There was a kid I went to grade school and high school with who died of cancer in our junior year. In the fifth grade he told me, "The sound farts make comes from your butt cheeks flapping."
I'd just woken up, so I went to go do the first thing I do every morning: blearily make my way to the railing at the top of the stairs to yell, "Love!" to my wife. This particular morning, as I rested my hands on the railing, I felt my right hand brush something off of it. I was still more asleep than awake and barely registered it except to think, wouldn't it be funny if that was a spider.
I yelled, "Love!" My wife yelled, "Love!" back.
With my day started properly I shuffled off to the bathroom to do bathroom-type things. As I sat down on the porcelain throne, I noticed a black blur out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to see a mouse spider crawl under the door and into the bathroom. It stopped, turned toward me, and ran.
"Bro!" I said.
It stopped and said, "Sup!"
I said, "You did not just crawl under the bathroom door to come at me!"
It replied, "You did not just knock me off that railing!"
"Bruh," I insisted. "I was asleep! I didn't know you were there!"
"Well that makes it all okay then doesn't it," it sassed, slowly crawling toward me.
"Bruh!" I reiterated.
"Bruv!" It replied, stopping again. "You done fucked around now you're gonna find out!" It ran toward me again.
"Not cool!" I replied. "I got my drawers down over here trying to take a dump!"
"Like a bitchass chump," it said, still coming at me.
"Stop!" I yelled, standing up. "Don't start nuthin, won't be nuthin!"
"Big talk," it said, then stopped right in front of me. It focused all eight of its eyes on my private parts and continued, "for a little man."
"You little fucker!" I said as he closed the gap between us.
"Is that what your wife calls it?"
I grabbed the box of tissues from the top of the toilet tank behind me and brought it down right on top of it. I lifted the box and saw the the spider's legs begin to curl up. It's eyes focused on me briefly, so I said, "Bitch, please," then saw eight points of light fade into darkness.
Stout Memorial Grove in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park.
Beautiful.
Big Tree.
Big tree down.
Getting there is half the fun.
If I've learned anything in the last half century of sucking air on this spinning rock, it's that wearing pants is for suckers.
How do people without an internal monologue (and here-ish) experience contempt, anxiety and self-loathing?
caveat lector