When Spiders Fly

Tension hung over the room. Pissed off, my fists clamped tight while my older brother sat across from me, speechless. His eyes were full of shock at the outburst. I paced in front of the couch trying to unclamp my fists.

“I’ve gotta get him high but I can do that,” Sam proclaimed from his squeaky recliner, breaking my grip.

“Come on I was kidding,” I protested.

“And then you’ll forgive me?” He cut me off and then raced out of the room. His mind plotting.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” My mouth blurted out as I continued my pace, eyes stuck on the cement floor. It had been two years since I had seen my brother. An unfortunate set of circumstances led me to his doorstep, just a few miles away from where we grew up. I never planned to set foot in this town again but a worn fan belt had other ideas. Things here weren’t the same for me since our parents died. It wasn’t home anymore. My brother made sure of that when he sold the house I grew up in four months ago and moved into this cramped basement.

Sam returned a minute later, motivated and giddy with excitement. He shoved the creature into my face.

“Say hi,” he laughed as I jumped back.

“Oh relax, he’s not gonna hurt you. At least I don’t think so,” he said eyeing the arachnid. I leaned in to inspect the little monster. Eight beady eyes and two colossal fangs stared back at me. Eight hairy and angular legs each the size of my fingers surrounded its bloated abdomen. They squirmed as his grip tightened.

A short coffee table littered with weed, ashtrays, rolling papers, and junk food sat between us. Sam returned to his recliner and inhaled from a cherry red joint sitting in the ashtray. He brought the spider to his face and exhaled as he sat and leaned back in his recliner. The spider’s legs all squirmed faster; its fangs writhed as it inhaled the smoke.

He handed me the joint as I sat down, the strain on my muscles still tight. My throat, raw from yelling, burned as I inhaled smoke.

“I know you’re not smoking reefer in my basement.” The landlady yelled from the top stair leading down to the basement apartment.

“No Ms. Tanncock!” Sam yelled up the stairs. He snapped his fingers at me gesturing to turn on a small oscillating fan on the side table. He swung the panel glass of the window open, and smoke began to plume into the cool night air.

"Alright, we'll put him down for now," he said, placing the spider in a box at his feet. "Let him chill out for a little bit." The spider laid still for a while huddled in a ball. Then it stretched its legs out and began trying to climb out of the box. It crawled a quarter of the way up the box then fell onto its back.

"Uh oh!" Sam exclaimed.

"Are you sure this is safe for him?" I asked.

"Sure, it’s only weed. Nobody ever died from weed." Sam kicked the box enough to allow the spider to get back onto its legs. It scurried again to the wall of the box and started to climb up, a little more coordinated than before. A few legs hung mimicking Gene Kelly hanging off a light post in Singin’ In The Rain.

The rage flushed from my body and my mind became logical again. I’ve always had a temper and one of the main causes was Sam. It felt like every time we got together as adults it ended in a screaming match. He knew how to push my buttons. I barely spoke to him since he sold the house I grew up in without consulting me. I didn’t speak to him because I knew this would happen.

“Listen,” I said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

“Sure, you did. You’ve been wanting to snap at me for a while. I can hear it in your voice when we talk on the phone, well when I talk, and you do your best to shove me off.”

I sat in silence.

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I know you’re the one with your life put together but I’m not an idiot.” His office chair slid across the cement floor until it slammed into his desk. He opened and shut drawers and I heard junk shifting around. He ruffled some papers and pulled out two deflated pink balloons. Pushing off the desk, he glided back past the table into the corner of the room. He dug through a pile of clothes, freeing a short, fat cylinder of helium. He placed it next to the spider in the box.

“Why do you have a helium tank?” I asked.

“I spent the summer working as a clown at kid’s birthday parties. The pay was shit but I got a lot of free food.” A child-like grin on his face grew wider as the hiss of the tank inflated the balloon.

"Quick! Get me that string!" He motioned to a box of art supplies under the table. I handed him the string. He looked over at the spider in the box at his feet. He nodded his head in approval.

I re-lit the joint and took another drag. Sam let the bright pink balloon float to the ceiling and went to fill another.

“Grab him,” Sam said.

“You grab him,” I raised my head to look at him. “He’s your spider.”

“Can you tie a knot?”

“Alright, good point,” I said reaching down to grab the spider.

"Is he... gonna bite me?"

"Nah, he's pretty high. Might nibble you a little bit." He reached back to me and offered the spider. My index finger and thumb made makeshift tongs as I grabbed the eight-legged stoner. Awkward to hold, I put my other hand beneath him in case he got a burst of energy and decided to squirm out of my grip. "Don't drop him," Sam instructed me as he began tying the balloon around its hairy abdomen.

As he focused my mind raced again. I wanted answers. What he did broke my heart and I felt entitled to an explanation.

“Why did you sell the house?”

He didn’t respond right away.

“We grew up in two different houses. You grew up with a sober dad who wanted nothing but your approval. I grew up with a drunk who beat me and treated me like shit. I was sick of walking through that house with those memories.”

Sam secured the knot of the second balloon.

"Alright, he's good to go,” he said, taking the spider from me.

“Now what did you say earlier?” He asked, standing in front of me holding a spider tied to two balloons that both read Happy Birthday.

“I said I would forgive you... when spiders fly.”

“Well, I present to you,” he said. “A spider flying.”

He released his grip. The tarantula raised to my eye level and started to float around the room. Looking past the spider was Sam, with an ear-to-ear smile.

“Forgive me?” he asked.

I stood for a second looking at my older brother in his new basement apartment. A spider drifting across the room. It all made sense to me now and I was happy for him. Happy for him to have his new beginning and happy to have my brother again.

Before I could say anything the balloons caught the air of the fan and the spider flew out the window. We both ran to grab it but were too late.

“Shit.” Sam said, “What are the odds you think he lands at a kid’s birthday party in the morning?”

We both laughed as we watched the tarantula float off into the crisp, clear night.