The Spider

She is absolutely right. I need to get my life together. No more of this sulking. No more self-deprecation. No more being worried about every little thing. Yes life is scary, yes there are risks. And certainly to make oneself vulnerable is a dangerous undertaking. And taking on responsibility outside oneself is all the more terrifying.

I've spent my life avoiding responsibility, putting in minimal effort to produce maximum results. I've worked hard enough to have a home and provide for myself. Sure I don't always eat well, but I eat. It was all very simple back then. In the time before I met her. The time before love and the talk of "'til death do us part"and all that. She was so beautiful back then, so captivating, so free of all the worries and manic behaviors that I felt were hindering my life from becoming anything other than what it was. Why do I say "was"? She is still beautiful. I can't believe I get to be with her, to call her mine. She cherishes me and I return that with fear of rejection, of not being good enough. I've had plenty of friends who didn't nurse those fears, and ended marrying girls not half as amazing as the one I am with. And in return they got their heads bit off. I know I'm lucky. And with her in my life I was inspired more than I've been. I worked harder to provide her with all the things she deserves. I wasn't able to give her all the things her friends had, but I'm not the man of means those women married. She says my heart and sincerity are enough. That she only wants me. How could I have gotten so lucky? I can't believe how much time I waste asking these questions rather than just being with her, holding her, trapping flies with her. I want to give her only the best. The juiciest flies, the most elaborate webs. She says she doesn't need all that, but the look on her eyes and her body language said it all when I got that butterfly for our two year anniversary. In her exuberance I could only be paralysed with the realization that I can never do better than this, I had reached the pinnacle of what I am able to provide for her. Anticipating my thoughts she tells me none of this is true. She is content to be just her and I, all the frills are parenthetical, they aren't the reason she is with me, and they aren't the reason she stays. I try to believe her. I do believe her. And I work to be the man she deserves.

But now a kid? Kids?! All the insecurity and thoughts of insufficiency come screaming back to me. What do I have to teach a kid. Do I pass all my neurosis to him? How do I provide? There will need to be new additions to the web. We'll need more food collected, because I will not be the husband who has to be concerned with rations. Then there is education to think about, friends, discipline, are my wife and I every going to have a moment alone again? Responsibility, responsibility, responsibility. And the world quickly closes in on me. I can't do this. Taking care of one person presented enough struggles. I'm not sure I can handle more. I'm not up for this at all.

Okay, control your breathing. No need to hyperventilate. But still. Asking her father for support of our marriage was hard enough "how do you plan to support my daughter?" "I've made sure she only has the finest things in life. Are you prepared to work hard to do the same?" I wasn't sure I was. I'm not always sure I am. Now more from him? Critiques on how I raise them, on how much food they are able to eat, on the size of the web. Its all too much.

I shouldn't have yelled at her when she told me she's pregnant. It was juvenile and pathetic. I know she forgave me the moment I said it, but going back is humiliating-admitting that I'm not perfect and I don't handle everything as a man should. Not like her father. I just need some time to clear my head. But I don't know how to calm these thoughts down. How do I resolve myself.

Oh look, through the screen, a human and her child. She is holding her. The baby looks so at peace. She is so loved. The mother looks as tired as a mother should look, certainly, but also more joyful than I have seen anyone, especially a human. They are so beautiful together. If I can have that! To have that love for a child, that fulfillment from creating it, caring for it, teaching it, loving it. I want that. I do. With every ounce of me I know I do.

All the worry and concern is gone. Well, not gone. Lets not kid ourselves here. But its tampered, its put in its place. I can move past all of that in order to have what that woman and that baby have. A new kind of love, like what I have with my wife, but different. Already in my heart I feel this love welling up, this feeling of completion, of being a part of something bigger than myself. Now I'm not just going to be part of a marriage but part of a family! Come hell or high water I will be the father I need to be for my wife and children.

Wait. Why is she screaming? She's holding the baby all the closer and fleeing to the back of the kitchen, all the while screaming, filled with panic. She's looking... No. She's not looking at me is she? Well its in this direction. Have I been staring too long? Oh no, I've creeped her out. This is like grade school.

Stop screaming "Spider! Spider! Spider!" I have a name. Its Walt. I'm not trying to hurt anyone here. I just needed some time to collect myself and I'll be on my way. I have no intention of biting you. My mandibles are too small to begin with, thanks for making me explore that insecurity! Just give me a few minutes and I'll be gone. Please just stop screaming. I'm trying to resolve some stuff here. Its fine. Lady! Its fine. I'll start heading out now.

She stopped screaming, finally some quiet. Why is she pointing at me? I said I'd leave. Isn't that enough. Who is this guy? Why is there a shoe in his hand? I'm no genius but my understanding is that for that thing to be effective it should be on your foot. Why is he moving closer to me? I now and forever prefer the woman's reaction. Stop moving closer. You're invading my personal space. I get social anxiety. Especially around guys with shirts that are clearly too small for them and a bad case of bed head. Did you seriously wake up just to see me? Its six in the evening. Why are you napping? I thought I feared responsibility. Maybe you should take a good hard look at...

