Raindrops on Roses and Spiders on My Swing

Raindrops on Roses and Spiders on My Swing

I just wanted to play outside. The rain slapped against my apartment’s windows, as it had done all day, and soaked the outside world of Tacoma. That was always the case in upstate-Washington. I was three years old and all dressed up with nowhere to go. Mom was taking care of my brother, Zane and I had colored every single coloring book into a wax overload. My teddy bears and dolls were as bored as I was. But, even after all the provided entertainment, I still wanted to play outside.

A swing-set was situated in the middle of all the apartment complexes, next to a couple of drenched trees and several rain puddles. My cabin fever had hit its peak, so I asked my busy mom if I could play outside on the swing-set. She said yes after much debating. “It’s still raining Karley. Wait until the rain stops!” But, being the darling princess I was, I finally got my way. I threw my shoes on and dashed out my door. The rain splashed against my face, and every step I took involved a sudden “splishhhh” from a water-filled pothole. Everything around me gleamed in emerald and jade, coated with dew. It was the perfect day to fly on a swing.

There was a boy, who at the time seemed ages older than me. He was probably only six years old, but that was a whole three years older than me. The time concept was not completely developed during my third year. Once I had gotten about five feet away from the glorious swing-set. I stopped suddenly. I was taught not to invite myself into other people’s business unless they said it was okay. So there I sat, staring at this boy that was in his own world. After what seemed like ages, he glanced down at me with an annoyed look and garbled,” You going to swing or what?” Almost immediately, I was on the rubber seat right next to him, ready to feel the adrenaline from the swing. I moved my body and legs about in a pendulum motion and got myself going. After about a two-minute struggle, I was up in the air, kicking the leaves from the tree’s branch nearest to me.

I pointed my feet into the air and let myself hang loosely onto the ropes. The sun was starting to poke his shiny face through the clouds. As the light hit the tree, the leaves seemed to glow with the same delight I had in my heart. I kicked a branch full of foliage and watched the water droplets free-fall toward the earth. The boy next to me was acting like a rocket ship, squealing the phrase,” Blast off!” every time he moved outward. I watched the mud and grass zip beneath me, and my shoelace was hanging limply; the threat of my converse slipping off my foot loomed, but I did not care in the least bit. I was happy.

The rain was starting up again, when I heard a short gasp from the boy next to me. Startled from my dreamlike concentration, my eyes darted to his with worry. The look on the boy’s face was nothing short of terror. My body went from slack to stiff with concern. “What’s wrong?” I asked. His eyes were gaping at the chains above my head. Then he lifted his hand and pointed upward. I slowly gazed at the unknown spectacle directly over me. There, hanging on a thin, perfectly knitted web, was the biggest, most disgusting spider I had ever seen. Keeping my eyes glued to the spider, I slowly slinked myself off the swing onto the grass, and crab walked backwards in sheer dread. The boy leaped off his swing and grabbed an extra-long stick. With a look of valor, he jabbed the stick into the web with gusto. The web enveloped the stick like cotton candy, with a spider dangling from the tip. He then whisked the stick away, but the spider managed to repel off the stick onto my swing. Next, the tricky arachnid floated onto the ground, and revved forward into a spidery sprint.

Squash!

I jerked my head toward the noise to see a yellow-ish puddle with spider legs. I felt my mouth frown in disgust at the display. He seemed proud of his work, and turned to me in triumph. “There. I’m going home. Bye!” Then he started to skip toward his apartment. I have to say, I think that was the first time I had experienced what all my friends were talking about: a crush. I picked myself up off the ground, brushed myself off, and then sprinted after him. He was my hero and he had saved me from impending doom. “Wait! Wait!” I cried. The minute he saw me chasing after him, he broke out into a complete dash. I ran faster and faster, but the boy was too quick for me. He ran into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. Then he stuck his face into the window and laughed. I had been defeated.

For the half hour that followed the chase, I whined and shouted at the apartment building, begging the boy to come out and play with me. If some unsuspecting soul were to walk by this scene, a young girl asking a building to play with her, surely they would have thought I was insane. But that meany-head continued to ignore my request. My voice was beginning to ware away, and my lungs were tired as well. After another ten minutes, I gave up and loped home with sorrow.

This early memory of mine foreshadowed my future. To this day, I am absolutely terrified of bugs with eight legs or more. Also, I still do not have a whole ton of luck with the opposite gender. I suppose the moral to this memory is, “Along came the spider that sat down beside her, and she frightened that poor boy away.”