The Invisible Spider

There is nothing worse than a spider with superpowers. It started out as just a normal spider, or so I thought. I was lying in my tent, deep inside my sleeping bag, head propped up on a pile of extra clothes that I had shaped into a pillow. My headlamp dangled from the ceiling, casting angular shadows into the corners where my worldly possessions were stacked around me like a fortress. I was halfway through Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for the third time, plodding through the part where he is in Bozeman visiting friends. I was trying to suss out landmarks from my college days, but it was slightly too vague. My shoulder was aching from an hour of leaning awkwardly over, so I flopped down onto my back, and looked up at the ceiling. And that is when I saw the spider, descended about halfway down from the ceiling towards me and my book on a string of web line, a la Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. 

The best reaction would have been to do nothing, because being afraid of a silly little spider is ridiculous. I could’ve just returned to my reading and let the harmless little spider explore its cavernous tomb peaceably. It was about the size of my pinky fingernail, a little arachnid just trying to build a better life. But a million years of evolution kicked in; fear coursed through my veins, adrenaline shot through my body and suddenly I was hyper focused on the intruder.

A man’s tent is his castle in times of travel. A flimsy sheet of canvas that separates him from the unknown world that he explores in the daylight. A nylon shield against the witchy forces of the natural planet he travels. There is no more satisfying feeling than scrambling into a tent and knowing that no mosquito or sand fly or little critter is going to use you for a midnight snack. The nighttime can carry on outside, but here, I am safe.

Until now. An intruder had penetrated the inner sanctum. All the zippers were closed, the walls were unbreached. In a moment of panic, I reached up and swatted the spider from the air. Line a bungee jumper, the spider let loose its silky string and plummeted to the floor as if on a giant clock pendulum. It swung slowly towards my feet, then back towards my head, falling faster as I waved my arm again in utter panic. 

And then suddenly the spider vanished. The string of web lay across my face, infinitesimal but obvious like a long silky hair. I sat up fast, head bumping the headlamp and sending shadows careening around the tent walls. I flung myself over and looked at where I had just been lying, hoping to see my adversary, but I found nothing. 

Now my adrenaline was surging. I started frantically sweeping gear aside, looking under shirts, backpack, cookstove. The spider had vanished. Or it had turned invisible. Honestly, my brain was so wired right now, it did not seem out of the question that I had encountered a super spider with powers of invisibility. Strange things remain undiscovered in nature.

I tore open the zipper of the tent and started tossing items out onto the grass. Soon it was just me in the tent. I combed every inch with the headlamp on full blast. The tent was clear, the threat was past. I methodically started repacking my clothes and snacks into their proper places in the tent. I remade my bed after shaking everything vigorously outside. 

Finally, my heart rate calmed and I lay back down on my mattress exhausted. I thought about how silly it was that I was afraid of a bug that was so miniscule. Sure, there are venomous spiders out there, but a high majority are harmless little creatures just making their way through the natural world, just like I am. I reasoned patiently with myself that fear of spiders is an obsolete fear from the lizard part of my brain. I am evolved and smarter now. And then, from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw movement and the adrenaline coursed again. I shined the light towards the tent door. An inch of space existed between the two zippers, and the little spider turned off its invisibility powers and scuttled up to the opening. It stopped for a moment on the edge and I could have sworn it waved at me before scuttling off into the night.