Prose: Spiders in the Shower – Teague Vreeland

Spiders in the Shower
Teague Vreeland

We’re having trouble lately, she and I.

There’s a spider in my shower. I have the immediate urge to crush him, to destroy this unwelcome denizen. As I plot his demise the spider continues to weave blissfully. He is oblivious to the vengeful god standing not a foot from him, albeit naked and pensive. I resolve to end his life after I get out of the shower. That seems a better option than attempting to crush him with a bar of soap halfway through washing my hair.

We were supposed to move in together.

I’m surprised to see the spider when I get back in the shower, I had forgotten about him. He lives in the corner near my bar of soap. I resolve to name him, given that he seems to have evaded death for the time being. I realize that I’m late for lunch with her. I step out of the shower and glance back at the spider as I dry off. I glance back at… Roger, the spider.

I waited at lunch, she never showed.

Roger weaves his web day in and day out, never seeming to make any significant progress. It must be bliss to have such an obligatory calling. One thing you were always good at that you did out of a higher calling rather than an abject resignation. Roger creates grand gossamer structures for no particular reason. These days I spend hours in the shower admiring his work. There’s an idea, I’ll surprise her at work.

I guess her boss doesn’t like me.

Roger has company today. Another spider has perched in the corner opposite my arachnid acquaintance. This other spider is short and fuzzy, a sharp contrast to Roger’s graceful and fearsome legs. This other spider is certainly no threat to my Roger. This other creature is almost cute, delicate and harmless in an endearing fashion. I’ll call him Phil…I wonder if Phil will visit with Roger and I?

She wasn’t at her apartment last night.

Phil seems to be acutely aware of Roger’s presence. I suspect that something occurred in my absence. I wonder if Roger and Phil have been meeting in secret. Behind my back. Perhaps these two have grown close since I’ve been gone. I’m not sure I like that.

She left to go visit her sister.

I stumbled upon the scene of the murder this morning, in my own shower no less. A murder most foul occurred while I was out last night. Phil is dragging the evidence across the lip of the shower and Roger’s web lies wrecked in the wake of this tragedy. Roger’s long legs trail from behind the gossamer tomb Phil has encased him in. Dear Phil has taken my Roger from me forever. A ring at the door calls me out of the shower, away from the scene of the crime.

The dresser seems empty without her clothes.