The spider's name was Francis.
At least, that is what I decided to name him. He probably has some other spider name which I couldn't possibly pronounce. Do spider's even have vocal cords?
Anyway, Francis appeared before my eyes as I swept into the bathroom, hurriedly getting ready to leave the house. Normally I would squish a spider in my bathroom, or, at the very least, get my husband to do it, but not Francis.
It was clear from the moment I laid eyes on him that Francis was, well, frantic. He had been peacefully clinging to the side of one of our bathroom lights, enjoying the calm, the darkness, the simple life of a spider, probably contemplating where to go next, but in no particular hurry. Then, in a flash, the light turned on. Blazing brightness, heat, fire- he was sent flying into the air, hanging, literally, by a thread, surprised, shocked, scrambling desperately for direction. He made it over to the wall, only to find it slick from our recent showers. No purchase there, he scrambled crazily some more, slipping and sliding in a panic to find somewhere, anywhere to hide from the sudden onslaught of light. Finally, he found his way behind the wall sconce of the lamp, into darkness, safety. I could almost hear his tiny heart beating frantically as he waited to see what would happen next.
I couldn't help it. Even though I am normally petrified of spiders, I felt sorry for Francis. And I saw myself in him. How many times are our lives on an even keel, puttering along nicely, when suddenly the lamp turns on and we're sent spinning loose in mid-air, shocked and uncertain, wondering how this could have happened and what we should do next? When even the walls are slick with condensation and we can't seem to get a grip on anything anymore? I know how Francis was feeling, I know that panic, that twisting, grasping, heart-pounding moment when it seems like life is about to come crashing down all around me. Will I survive it? Will I ever find safety and security again?
Eventually, if Francis waited long enough, he would find that his eyes grew accustomed to the light. Eventually, the water would evaporate, the walls would no longer be slick, and he could once again continue on his way, probably finding a nice corner in which to build his web. Eventually, that moment of shear terror would become a distant memory, or, perhaps, even be completely forgotten in the pleasure of a new home, a nice meal, a good life. Eventually, if we breath and live and keep on moving forward, things do work out. The panic will pass. The water will dry up. And life will get peaceful and predictable again.
I can't be certain, since I had to leave, but I'm pretty sure he went on to be just fine and dandy. Certainly I couldn't kill him. Not after seeing so much of myself in him. In fact, Francis, I wish you a long and happy existence. Thank you for providing me with a moment's reflection. And thank You, God, for always providing a safe place to cling to in our most uncertain moments.
Of course, now I have to look very carefully before sitting on the toilet. I certainly wouldn't want to sit on a spider...shudder...
