My husband and I disagree on how to measure the size of a spider…

I gripped the glowing jar in my shaking hands. The hum of my car running sheered the still morning air like a freight train. The sky streaked in pinks and golds did little to warm my chilled skin.

Why am I doing this? I’m being ridiculous. If my friends—no my family—knew the extent of my quest for total spider extinction, they’d probably check me into a mental hospital.

Who stands in front of their mailbox at the butt crack of dawn with a jar of experimental glowing bugs? They were just black jumping spiders in there. Did they really need a full jar of exploding fireflies?

My hand trembled as I reached for the mailbox lid.

Yes, the answer would always be yes.

Just little black jumping spiders. That’s all. Just…

Metal grated on metal when I opened the lid. A large, brown freakish spider crouched in the back. It was too large. Its legs did that creepy crawly movement, and it raced toward me.

Terror roared in my mind, and I tossed the jar into the mailbox too hard. I heard it shatter, the light blinding my eyes, as I shut the lid.

***

Three days earlier…

I stoop down to pet a kitten circling my leg, bumping me with its tiny body. Four more kittens swarm me with purrs, head nudges, leg brushes and general belly flops . The babies love this time of night; I called it kitten cuddles.

The Siamese kitten with a heart-shaped face, brown boots and a tan creamed colored fur meows at me when I stop petting him.

“You’re so sweet,” I tell him as I stroke the side of his face. He meows a satisfied sound.

I stand up and walk toward the house. I freeze. A black spider perched legs next to the door jam, its long legs stretched out. The spider dared me to take another step toward the door. He would follow me and hide in boxes and shelves and maybe on the bag of cat food.

The horror.

“Oh hell no!” I cry, scurrying away from the door. I sprint across the dark lawn, up the deck steps and yank open the deck door. Thank the good Lord the deck door is unlocked. I slip out of my boots on my light blue area rug.

I march into the house and stand in front of my husband, scrolling through Facebook on the ipad.  “There’s a spider by the garage door. I can’t go out that door. It’s about the size of a dollar coin.” I gesture with my hands in case he forgot how the size of a silver dollar.

My husband removes his glasses, sets down the ipad and smiles.  “Let’s see this big spider.”

We walk out of the house together, but I hang inside the garage door.

“Where is he?” He stands near the door frame in the gloomy dark with the yard light giving him light to see. How could he not see that enormous nightmare? He was so close to the door jamb. Too close. What if the spider pounced on him?

I point out the door. “On the other side of the door jamb. To the left. Stand back a little and you will see him.”

He took a step back. “Oh that little thing?” He approaches the spider and brushes his foot down the wall. I scurry back up the steps, ready to bolt inside the house if the spider escaped. He stomps down on the ground.

“Did you get it?” My fingers curl on the doorknob.

“Yeah,” he replies, wiping his foot on the grass.

I let go of the doorknob and sit down on the step, unable to stand. Fear replaced by relief. We are safe for now.

He walks into the garage and shuts the door. “It wasn’t that big.”

My breath catches in my chest. “Excuse me?”

“It was the size of my pinkie.”

“No ,it was definitely bigger than that.” I paused, feeling my heartbeat ratchet up a notch. Were we talking about the same spider? Was there more than one?

He pointed at the nail of his pinkie finger. “His body was no bigger than my pinkie.”

“That’s how you measure the size of a spider? By the body? You have to include the legs. The legs are outstretched and they count!”

He laughed a little and pointed at his pinkie. He walked in the house and kissed my head. “Not that big.”

I sat on the steps realizing that my husband and I had vastly different ideas of spider size. Years ago, I was just a child walking in the bathroom and on the floor was a huge wolf spider. The size of a tarantula. I screamed and ran to my dad. They checked the bathroom, but there was no spider. I barely slept that night. But when I came home from school the next day, I noticed large, black legs in the wastebasket.

I’m certain my husband believes I exaggerated then. I always said it was big as my dad’s hand. I wonder how he would measure that spider.

I thought back to my conversation with Nellie and her offer to give me one of her genetically altered pest control devices. She had slid a padded folder across the table at the bar.

“What is this? A menu?” I laughed. I flipped it open to a single sheet of paper. Nice paper with gilded edges and dark black type. Artwork of a black spider was embossed on the top. “What is this? A list of ways to kill spiders?”

The list included several techniques such as prices per squish, cans of industrial size Raid, flamethrowers (with a special disclaimer that use requires two weeks of prior training), DIY spray with specific instructions for mixing, cat… “Wait… “ I put my finger on specific line and narrow my eyes at Nellie.

She takes a swig of beer and then grins. “Yes, that one is special. Only for people who can care for cats.”

