, I had to somehow catch bugs and send them to their deaths for Miss Spider’s recommended daily allowance of bug vitamins and minerals. Makes me puke to think about.
What I ended up doing is cracking the screen on the bathroom window and setting out a peeled banana and an apple. Bugs love that stuff. What I did was this, got this large square plastic container (not Tupperware or I would’ve said Tupperware, it was probably some knock-off thing like Rubbermaid or something) and placed the fruit into it. Peeled fruit, if you didn’t know, sends off a mesmerizing odor that bugs cannot resist.
And, sure enough, by the end of the day, we had a host of tiny bugs who had made their way through the cracked screen and into the container as a sort of mini-pantry for Miss Spider-McFrighter! It was totally awesome.
I simply placed the container into the aquarium with spider-girl.
Okay. Not so “simply” I suppose. Beca
use I was still heeby-jeebying about her. What I did do, was use a pair of bacon tongs and lifted the container into and set the fruit bug trap down in her new abode.
The thing that worried me most was this, she was sort of languishing about, even with her food source for a couple of days. Until it struck me that she wasn’t happily hanging in a web.
The glass!
She couldn’t create a web that would stick to glass. Soooo....
I destroyed mom’s favorite wicker waste basket she kept in the bathroom. I told her. She rolled her eyes but didn’t scold me or anything. She knew how important this project was to me and since I’d braved near death to capture Miss Spider-dider-doo, mom just let it be. Plus, she just said she would get another one of her favorite waste baskets from Costco. :)
Cool.
So, I had dismantled the waste basket by slamming my foot on it as hard as I could) leaving a pretty cool angled piece of wicker for her to explore and build a web on.
Within the day! She had already begun weaving a home for herself. It’s a spider’s nature to build. Kind of like my dad’s. He was a contractor before the accident. He loved to build. He built our house.
After my spider constructed the basic sides and angles to her web, she rested in the middle and let the bugs become ensnared. When she attacked, I would have to leave. Because each time she did, I felt like saving the bugs but that would’ve been contradictory to attracting the bugs with the fruit in the first place. Wouldn’t it?
Within a few days, things began to even out. Good thing too because my science project was due in a week.
“Take some photos, Sus.” Mom said as we ate our spaghetti that first night.
Slurp. Slurp. “K.” I could barely hear her words over the amazing garlic smell with its long noodly fingers tickling my olfactory glands.
“You need to observe everything and write down what you observe in a journal.”
Slurp. Slurp. “K.” I wanted to only savor the taste of the pungent onion playing the xylophone on top of my taste buds.
“You have a journal, honey?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“I’ll pick up a batch tomorrow from work.” She took a very proper feminine mom-bite. If ever. “Just use some loose-leaf notebook paper then and transfer your notes from that into the journal tomorrow night.”
Spider Brains: A Love Story (Book One) Page 6
