I stand in the empty space, throwing my arms wide. The carpet is light tan, the walls off-white, with that recently painted smell. New apartment. Empty. Fresh start. I feel great. I spin once, twice, three times, like I did as a girl.
The sun slants in through the windows, throwing squares of light on the carpet. I don’t want to bring my stuff in yet. Maybe I never want to bring my stuff in. I walk over to the sunlit square and lay down in it, placid as a cat. The carpet smells like it’s just been shampooed.
Someone went to all that trouble so they could rent this place to me. I close my eyes, inhale, then open them. There’s a spider dangling from a web in the brassy, rust-pocked chandelier directly above me.
Not so cool. I keep my eyes on it as I reach down my leg for my boot. Unlacing the thing blind is less easy than I expected. Is that spider moving? Is it coming for me?
Bastard.
The boot slides off with a schlump. Heavy. Good. I heft it over my shoulder, squint up at the lamp and fling my shoe overhead. It knocks the light hard, shattering three of the six bulbs and setting the whole thing swinging. Splinters of glass rain down on me. The boot’s return to earth narrowly misses my head. That wasn’t very bright. Good thing no one saw. The web and the spider are impossible to locate on the swaying chandelier. I turn my head, cheek pressed against the carpet. I reach for my boot. The spider scuttles up the eyelets insouciantly, at home in the web of lacings.
I withdraw my hand. This thing and I cannot live together. I have another boot.
Anna Schwind was born in New Orleans. Accordingly, she spends most of her time wondering why everywhere else isn’t as humid and struggling to keep her gills lubricated. The rest of the time, she writes. Her non-fiction splurts can be found at http://anna.slithytoves.org.
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12 Responses to “ANOTHER BOOT • by Anna Schwind”
Comments
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September 15th, 2008 at 12:33 am
“I spin once, twice, three times, like I did as a girl” – “like” should be “as” or “the way”, as “like” can’t be used adverbially.
“I walk over to the sunlit square and lay down in it”.
What kind of down, and why lay it in the square? Or did you mean “I walk over to the sunlit square and lie down in it” or “I walked over to the sunlit square and lay down in it” (though the latter doesn’t fit the use of the historic present – something that should really only be used sparingly, e.g. for emphasis, and not throughout a piece)?
September 15th, 2008 at 1:29 am
Hi Anna, I liked the voice in this piece – the colloquial language lent itself very well to the narrator’s dilemma and pulled me right into the story. I loved the title and what it comes to mean at the very end. Great writing.
September 15th, 2008 at 3:26 am
I thought that was great but I have no idea why. Reading it was the equivalent of getting spun around, very much as I was as a girl.
September 15th, 2008 at 3:42 am
I don’t mind spiders. Wasps on the other hand… I love the thought that she’d wreck the place rather than live with a spider
September 15th, 2008 at 5:22 am
Amusing, clean piece of writing. Enjoyed it.
September 15th, 2008 at 6:56 am
Nicely done! Love love the title and you made me laugh. Not a bad thing to kick off another good week.
September 15th, 2008 at 8:56 am
Hey, congrats!
I like your story. Reminds me of my first apartment. It was like you were there
September 16th, 2008 at 7:27 am
Wow, I had no idea there was an active commenting community at EDF, since I usually receive the daily stories via RSS.
Thank you for reading, for offering commentary and for giving encouragement!
September 16th, 2008 at 6:53 pm
Great piece, very whimsical. P.M. is right about the grammatical quibbles, but I didn’t notice them on first read, and so they didn’t affect the flow of the piece for me
September 16th, 2008 at 11:13 pm
Oh Anna, to be such an amazing writer like you. Well done!
September 18th, 2008 at 12:43 pm
Loved it. It makes me pine for my own first apartment which I miss in spite of having a house now. Oh, for my own patch of sunlight again…
October 3rd, 2008 at 6:17 am
Way to go, Anna. Congratulations! Sorry about not seeing it sooner, but am just now getting back into the swing online. While I wish you well in all your literary endeavors, what I really want is for you to see soon the light tan carpet and the off-white walls where I live. I promise there are no spiders.