The Journal Part Two
A/N: Sorry for the delay in this story. Just moved to another state and it took time to unpack and settle in.
The Journal, Part 2
"Patrick, what's wrong?" I took his arm and made him look at me. "Patrick, you have me worried, please talk to me."
Without taking his eyes off the door, he pointed a finger. "It's in there. It - it was walking toward me."
"What was walking towards you, Jane? There isn't anyone in there." I said trying figure out what scared him.
He was shaking less, but still seemed rooted in place. I ducked into the bedroom, grabbed his robe and quickly returned to help him put it on. (It's not that I don't enjoy looking at his naked body. I was surprised how good he looked nude. He had muscles that never showed under those suits of his.) With an effort he stopped shaking and consciously tried to slow his breathing to normal.
"Jane, what scared you?" I tried again.
Again pointing at the bathroom door he said softly, "There was a huge spider on the floor and it was near my foot before I noticed it." He again started to tremble.
I stood there, mouth gaping in astonishment. I mumbled under my breath, "My hero is freaked out over a spider?" I finally regrouped and talked to him. "Patrick, that's all you're upset about, a little spider?" He glared at me as though I should be scared also. "Patrick really? A spider." I stepped toward the door and started to open it. Jane involuntarily stepped back, farther from the door. I walked into the bathroom and scanned the floor. No spider. I looked around the room. There it was, soaked and struggling to climb the wall, probably scared by Patrick's scream and wet from the water on the floor. Poor little thing. I took a small drinking cup and slowly advanced to the wall. I put the cup close by and nudged a bit and it fell into the cup. I put my hand over the cup so it wouldn't get loose. Heaven help me if it was loose in the apartment; Patrick would never come back to the place.
"Did you kill it?" He pointed to the cup.
"Of course not. Patrick, it's just a tiny spider and they're beneficial. They hunt noxious bugs," I said calmly, taking my hand off the top the cup to look at the wee creature.
"What are you going to do with it?" he asked nervously, eyes wide.
This was so ridiculous I was tempted to say I'd turn it loose in our closet. But he might never open the closet door again. "I'm going to the kitchen door and release it the yard." I started walking down the stairs then glanced back over my shoulder. Patrick had disappeared into the bedroom.
After I tossed the big bad spider outside I went up to see how Patrick was doing. He had donned his clothes except for his jacket and was sitting on the end of the bed. The color was back in his face, and he looked up with a shrug.
"I realize I over-reacted…" he said sheepishly, blushing in embarrassment.
I sat on the bed beside him, really not knowing what to say. I know many people are arachnophobic, but this was over the top.
"Have you always been afraid of spiders?" I asked neutrally, no hint of snark. He stared down at the floor and wouldn't meet my glance. I began to think he wouldn't answer, when he exhaled in a long sigh.
"I was ten years old. We were at the winter camp so there wasn't a lot for anyone to do, just rest and enjoy the time off. I hung around with some older kids, guys in their teens. I was their fetch-it boy. Any time they wanted something I was the one to get it. One day we were playing baseball and, as always, I was in the outfield. I wasn't really into sports, but it was better than being left behind, alone. One kid, Randy I think, hit the ball over by an empty barn. The ball rolled toward an open door. I ran but wasn't fast enough to stop it, and it went in just a short way. I went in after it. The ball had rolled into a big spider web. I wasn't like I am now about spiders, just had a healthy respect for them."
I watched as Patrick took a deep breath and paused. He looked like he was reliving the experience. I sneaked my hand over and laced fingers. He held it tight and continued his story.
"A couple of the older boys came in asking where the ball was. They were the leaders of our group, maybe something of bullies too. Being the youngest I looked up to them. I didn't want to be kicked out of the gang. Our leader Tommy was sixteen and I would do almost anything to stay in his good graces. He pointed to the ball, gave me a push and said, "Don't be a wimp, get the ball."
