Spider's Web

[MalReynolds]

I always liked looking in the side view mirror of my car when I drove. On a good turn, up a good hill, you could see almost a mile behind you. It was surreal, like staring into an alternate reality – perhaps the past was behind me, and maybe I was just driving away from it, like a bullet through gel.

I’m not sure that that says about me. Maybe I just like the view or the idea that the past is something escapable, something palpable.

There would be odd instances where I would catch a glimpse of an animal or a person standing in the road, a figure staring me down, in the side mirror that I had not seen when I passed that particular spot. But there was nothing to it. People and animals crossed roads all the time. Just because I hadn’t seen it when I passed didn’t mean it hadn’t been on its way the entire time.

-

See, I don’t want you to think I’m a bad person. I really don’t think I am. And I did flee – which, I mean, however you cut it, I was running late and I don’t care for the police – but I fled. No. Fled implies that I had stopped and moved on after assessing the situation. I didn’t stop. I just kept on.

The cyclist had been waffling over the road, making it very difficult for me to pass him. The cars were thick in the left lane, and this man was holding up traffic. He was really being horrible – there was a side walk and he just wouldn’t ride on that, it had to be the road.

maybe he was the one that stares at you, did you ever see his face

When there was an opportunity to pass, I did. I put my signal on. Everything was entirely legal. I slid over, and rolled my window down. As I passed the cyclist, I yelled a few choice words at him:

“Share the road, don’t hog it, you –“ I’m sure that’s all he heard before I was too far away. But he lifted one of his waffling hands from the wavering handlebars to give me the finger.

Another car had been eager to take my place and disregarded the cyclist. His extended arm smashed into the windshield of my replacement. There was a bizarre look of puzzlement on the cyclist’s face – he wasn’t wearing a helmet, which is against the law, don’t you know – and even more confusion as he began to tilt over, onto the moving car.

His arm bent forward at a funny angle, as if it were made out of silly putty and were trying to compliment the angle of the vehicle. His head smashed against the roof of the car, sending his neck upwards to an extreme angle, while his leg was grinding against the wheel.

The entire time, the look of shock didn’t leave his face.

By the time his body finally hit the pavement, there was a trail of red behind him for at least thirty feet. I’m almost positive his shoe had been knocked off with the foot still inside.

And I did not stop. I did not pause. Despite the fact that my words – my ideas – led directly to his death, I moved on. But I did watch the entire event through my mirrors.

At the time, I did feel horrible.

-

I probably looked very sick after it happened. I’m sure I was pale – despite my love of mirrors, I very rarely liked looking at myself in them. I do know I was sweating through my undershirt. I could see the pit stains whenever I looked down.

Mary asked me what was wrong as I passed reception, and I told her that I had bad sushi, and we both laughed, only mine sounded cardboard.

I shut the door to my office, and moved to one of the tall vertical windows. There wasn’t much of a view, really. I could see across a sidewalk to another building, which had an equal window. From my other window, I could see what I believed was a doctor’s office at the top of a driving ramp. I never liked staring at the doctor’s office.

The building across the side walk always calmed me, though. The idea that people on the inside were going about their daily business while I was watching, and had no idea what I was doing. It was my secret. I would lift one blind and stare hard at the window, and on some days, people would pass by. On other days, there would be no movement at all.

But it was my secret. No one could take it from me.

I saw the blonde woman crossing the office – I believe it was her office – back and forth. A while ago I had named her Daisy – after Daisy Duck, you see, because ducks often waddle back and forth, and that is what she did, the small blonde woman. Her movement stopped after a short while, and I frowned. I would have to go back to actual work now.

I turned, and was met with an inquisitive stare by Beth. I was sure I had closed my office door. There was a chance she had opened it without making a noise.

Beth, like Daisy, was small, perhaps five feet even. Today, she was wearing a white shirt – very straight forward, very business friendly, very “Please remove the glass ceiling, I am a hard worker, thank you”.

and the things you would do to both of them, Daisy and Beth together wouldn’t it be nice if we were older

“You look like hell,” she said to me, smiling. Her blue eyes sparkled. No matter how she dressed, how she tried to unsex herself, her eyes gave her away as gentle.

Oh, you know. Bad sushi.

“Yeah, Mary told me.”

I’m glad my eating habits were the focal point of the work day today.

And she laughed, a bright bubbly laugh that made me want to take a seashell incrusted lamp that my autistic cousin made me to her face. But she was too pretty for that, and I’m not violent.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’m moving into the office down the hall today.”

Bigger office. You’re really moving up in the world, Beth.

“It’s got a nice window in it,” she smiled and smiled and wouldn’t stop smiling.

Well, don’t you forget, I offered a smile, that I have two windows. But I’m nowhere near as pretty as you.

Her eyes stoned over. “You don’t need to say things like that.”

That’s why they’re compliments, Beth. They don’t need to be said, but they’re complimentary – to you, to the conversation.

And they softened again. And she even began smiling.

-

The drive to work the next day was the same, except for the odd red stain on the road. It made me scratch my head as I rode past to think that every single bit of red once belonged in a person, a small, Asian cyclist, and now it belonged to the world, the road, and he was relegated to my memory. What if I was the only person who remembered him? The look on his face? What if his continued existence on any plane relied on my never forgetting?

You won’t.

I was dealing with the situation better with each passing day. The third day, a cleanup crew had come by and sprayed the street down, but now it was unusually clean in contrast to how filthy it had been in the day before. It was still a reminder.

As the days passed, I began keeping an eye on my mirrors more and more. I couldn’t help it. There was no increase in frequency of the characters I would see, but it helped me remember that I was driving away from it. Driving into the future, and that was something.

