SPIDERLINE  OF HOPE                      (2,930 words)

   Ida spat in the dust. ‘Hot again,’ she said, looking back at Willie. ‘Gonna be another dog day, I can feel it.’

   Willie nodded.  The cornflakes she’d had for breakfast had turned to acid in her stomach. Everything made her sick lately:  the smell of Ida’s coffee perking in the morning, the exhaust from the cars that sped past them on the highway, the stagnant water in the ditches. Everything had a smell now, too. Even things that had seemed odorless before, like rice cooking, or noodles.

   ‘You okay?’ Ida asked. Willie nodded.

    Ida was silent. Up until today they’d had an unspoken agreement:  they didn’t talk about it. Not directly, anyway. After today that was all going to change. It couldn’t be helped.

   Ida broke the silence first. ‘Heard the Weavers are moving. Good riddance I say.’

   ‘Where they moving to?’ Willie knew about the move already and could hardly have cared less, but if she got Ida talking, that meant less effort on her part.

   ‘Atlanta, Iris was saying. They’ve got kin there.’

   ‘Thought they had kin in Alabama. They went there last year.’

   ‘Trash like that, they have kin everywhere.’

   There was silence between them now. Back around Christmas, Lennie Weaver and Willie had seen a lot of each other. Eileen, his stepmother, had been pushing him to leave home. Lennie and she had talked about it –  leaving home, getting out. Nothing had ever come of it, but it was nice to dream.

   She’d known Lennie just about all of her life. He was as close as she got to a best friend.  He’d gone off to stay with cousins and he’d only just come home a few days earlier. Ida, she knew, was just trying to put two and two together.

   ‘Eileen never did pay me back that five dollars she borrowed off me last year. You might tell Lennie that sometime, you see him.’

   Willie said nothing.

 ‘Willie, we’re gonna have to start making arrangements pretty soon.’

   ‘I know.’

   ‘Did that doctor try and tell you to get rid of it?’

   Willie sighed. ‘Yes.’

   ‘But you know better, don’t you honey?’

   ‘Yes ma’am.’

   ‘Where’d you be if your mama had decided to get rid of you?’

   ‘I know,’ said Willie miserably.  She did know, too, what with everyone telling her how her own birth mother had had the chance to get rid of her but hadn’t. Alberta McNeil – that’d been her mother’s name.  Poor Alberta who could’ve found a way out, but had gone to live with her cousin Ida and died in childbirth instead.

   The heat bore down on them, baked the red clay, the tall pines, the trash strewn along the highway. All kinds of trash. Folks just threw it out wherever they pleased. On their way to places, in cars the like of which Willie had never even had the chance to get a good look at, much less take a ride in. People going places Willie knew she’d never have a chance to go. Who’d they think they were, throwing their trash out like that wherever they pleased? Those people in their fancy cars whizzing past the trailer park where she and Ida lived – did they imagine the road was their dump? Didn’t they ever think about the people who had to walk along it everyday?

   Willie knew that road as well as she knew Ida’s face:  it was the road the school bus ran along, the road to the clinic, the road to church, and the road you took to get to the Piggly-Wiggly. Even further along was the new shopping mall and amusement center.  It was too far away to walk to on a regular basis, but she got so tired of seeing the same old things all the time, she’d been curious. Getting there wasn’t a problem, she was a good walker, but she’d had to wait until the day Ida had gone to Huntsville to visit her sister-in-law. She’d just gone to see something different. You live in the same place with the same people around you all the time, sometimes you just want to see something different, something you haven’t been looking at all your life. She hadn’t realized it was dangerous. Even though Ida went on all the time about how you couldn’t be too careful. She was lucky to be alive, too, Willie knew that. The boys had told her that too: she was really lucky. She didn’t know them, had never seen them before in her life, but they knew her and where she lived, and they assured her that she and Ida’d stay alive if she never told. So that was that.  

