We Were Never Afraid
of the Spider
by Timothy Fox
Our third-grade teacher was named Mrs. Winters. She wore glasses that magnified her green and blue and green eyes. Her hair was a dried hornet’s nest piled high on her head. Her hands were shaky. She drooled a lot. She had a large spider growing out of her back.
There were eighteen students in our class. We all wore the same yellow uniform.
Each day began with the Pledge of Allegiance and the singing of a hymn. After that, Mrs. Winters took roll call. She spoke slowly, with perfect diction. When she paused, we could hear the spider rattling its teeth.
In the morning, Mrs. Winters taught us Math and History. After lunch, she taught us Literature and Geography. The spider would grow restless in the afternoon. It would try to climb up the wall, pulling Mrs. Winters up from her chair. But Mrs. Winters was too heavy for the spider, so it would drop down, and Mrs. Winters would smash her face on her desk.
We were never afraid of the spider, because spiders were everywhere by that point. That’s not to say most people had spiders growing out of their backs, but it wasn’t uncommon either. We were told not to stare.
One day, Mrs. Winters had long, red scratches down her arms. She said it was just a rash. But we didn’t believe her. We had often seen the spider reach around and grab things off Mrs. Winters’ desk, like her pen or coffee cup. If Mrs. Winters fought back, the spider used one of its other long, black, hairy legs to jab Mrs. Winters in the side, or, once, wind tightly around her throat until her face turned purple and red and purple. The spider would scream until it got what it wanted.
Secretly we asked each other what we should call the spider. ‘Gwen?’ ‘Alex?’ ‘James?’ ‘Julia?’ ‘Tiffany?’ None of them sounded right. And then someone said, ‘Steve’, and we all laughed and agreed that was the spider’s name.
One Monday morning, Mrs. Winters wasn’t behind her desk. She had been replaced by Miss Green, who was tall and had a face as thin as a fish. We asked her where Mrs. Winters had gone, but she said it was none of our business. At lunch, a kid named Brian Dent, whose left eye was always bandaged, said Mrs. Winters had been eaten by Steve. ‘That’s not possible,’ we told him and jabbed him in his good eye.
At about the same time, the news reported people were having the spiders on their backs surgically removed. Sometimes, however, the person would die in the process, but the spider would survive. Attempts were then made to introduce the spider as a permanent replacement in the life of their deceased host. They could end up as an interior decorator, plumber, stay-at-home father, politician, optometrist, barista, you name it. But all such attempts invariably ended in bloodshed, which is probably why we ended up with Miss Green and not Steve as our substitute teacher.
Miss Green’s favorite subject was Geography, and some days were entirely devoted to it. She said she had traveled when she was younger, when it was easier, and liked to remember all the places she’d been to. She always picked Dustin Duffy to stand at the front of the class and hold the map. We didn’t think this was fair, but Miss Green told us to shut up. So, the next day during recess we took turns standing on Dustin’s fingers until they all broke and he couldn’t hold anything anymore.
The Molotov Cocktail 