-

With Beth just a few feet down the hall, I felt like I lacked all kinds of privacy. She would open the door to my office when I was trying to watch Daisy, and stand there. I knew that she would start to get curious after a while, so I began rationing my window watching.

Beth was good for chipper conversation, but I mangled it. I was a good person, please believe me when I say that I was a good person, but at the end of it, what is there? There’s a hairline fracture, and then maybe it’s all over.

The less I looked out the window, the more I thought about the small Asian man and how the last thing he heard was me cursing his existence and his inability to share a driving path with those of use who chose to ride horses instead of carts.

-

It bothered me that, one day when I knew Beth wasn’t going to come in to the office, Daisy failed to appear. I stared out the window, across the street, but the light didn’t even come on in the building. I had the entire day to myself, and I kept vigilant watch, afraid that if I blinked, I would miss her, and then how could she forgive me? Was it forgivable to live for someone and then miss them because I was not strong?

I stood, my legs slightly spread, one hand behind my back, one hand holding one blind up just half an inch.

But there was no Daisy

you know why there’s no Daisy you’ve figured it out

at least, not today.

-

I hadn’t given Daisy a name until I hit the cyclist – no, until my words hit the cyclist. I had not given her a name. She had been “That small blonde woman” for so long. And I gave her a name. I gave her a name to replace the one I had taken from the world. The pen is mightier than the sword, but the word can smash your head and grind your leg off and destroy your foot and leave a thick trail of you on the road. The word is mightier than the pen.

I did stop by Beth’s office one day. I decided to surprise her as she had surprised me so many days. I opened the door to her office, and found her standing at her window, staring, her legs spread slightly. She had one hand at the blinds, the other obscured between her body and the window.

What is this?

“Oh,” she said, turning, blushing, “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Surprise.

“I was just – the view is a good one.”

What do you have? I have an office across from mine.

“The same. Just an office with a window. I wonder what’s going on in there, but the blinds are always closed. I think that maybe, maybe one day I can focus and they’ll open, but they never do.”

I have the opposite problem. The blinds in the office across from me are always open.

“Then you get a show. A private look into the lives of those absorbed with their own.”

-

I don’t understand why that kiss had been so angry. There was no malice on my part, but when she pulled away, she had a look of hurt on her face.

-

Things were tense between her and I for a few days, which gave me ample time to watch Daisy. She had begun to pace more frantically back and forth in her work space like something in her personal life had been bothering her. I made up scenarios – she had met a new man and wanted to leave her husband. She was pregnant. She killed a cyclist. Or maybe she just knew I was watching and wanted to give me a show.

There was a knock on my door, and I turned, picking my autistic sea shell lamp and hurled it against the wall. There was a long pause as I collected myself and moved to the door.

It was Mary. She wanted to know what I wanted for lunch.

Nothing. But I need a vacuum.

I hate being interrupted.

Almost as much as I hated being aroused.

-

The sex I had was unceremonious. I kept thinking about Daisy. I can’t remember if it was a prostitute or Beth.

-

I thought it would be a good idea if, one day, I opened my blinds all the way

open open open

and let Daisy have a good look at me. If I opened the blinds, maybe she would look up and see me and our eyes would meet and that would be a story to tell the kids.

So I did. And that was the beginning of the end, the start of the hairline fracture.

The blinds, every time they folded in on themselves, clicked – click – click – click – click a hundred times over. I did it slowly, thinking she might be watching, hoping to raise her anticipation. I wished that she knew I watched her this entire time and she was just as eager to see me as I was to show my face.

But she wasn’t there. I opened the blinds all the way, and she was not there in her office across the side walk.

I shuddered as I heard Beth call out behind me.

“Hey, come check this out.”

With Daisy MIA, I obliged.

She took me back to her office and showed me her window again.

“What did I tell you? One day the blinds would open. As soon as they started, I came to get you. But whoever was on the other side left. I was hoping the reveal would be impressive. I’m sorry.”

I frowned.

some things are impossible maybe you’re just crazy

Hold still, I told her, facing her away from me, her back to the window. I ran my hand along her back and snagged a piece of fabric between my fingers, tearing it. She giggled like a small girl, and I stepped out.

I’ll be right back, I promise.

And I walked back to my office, and stared out my window, at the back of Daisy. Her blouse had been ripped apart in the back – a small tear made by a thoughtful man.

I felt sick to my stomach. As Daisy moved away from the window, I knew Beth would appear behind me.

I could have sworn that I had broken the sea shell lamp, but there it stood.

I stared back out the window, and knew Beth was behind me. The building across the side walk, a separate entity, divided by the space between us.

“What are you staring at?” Beth asked.

“The impossible,” I said, for the first time in years hearing my own voice.

I grabbed the sea shell lamp and turned to Beth.

“Do you want to see something impressive?”

She nodded.

I hurled the lamp at the window. The lamp shattered, and there was a hairline fracture on the glass. It spread out, like a spider’s web, covering every inch of glass. Daisy wasn’t stupid. She knew – perhaps she had figured out before me.

I walked up to the window, and tapped the glass with my finger. It began to fall from the top first, a shower of glass moving downwards.

I did not want to see. I turned to Beth, who had a crack running down her forehead. I knew I had a matching one. She walked up to me. I touched her face and she touched mine.

Like a spider’s web.

Perhaps nothing more.

[ESREVER]

Fantastic Mal.

Is there a typo in the 3rd line?

I’m not sure that that says about me. Maybe I just like the view or the idea that the past is something escapable, something palpable.

Should it be what that says about me?

[MalReynolds]

Gragh, yes.