   A car with California plates went past. Willie and Ida stared after it. ‘California’ Ida muttered. Folks there, Willie well knew, might as well be from the moon. Ida shook her head. ‘Girls marrying girls, men marrying men, wearing wedding dresses and what-all. Niggers and white folk and Chinamen and Mexicans marrying each other too. Trash.’

   Willie said nothing. She’d had an English teacher from California who’d told them all sorts of interesting stories. Sometimes at night Willie tried to remember them and the feelings they stirred in her. Feelings of longing, of hope, of endless possibilities. She’d forgotten details, little things. But that was okay, because sometimes she didn’t much like the endings anyway, so she just made up endings she did like. Miss Capdeville had been nice; she’d never talked about stuff like movie stars and guys marrying guys, anyway, she’d talked about the ocean, the coastline, the redwood trees.

   Of all her stories, it was the spider’s web story that Willie loved the best. It was about a wicked man who had fallen into hell. You’d have thought that someone so sinful would never escape hellfire, but one day that man saw a thin silver thread dangling into his hell-hole, and from the end of that thread hung a spider. Now, sinful though this man had been in his life, he’d once saved a tiny spider, and God had remembered that and sent him this spider in hell. Here, Willie’s memory got hazy, but she remembered that because the man had only that tiny little good deed behind him, God had only sent him this tiny little chance. So he’d scrambled up that spider’s thread to his salvation above. And tiny and flimsy though that spider web appeared, it was as strong as steel. Willie loved that story. She had a feeling that the end of the story hadn’t been altogether satisfying, but no matter; she still liked it. A tiny chance from a tiny virtue, and the man had been saved. The stories that people like Ida or the preacher told her featured people who’d lead blameless lives, then sunk into hell after giving in to a moment’s weakness and indulging in wickedness and sin. Ms Capdeville’s story was much better. It was comforting.

   A car passed them on the highway, then slowed down and stopped. Lennie Weaver.

   ‘Y’all want a ride?’

   That was nice of him, really, when Ida was always so hateful to his family.

   Ida’s smile was only just there. ‘Thank you, but we’re just on our way back from the clinic.’ 

   Willie’s heart sank at the stress Ida put on ‘clinic.’ How could Ida not believe that Lennie was just a friend? Or not see how little she was interested in him, how little he was interested in her? In any girl, for that matter?

   ‘And we’ll be stopping at the Piggly-Wiggly anyway, so we don’t need a ride,’ continued Ida firmly.

   When they got to the Piggly-Wiggly parking lot, Willie gasped. Parked there in all its shining glory was the car with the California plates, looking about as much at home as a flamingo in a duck pond. Lennie’s beat-up Ford Galaxy was there too. Ida’s scowl deepened.

   ‘All we need’s coffee,’ she said flatly. ‘And onions.’ Willie felt her stomach begin to roll again.

    Ida’s friend Marsha was at the cashier, so Willie wandered over to the back of the store, leaving Ida and Marsha to gossip. Lennie was there looking at light bulbs. The Californians were nearby, examining batteries. One was just about the tallest fellow Willie had seen in her life, and the funny thing was, he looked a little like a Chinaman and a little like just about every other race you could think of. In one ear he had the tiniest of gold earrings, like a pirate. His friend was short and plump.

   Lennie was staring at them too. People like this didn’t just walk into the Piggly- Wiggly every day.

    Lennie jumped when he noticed her.

   ‘Hey, Willie. You alright?’

   Willie nodded.

   ‘No offence or anything, but you look kind of tired.’

   Willie shrugged. ‘You pass your driving test?’ she asked him.

   He grinned. ‘Last week, just before I left Macon.’

   ‘I wish I could drive,’ said Willie, surprising herself.  Did she?

   ‘I could teach you, if you want.’

   ‘Well, no, I just…’. She bit her lower lip and looked to see if Ida was still talking to Marsha. Ida was leaning closer to the cash register, speaking to Marsha in whispers now, so it wasn’t easy to tell.

   ‘Listen, Willie,’ said Lennie, ‘there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

   ‘What?’

   ‘It’s kind of – complicated.’

