Wednesday, April 24, 2013
The Waiting Summer: The Upset
I’m spending my seventeenth summer waiting tables at a restaurant, but on my days off, I do my own thing. Today, I’ve been shopping in the town where I go to high school. When I finish shopping, I head home in my Mustang with music blaring from my car radio. The windows in the front of the car are rolled up tight, but the back ones are wide open to keep the air circulating. Even though the front vent is blasting air at me, it’s mostly hot.
On the ceiling above me something catches my eye and I look up. Dropping from a single string of web, in window-washing fashion, is a tiny spider. More frightened of spiders than nuclear war, I swerve off the highway to the skinny shoulder then see a car coming. I correct my driving and get back on the highway just in time to see the spider drop closer to my nose – its legs extended for landing.
The oncoming car finally passes mine and I turn on the next gravel road I see, skidding to a stop. The motion from my quick exit upsets the spider and it falls into the open neckline of my shirt and I scream. Frantic, I fumble to open the car door then get out pulling my shirt away from my body to look inside, but I see no spider.
There's no traffic coming in any direction so I unbutton the front of my shirt and check again for the lost arachnid. Again, I find nothing. After several more minutes of inspecting both me and my car, I give up and climb back in my Mustang. I have no choice but to forget about the spider and go home. Easier said than done, but I do it.