I snicker. “Ninja cats? Seriously.”

“You should see them! They are trained since they are kittens. They aren’t really ninjas, but they can climb trees and some can scurry so fast they go up walls. But they are trained to seek and destroy spiders.”

“There’s no prices… wait… are these real ninjas, too?”

“Well that’s just for Australia. I must have given you the worldwide list. The ninjas help with the Australian funnel spiders. Lethal to humans if they bite. They have…” She starts to mimic something with her fingers and I hold a hand up.

“No, I don’t need to know any more thank you.” I closed the folder and slide it back to her. “Who did all this? You and Laura?”

She cocked her head to the bar. “Al and I worked together. Laura helped initially, but she wasn’t all that thrilled with the idea. You see Al’s wife was a lot like you. She was terrified of spiders, and she loved cats. She passed away shortly after Al won the lottery. Tragic really. Al never got over his broken heart. They had plans to travel and then the car accident. Al decided to put the money to something good, something to honor her. He approached me about coming up with ways to save people from their fear of spiders. “

I glanced at Al and pursed my lips. He turned to me; his eyes were cloudy, sorrowful as if this dedication to helping people with their fear was his lifeblood, his promise to the love of his life. I mouthed a “thank you,” and he nodded, turning back to the football game on TV.

“So what do you think? We could start you with the jar of explosive lightening bugs. Very effective for ridding your mailbox of spiders.”

 “Let me think on it.” The idea of messing with nature made me pause. What was I doing? Had I become so irrational that I would consider chemical warfare against spiders?

What would my family think? Was I playing God with spiders? What if… there were just too many what ifs.

I had walked out believing it was a terrible idea.

***

Two days later…

My husband and I sat on the front porch on our porch swing. The valley spread out before us beneath a dark blanket of twinkling stars. A southern breeze brushed against my hair. I pulled my knee to my chest, feeling the chill across my bare legs. Harvest had begun, and the harvest was good. Today we had no equipment breakdowns.

Our conversation turned to the day’s events, what tomorrow would hold and sometimes the subject drifted to a future that seemed large with possibility.

The sort of night that you almost say is perfect, but hold back saying the word, because Karma loves to disrupt your “perfect night”.

A large black spider scurried from the shadows across the concrete porch just barely yards from my bare foot. I bit down to keep from screaming, but did not hold back the wimpy, incomprehensible sounds on someone about to lose their shit. I bolt toward the door.

I step inside, grip the door handle to keep the door shut as if a door made of glass and metal was somehow going to keep out the monster.

“Now that is a big one,” my husband said. Was there pride in his voice? A little bit of awe? I wonder how he’d measure the size of THAT one? A silver dollar body? Maybe a scrub daddy sponge?

“Kill it!” I scream. “What if it comes in the house? It’s too big to live!” I press my hands against the glass, ready to back up and shut the inner door if that thing ran toward the house. Toward me.

My husband picked up the frog garden status and placed it down on the big spider. Black legs stuck out from underneath the frog, another testament to the enormous size of the monster.

“Did you press it down?” There should have been a crunch. A loud crunch. “That thing was big enough to move the frog.”  My voice had gone up two octaves My soprano-singing aunt would be proud.

My husband laughed, “It’s dead.”

“I’m not coming back out, “ I said and promptly and sat down on the couch.

That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, sleep dissolving like smoke from my exhausted body. I opened my eyes and a monster stared me eye-to-eye.

A large black spider dangled from a sticky strand in front of my face. I yelled, “Fucker!”

I swear the spider grinned.

My husband touched my hip. “Honey, you’re dreaming.”

I sat upright, shaking my head to dislodge the fog. My t-shirt wet from sweat and smelled of despair and fear.

I thought about what Nellie had said about exploding fireflies.

The next morning, I called Nellie. “it’s time.”

***

Present day…

Light glowed from inside the mailbox, almost an afterglow before yellow light faded. Nellie instructed me not to open the lid for 4 hours. Let the chemical dissolve. Opening the mailbox could cause an explosion.

How on earth would I explain why there was an explosion in my mailbox. “Yes, officer. I used the exploding fireflies to kill a spider. I understand it was dangerous, and it was not my intention to cause a wildfire that burned 100 acres and used resources from five counties to put it out. But the spider is dead.”

I got into my car and shut the door. I let out a deep breath. Nellie’s instructions were clear. Open the box. Throw the jar hard enough to break. Shut the door. Don’t stare directly at the light (Ok Indiana Jones, it’s not the Ark of the Covenant). The chemical should be dissolved by the time they put new mail in the box.

I turned onto the road and hoped Nellie’s calculations were accurate.