Spider Child

Redbull summer edition is Juneberry flavoured. When I was a kid, we had these popsicles that came in a red netted bag full of skinny plastic tubes filled with flavoured sugar water. Mum would pop them into the freezer and the next hot day we'd beg for popsicles. My personal favorite was the pink kind. We would snip the top off and break them into pieces, sucking the juice out until there was nothing left but a stick of ice that tasted faintly of freezer burn. I remember well how the corners of the snipped tube poked in my mouth creating small sores. Most times, we would let them melt away to juice in the bottom, seeing who had the most juice in the end. The blue raspberry flavoured ones taste like Juneberry.

I had one redbull diluted with cream at lunch time and instantly became so much more talkative. I burst into the door at work(after lunch break)and said to Eugene, "Why can't we work outside? It's so lovely and sunny out there."

Now, I know perfectly well why that would never work, but I had to say something.

Enos said, "Last week--well, you weren't here--but last week Brenda and I tried and tried to tell Eugene he could just move the table outside and we could process in the sunshine but Eugene didn't seem to think so."

"Whyever did you decide to butcher," I asked Eugene.

"I worked outside for ten years," said Eugene, inspecting his knife. "There's some good days, lots of good days, but some days..." he trailed off.

"Not so good?" chuckled Enos.

"I guess I should be thankful you decided to butcher," I said, "Some days, though, I don't feel like it. I want to be outside."

"Now, now," said Enos, "Is that a good attitude to have?"

"Now Enos, don't go all preachery on me."

He laughed.

"Most times, I never think about the fact that you're a preacher. But I've worked with preachers in almost all of my jobs."

"You should be used to it then," he said. "You should know how to be a good girl."

"Enos," I said, "Do you know what preacher's kids are like?"

"Well, yes," he said, hesitantly.

"I'm like a preacher's kid, on account of having worked with so many," I said.

"The stones are all sharp side up in our gravel lane," I said. I was washing my hands and it seemed as if the water was sharp side up too. Hastily, I dried my hands. "I'm trying to acquaint the bottoms of my feet to them again. I'm running around on them and going barefoot as much as possible."

"If you had gone barefoot all winter long," interjected Enos, "you wouldn't need to do that."

I looked at Enos. "Listen to me," I said. "Our rooster froze his comb and his middle toes off last winter. I'd rather keep my feet."

"But you're not a chicken and you don't sleep in the henhouse," said Enos innocently.

(Violent flashback to being called Henny. I wonder.)

I ignored him. "Speaking of," I reminisced, "I used to walk on asphalt barefoot in eighty degree weather. I remember taking a walk with my friend and when we got back to the house I had blisters underside. The next week I promptly forgot what had happened, and played soccer or something on asphalt and put a new set of blisters on. I exhausted Mum. She had no idea why I couldn't remember the pain."

"When I was young," said Eugene, "I stood barefoot on Dad's--------(I don't know what he said because, believe it or not, I don't know all the Dutch words)."

"Would you do it now," asked Enos.

"Absolutely not," said Eugene. "Those were sharp."

(Btw, the Dutch word for sharp sounds like the word itself is sharp, more so than the English one.)

Now that Eugene's children are finished with learning and books, they populate the shop with noise and screams and good humor. This afternoon, Jaden kept rushing in at Enos.

"Boooooo," he yelled.

"Aaaaaaa," said Enos, pretending to be scared.

A little while later, Enos said, "Where are you? Oh no, a spider!"

Jaden giggled. How marvelous the miracle of a small boy's laughter.

"I'm right here," he announced, scrabbling at Enos's shirt tails.

"Are you a spider," said Enos suspiciously.

"Nooooooo," laughed Jaden.

"Are you a boy? Maybe you're a boy instead."

The spider darted back through the doors, outside, and back in again.

"Boooooooo," he yelled.

Enos yelled and jumped.

Yesterday, Eugene set something on the lid of the stuffer. I looked at it indifferently. It looked like a pile of green dirt. The dirt moved. I jumped. It was a toad, with long sticky fingers and slitted eyes and distressed green and black skin. I touched it gently between the eyes.

"Are you going to pee on my stuffer," I asked the toad. I would've picked it up if I wasn't already busy.

"I was going to see if you'd scream," confessed Eugene.

Please. I grew up with toads and snakes and insects. I don't fit into that stereotype, Eugene, but good on you for trying.

He put it on the window where it clutched the pane. Slowly, inexorably, it slid down. The window was damp with steam from washing up, otherwise it probably would've stayed.

"I found it sitting on the ladder outside," he said.

Hallelujah for toads and green grass and bare feet and spider children laughing. (Anansi, is that you?)

Bye. Love May.