Spider
All of my life I was told that I was an accident. I didn't even have a
name. Well, my mother named me for my birth certificate but after that my
name hasn't been spoken of.
I don't even know what my name is for that matter. All I know is my mother
has a name and I don't. Her name is Jocelyn Erickson, so I am whatever
Erickson. My mother's shadow.
At least I was until I got away. I think I'm about 19 years old, I went to
school and everyone there called me Spider because they didn't know my
name, and at the time Spider Man was my favorite cartoon, so that was the
name I took when I applied to school. Whenever someone asked me what my
name was I would just reply, "I don't know, but you can call me Spider."
Afterwards, everyone just got around to calling me Spider, even Jocelyn.
Its not that my mother didn't care about me, because she did her best to
feed and clothe me and sit by my side when I was sick. Sometimes she didn't
earn enough money to feed the both of us, so she gave me all of her food.
We live in the Bronx in New York City. Its one of those places where you
hear police sirens every 5 minutes and there are always gangs hanging
around.
That was how my story started, with police sirens. A boy I knew from
school, Lamar Powell, was beat over the head with a baseball bat and killed
outside of a school dance. Lamar was one of your typical classic "bad
boys". The kind that would walk around like they owned the ground they
walked on, and if anyone pissed him off they were in for it, big time.
Lamar also happened to be in a gang, and in my opinion a crack addict. He
was left back at least twice, so when I was in 11th grade with him, he was
about 19.
Its not that Lamar and I were friends, let alone, we never acknowledged one
another's existence. But the end of Lamar's story was the beginning of
mine, so to speak. Like I was saying before, it was at a school dance, or
more specifically the junior prom. I actually managed that night to have a
nice dress from a bargain shop. It was such a perfect night, it felt as if
nothing could ruin it. There must have been a million stars in the sky, and
it was a full moon. But I don't think anyone took the time to notice that
it was Friday the 13th. I was completely convinced that even though it was
an unlucky day, everything would turn out perfectly. I even had a date,
Andrew Fisher, who was my boyfriend at the time. (We broke up shortly
afterwards when he decided that he wanted to meet more people and that we
would just "be friends". That never happened.) I was waiting by the
refreshment table when a boy pushed past and said, "Tell me where Powell
is."
I shrugged and said, "In a group of a million students you want me to tell
you where one person is? Sorry."
The boy gave me a patronizing look and pushed past more people. I didn't
think anything of it until about a half hour later when I was dancing with
Andrew a few police officers came in and told us all to wait outside, and
some people did as he asked while others just waited until the police
officers shoved them out. To everyone's surprise the nice warm weather we
were having instantly turned boiling hot and extremely uncomfortable. There
was an ambulance and a couple police cars. And being brought onto a
stretcher was the unmoving inert body of Lamar Powell, with blood streaked
across his face. It was the most horrible scene I have ever witnessed. Not
that the blood scared me, just the fact that the sheet over his chest
wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing, and we could tell. One officer was
bringing a tall black boy into a car and had him in handcuffs. The boy was
struggling with the officer and cursing at him.
"Get the fuck away from me! I didn't do it, fuckers!" It was the boy who
asked me where Lamar was in the gymnasium. I was lucky he didn't kill me.
Everyone was too scared to say anything. I heard a few gasps, and some
people crying, but no one spoke. A few more officers were questioning some
of the students.
What bothered me is how the officers brought us outside, for what? To
witness seeing Lamar's body being put onto a stretcher? To scare the living
daylights out of us?
That's when I decided to run away. I couldn't stay remembering Lamar's
death, and how easy something like that could just jump out and swallow me
into a dark pit. It made me realize how I needed to treasure my life, me as
Spider or whoever I was, because I could die any second any day. The
problem was that I didn't know where I was going.
My plan didn't come into action until my senior year. I dropped out of
school to leave. The day I brought the car home, Jocelyn knew I was
leaving. She sat on the front steps as usual when I pulled up in my brand
new (or brand old) Volvo wagon. I bought it off some old geezer for
$250.00. After all, I have been saving up for a car for the longest time,
and this was when I needed one most.
"You'll need a sweater incase you get cold." Jocelyn said out of the blue.
I smiled weakly and said, "I'll get one then."
I ran upstairs to the asylum (I call my room the asylum because it only has
one tiny window with steel bars over it) and pulled out a duffel bag,
throwing random objects into it. The next morning I brushed my hair, teeth,
got dressed, and hopped into the car. I didn't feel the need to say bye to
anyone, mainly because I didn't have much friends at school and I already
said goodnight to Jocelyn before I went to sleep. Plus, what more can she
expect from me? She knows this is just what I do. Saying good bye would
just make it all worse, for the both of us.