Patrick closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I realized this wasn't easy for him to tell. He was always secretive about his childhood, probably so he wouldn't have to think about it. He resumed.
"The barn was dark inside. When I didn't move Tommy shoved me harder. I knew it was a test and I wanted to show I was just like the older kids. I walked over to the ball and peered at the web. I couldn't see much in the bad light. I reached for the ball and my hand snagged part of the web. I pulled my hand out. It was covered in the sticky web, but I was really close to the ball. When I reached out again suddenly there was a huge spider coming down the web toward the ball. Believe me, Lisbon, this spider was big as a dinner plate. I froze. Tommy laughed at me and the other kids came to see what was going on. I knew I needed to get the ball, so I reached in to grab it and the spider jumped on my hand. I tried to get it off, but the sticky web on my hand kept it on me. I screamed and that made them laugh harder. I shook my hand and the spider went flying. It landed on my thigh and rushed down my leg. Again I stood there frozen and I swear the thing looked at me with a bunch of eyes."
He swallowed hard. Almost too quiet to hear, "I guess I fainted. Tommy dragged me out of the barn. When I came to I remembered the spider on my leg and yelled. All the guys were staring and laughing. I looked at Tommy. He just looked at me and shook his head, then walked away followed by the rest. I was never welcome in the group again. After that, if someone saw a spider they'd drag me over and everyone would laugh. To this day I can't go near spiders, alive or dead. I freeze." He stopped. I silently railed at the casual cruelty of kids. This was small in the grand scheme of things, but he'd been humiliated and left with a permanent terror of spiders. I doubted he had the parental attention and support that helped a kid overcome fear and put experiences in perspective.
Jane hung his head. To my surprise there was more. He continued, "After that I hated the winter camp. That old barn was there, one door always open as though daring me to come in. That night my father was out playing poker and drinking, so I went to bed before he came home. I never knew what kind of mood he would be in and it was safer to be in bed.
Next thing I heard was my Dad banging into the trailer and yelling my name. I knew to get up fast and see what he wanted, especially because he sounded plastered. When I got to the kitchen he had just opened a bottle of beer and downed it in one gulp. Before I could move he grabbed me and dragged me into the living area. I knew better than to ask why I was in trouble, he would tell me in his own time and way. He hit me in the face and I fell down. I begged him to tell me what I'd done. I had done my chores, and I even gave him the money I saved from odd jobs for him to play poker. He shouted, "I can't believe you're my son, screaming like a baby over a spider then fainting like an old woman. Everyone was talking about it, ragging me on how my son is a baby, asking if I still have to change your diaper."
He threw the beer bottle and it shattered on the floor. I looked down and saw a piece of glass stuck in my leg, blood pouring from the cut. He turned away, staggered to his bedroom and slammed the door. I got up, grabbed a kitchen towel and pulled the glass out. I wrapped the towel around my leg but the blood soaked through fast and didn't seem to be slowing down. I knew my father would be passed on on his bed so I went to James. He was once a doctor and I never knew why he was with our carnival. James sewed it up for me - ten stitches. He let me sleep on his couch that night so I didn't have to go home. Before I fell asleep he knelt by the couch and said, "Your old man is pretty rough on you. You're a good kid, Patrick, but you need to grow up fast being around him and the others here. Stand tall and show no fear or you'll never make it." He squeezed my shoulder and turned off the light.
Patrick bent down and pulled up his left pant leg. There was a scar. He let the cloth drop and and said, "My father never touched me again. James beat him up the next day." His lips lifted in a humorless grin - or the best he could do after that story. "Maybe I should look on the bright side. I can't stand spiders because of that but my father never hit me again."
I wasn't sure what to say. He was still holding my hand, but looser. He looked at me and tried to smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.
"Guess I've come down a couple of notches from being your hero…"
I shook my head. "No. You'll always be my hero, Patrick." I stood and pulled him up into an embrace, holding him tight to me. I whispered, "Someday I'll tell you about my fear of snakes."