Spider’s Venom

    Colorado seemed to cling to the last hint of summer on a Friday evening. It was a layer up kind of day where you wear a sweater in the morning, bare a little shoulder in a white tank top during lunch, and pop that sucker back on in the evening. I locked my apartment door behind me and drove my little Honda Civic through the curves of my neighborhood.I rolled down the windows and held hands with the breeze. I blasted the radio with pop hits; the kind of music he doesn’t like. But I did. And I still do. The wind is cold and as I pull up to the park I close all the windows and wrap my little, green sweater around my shoulders. A few lingering families head back to the car. I watch as tiny hands reach for bigger hands and a tired father caves. He bends down, the worn denim on his knees stretch white, and he picks up his son in an oversized red sweatshirt. I smile at him and the little boy waves back at me. His tall father provides a safety I can’t say I’ve had in years. 

I wrap the sweater tighter around my cold shoulders and suddenly wish I had opted for a full fledged coat. The wind has blown a collage of red, yellow, brown, and green leaves to the sidewalk. They crunch under my feet. I watch intent on memorizing the destruction I am causing in their world. I pass the playground on my right and smile at the little metal sculpture of the fox in the center of the park. My pace slows, my warm breath visible in the autumn air. He wraps his arms around me as I stand, stuck in this trance. I feel his lanky body against my back first, his hot breath on my neck. My nose pricks at the scent of stale weed covered up with peppermint mouthwash and a shower. I cringe. My gaze is still locked on the sculpture. I see a version of myself as a child, clambering up the wide tale, reaching for the wave of fur down his back, before triumphantly grasping his ears. A smile paints across my face. He laughs behind me and buries his face in my neck. I let him. Two boys on skateboards roar beside us which makes him smile. I wonder if he sees a version of himself he used to know. They shout teasingly at us, “ooohhh!” I blush. I shift my weight so I can look at him better. So I can memorize his face. The leaves crunch underneath my feet. His spaghetti arms are still wrapped around me. I imagine his long, spider leg fingers are interlaced at the base of my back. His green eyes stare back at me and I search for tell tale signs so I know which version of him I get to be with tonight. Are they red rimmed? Are they dilated? Does he have a lazy grin indicating the joy and peace he finds not with me, but surrounded in a deep haze?

He takes my hand and we begin to take a long walk around a large lake. The water sparkles with promise fulfilled during the climax of the summer. He reaches up and brushes leaves that were left clinging to pale, brown branches. It seems he relishes in destruction just like me. I am aware he is talking. His words are lazing, slow. I can practically watch them exit his mouth in warm clouds, “It was a good day. I hung out with a buddy after work.” I wonder why men always call their friends “buddy.” I despise that word. I wrestle with it in my mouth. I pop my lips, slowly, mouthing the word. My tongue touches the back of my front teeth. I release his hand. “How was your day, babe,” he asks me. I’m shocked. He never asks. I fumble for the words to hide my thoughts. I stumble through a generic response because I guess I could claim that school was good. That I forgot a French assignment. My cheeks burn in embarrassment. I still want to impress him. He jovially begins swinging his arms before he pecks me on the head. I cringe. I am his little girlfriend. He notices I am not holding his hand anymore and he stops his walk, he reaches for my polished fingers. I let him. He pulls gently at my class ring, off my right ring finger. He places it on his pinky finger. Triumphantly. 

I stare straight ahead at the geese circling the lake. They have left a trail of their own destruction. He laughs as I bounce on my light feet in little, pink, ballet flats, avoiding the evidence of their presence. He plows right through it. His big, black boots don’t care about them. We approach the white gazebo. Deftly, he slides along the white bench in front of the picnic table. His arms open expectantly. I smile at him. I memorize the way a rebellious dark curl sticks straight up. My cheek longs for the safety of his soft, warm, black T shirt. It has found a home in the crook of his neck. Blush fills my cheeks and my eyes flick down to his pants. I remind myself of the promise I had made as a child. I shake my head, reprimanding myself. My left ring finger feels cold. Barren in the autumn air. I tuck my little, pink skirt under my bottom and sit next to him. I cross my legs like a lady. He frowns. I frown back at him. “What’s wrong?” he asks me. I am relieved he asks. A lump in my throat forms. 

“I was just wondering if you talked to Kyle about the promotion?” the question is whispered. It hangs in the air like the spider’s silk dangling between the branches of the trees.

“Oh, baby, no! It requires a way bigger commitment than I am willing to make. Less time with you,” his cold fingers bring my chin up so his eyes can read mine. My right foot begins to bounce. I stare out at the geese. “I know it’s full time, but it’s also a raise. Kyle said you could build a career,” I protest. My words transform from spider’s silk to venom. I don’t have the courage to look him in the eye. 

“Look, I don’t want a career at some big box store, ok?” He throws his arms up in the air. He pushes away from me. Three feet away. I watch a goose bob down and eat. A few of his comrades call him. He swims away. The bright blue sky now looks less blue, more angry. My heart aches at the memory of sunsets watched in the past. My head was in his lap, his fingers traced patterns in the freckles on my cheeks before I wrapped a hand around his neck, bringing his rose bud lips down to my own. “Well, you can’t work part time there forever!” I spit. My back faces him. The back he once kissed a pathway down one evening after a movie night. I bundle up my long, dark hair into a ponytail. “You need to build something for yourself,” I demand. He needs to build something for us. For me. It’s the argument we’ve had for the last month. I feel the tears building and reinforce the dam by digging my fingers into my palm. I wonder if his silence means I’ve won. My heart begins to race at the thought of him getting promoted to manager. Maybe then he’ll take me out on a nice date and buy me a bouquet of flowers. Then, my pride in his will be fully deserved. 

 I take a deep breath and stand. I wrap myself in him. I long to memorize this version of us. His face cracks like an oil painting. We kiss. We kiss long and we kiss hard. We kiss because it’s the last kiss we’ll ever kiss which he knows. Which I know. We stand. The geese have disappeared. The sun has disappeared. I pull the green sweater around my shoulders. We walk in silence. The trees seem haunted now. Like something out of a horror film. I side step the cluster of little red spiders trying to remember the warmth of the sidewalk. He pulls me closer. We march down to the parking lot. Abandoned by everyone except us. I open my car door. It echoes off of the looming metal street lights. He wraps his arms around me. I bury my face in his neck. His hand reaches for mine. He places the warm, little ring in my palm, he closes my fingers around it. I sit down in my car. I power it up. My headlights illuminate the path we once walked and the fox statue of my childhood. I place the ring back on my finger. He steps to the side. I back out of the spot. He stands, watching. He fades into a dark, tall, looming failure in my heart.