There used to be a big daddy long legs in the top corner of my shower. I had watched her grow from the tiny baby she once was too the most magnificent spider I had ever seen. There were always watchful eyes from that corner, the frail web seemed to be past down through generations and throughout that time I had never felt a personal connection to whatever spindly legged resident that occupied it, until now. I wonder why?
At first I would eye her with caution, not wanting her to slip and drop onto my naked body. She never did. I watched her lay her eggs sacks, she seemed to float in her corner beside the small white ball. I had always thought that the dark piece of her was the head; turns out it was her back... Made more sense that way I suppose.
The eggs hatched, her spawn so tiny they looked like flakes from an over filled vacuum bag. But as time went on they grew to a recognizable size. I worried about what she was eating. The damp bathroom was by no means a high of insect activity, especially in the secluded corner were she was. Somehow though, she kept growing to a huge size, to the point that she was almost to big for her corner. But she stayed anyway.
I was worried that one days she would fall into the puddled floor of my shower and drown, leaving her babies to starve; the walls of the shower were to slippery for her grippy legs to attempt to save themselves. Though every morning and night she was waiting for me. Her babies running around the antiqued web. I suddenly felt like she was my only friend in the world. I still had normal friends, my life didn't evolve around a spider that hung out above my shower; but I never felt the same level of comfort around them as I did with her.
She was a very good friend. All I had to do was tell her my problems and without speaking, they felt solved and unimportant. She was very good at that sort of thing and I always made sure to tell her that.
It was 8.35am on a Friday morning of Easter weekend directly after milking when I found her corner empty. I was so afraid and searched the entire bathroom for her, but met only grumpy, less inviting spiders that turned their heads and crawled away into the further most corner of their nest. Her nearly fully grown babies waited for her, creeping along and exploring their trembling home. I think they missed her as much as I did.
I looked under all the towels, the cracks of the shower door, under the sink, behind the metal fish mounted on the wall and my heart sank lower at every glance. When I showered, I didn't dare look in the plug hole in fear of finding her drowned, washed up body at my feet and I bit my tongue in asking if anyone had set the fly spray on her. How will her babies survive? They are still small. Maybe they ate her? Even the mere thought of that me sick and I held back every fiber in my body not to research it; I simply didn't want to know.
Without her weary eye I felt even more naked then before, stripped to the soul. I could almost imagine the blood seeping from my muscles and fading into the dirty water below.
Maybe she ran away during the night? Found a new place to live. A new, more secretive, spot in the bathroom were the spittle and steam didn't get to her. I liked to think that. I wanted to think that.
I wish I could do the same. Run away into the darkest hole, peer out mindlessly and calmly as my responsibilities hang on a literal thread.
I wish the best for her. I really do. I feel this aching sadness, not enough to cry; but enough for the sick clenching feeling in your stomach and the painful throb of your heart.
I just wanted her back.