How did I get on the floor? That was a long drop. Everything is spinning. Trying to get back up on my... just going to lay here for a second.
Okay. I'm just going to get up and be on my way, back to my family. He's outside now and definitely in my intimate zone, this is my personal bubble here friend. Are those vans? Stylish. I really like those. I don't like to humanthropomorphise myself but if I were a human I think I would rock those. Are they comfortable. I don't see how they would be very supportive for jumping. Especially if they are in your hands, over your head. Hey buddy. Lets talk this out. You're obviously a man of style and character. I apologize for the crack about the bed head and the directionless life you're obviously leading. I've been there. I'm actually coming out of that, at least working on it. Hey, how about this, you put the shoe down and I'll name my first hatched son...
SPLAT!

Thanks For The Tip

Here is a story I turned in for a competition. The rules were it had to be 300 words, with one character telling a joke and another character laughing. Enjoy...

Finally I get a new table. This is good news because the restaurant has been slow and my station sparse. This middle-aged couple might be my one chance to make any money tonight.

Time to lay on the charm. I crack a smile. I open my mouth. Words ready to escape my lips and stimulate their ear drums…

"That's stupid, we're not doing that!"

Fantastic! This couple could have made the considerate decision and had their little argument at home like civilized human beings but chose instead to air out their dirty laundry in public. Now I get to stand here pretending like this is all normal.

It's not easy; tears are welling up in her eyes as I begin my standard introduction. Before I can list the specials, one droplet breaks free and streams down her face, marring the rouge on her cheek. She quickly wipes the tear away and escapes to the bathroom.

The husband is shaking his head as I look at him for some guidance on what should happen next. Do they even want to eat now? He's showing no sign of wanting either to leave or caring that his wife has ruined her mascara. "I got a question..." He starts in with a half smirk.

"Let's hear it."

"How do you turn a fox into an elephant?"

I have no clue and I couldn't care less if there were two of me... but I have to keep the customer happy. So I bite. "You got me... How?"

"Marry it." Before I even process what he said he's laughing so hard he's hacking up his left lung. My fists clench and my teeth grind as my mind rushes to an alternate universe where it is acceptable for me to let my fist lose or explain that the Madmen shtick is antiquated... especially for guys with beer guts and oil under their finger nails. To act on this fantasy would mean him complaining to the manager. She'll explain that "this kind of behavior" really isn't like me and apologize profusely, maybe even comp their whole meal. More importantly, however, I'll lose my job. I can't afford to let that happen.

So I play ball.

I step out of my own body and watch myself smile from across the room. Smile! And wait there until he gives me their dinner order.

The rest of the meal is equally uncomfortable. They hardly speak as they pick at their food. I don't want him obligating me to smile at more misogynistic garbage so I completely avoid eye contact until they are done eating.

As I swing by to drop off the check he announces: "You're a great waiter." I nod in lieu of saying thank you. "I find men are usually great waiters because they don't have anything to distract them from executing their job well. No monthly visitor..."

"Well I'm not sure that..." I stop midsentence when I catch the wife out of the corner of my eye deflated in her seat. If she heard what he said she either is too worn down to care or she believes it. She won't back me up, no one will. This guy is right on a technicality, the customer is always right. There is nothing I can do about it, nothing I can afford to do about it. So I change gears. "Thank you, sir. Good night." With that I walk away, eyes to the floor.

When they leave I swing by the table to pick up my tip. Six dollars.

Now I know how much my integrity costs.

Saturday Morning Cartoon part 1

Monty laughed hysterically as he dragged the over sized sledge hammer through the dirt. The hammer left a jagged wake behind him, it shook as his laughter brought his body to sporadic tremors. He breathed deeply, filling every square inch of his lungs with oxygen. His arms flew back with the the hammer soon to follow. Ready to strike, his eyes bulged and became bloodshot with joyful excitement. His laugh degenerated to a desperate wheeze as anticipation gripped him. Below him Laurel sat looking at the inevitable. His eyes widened and his whole body convulsed with a concussive laugh when the hammer's long handle took a rubber consistency and audibly sank to the ground.

Monty was nearly defeated. Disappointed, oxygen refilled his deprived lungs as his arms sat frozen above his head, deflated sledgehammer draped at his back. His eyes grew wide as a giant glowing yellow light bulb flashed over his head. Yes! He would swing down the hammer all the same, rubber handle or not. Laurel looked up to see the hammer falling mercilessly towards his face.

When the dust settled he walked away, his body now like an accordion, contracting and expanding with every step, playing an off key melody as he moved. Monty rocked back and forth on the ground with a laugh that quickly grew into a cackle. Laurel stuck his thumb in his mouth, , exhaled with purpose and his body corrected itself back to its proper plump proportions. It was a fun game.