   ‘Okay. You wanna talk about it later?’

   ‘Yeah. You gonna be around tonight?’

   She nodded. Where did she ever go, after all? Ida hadn’t encouraged friendships with most of the people in their trailer park, she thought they were trash.

   ‘Willie!’ Ida called. The two strangers were at the counter now, in front of Ida who stood a safe distance away, studying them with distaste. The men were squabbling good-naturedly and Marsha too was regarding them as she might a pair of water moccasins, ringing up their items in uncharacteristic stony silence. As the men left the store, her gaze followed them, hard and cold. She leant forward and whispered something to Ida.

   ‘Come on, Willie,’ said Lennie uneasily. They walked out, past the displays of candy and gum and the racks of magazines and newspapers into the blast of sticky heat and singing insects. The men were consulting a map.

   ‘No way have we come to the turn-off yet,’ the tall one was saying.

   ‘So ask somebody, then.’

   ‘Manuel, we are not lost!’

   ‘Oh hey, famous last words. Just ask somebody or I will.’

   Lennie’s curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. ‘You folks trying to find the caves?’ he asked.

   ‘Tell me we haven’t passed them!’ cried the tall man.

   ‘Well, as a matter of fact – ’

   Ida had come out of the store. She took Willie’s arm.

   ‘No – wait,’ said Willie. Lennie was hopeless with directions.  He’d send you five miles out of your way every time. He was like some people who couldn’t carry a tune for the life of them – he wanted to be able to do it, he just couldn’t.

   ‘The turn-off’s hidden,’ Willie explained. ‘It’s back about three quarters of a mile. There’ll be a dip in the road and this kind of break in the trees, and just after that is the turn-off, it’s kind of tricky ‘cause the sign is gone.’ This was true: kids from school stole it every year, it was a local tradition. 

   Willie and Ida walked along in silence afterwards. Ida was irritated with her for telling the Californians where the caves were. If they’d asked Ida, she’d have told them to look on their own map or ask someone else. Well, that wasn’t right! Ida was always talking about how you ought to be kind to others, how you should do unto them as they did unto you. So why was she always calling other people trash? Why did she judge others so harshly when the Bible said ‘Judge ye not that ye not be judged?’

   That night, Willie dreamt again, about the vase Ida had bought her from a craft fair. It had a narrow neck, so it took forever to fill. And you could never empty it properly; it always gave off a vague sour-dishcloth stench. You couldn’t get a bottle brush up the neck for love or money, so mostly it just stood on the shelf and looked pretty.

   In her dream, this vase was filled with flowers. Sweet peas, gladioli, cornflowers, stock, all magically crammed inside. Which would have been okay if she hadn’t known that cleaning the vase afterwards would be her responsibility, hers alone. Somehow she always managed to pull the flowers out, their stems slimy with decay, but the water left inside would only come out in a slow dribble. No matter how hard she tried, there was no way she could get it out. The only way to get the vase clean, she knew, would be to crack it into pieces and put them in the river.

   At some point in the dream, Willie went to the river with the intention of smashing the vase. Dreading it, but determined, she crouched by a rock near the riverside, holding the vase in her hands. But before she could do what she knew she must, her hands weighted down, all her movements maddeningly sluggish, she heard their voices. Those boys. Coming for her, laughing.  

   Drenched in sweat, Willie awoke, her heart pounding, a scream tangled in her throat. Her belly ached; hard, gnawing cramps, and she was fiercely thirsty. Padding to the tap in the kitchenette she glanced at Ida’s sleeping form. The kitchen linoleum felt cool on her feet and the water from the tap, though warm, refreshed her.

   Outside the trailer an owl hooted. Willie peered out the window, could see long loops of Spanish moss in the trees, the pearly white of Miss LeBeau’s trailer in the distance. Suddenly something dark moved and Willie jumped. Lennie stood there in the shadows. She heard the chink of metal against metal and saw Ippity, his terrier, on his leash. Quietly, she let herself out, and Lennie, seeing her, called out softly.

   ‘Hey, Willie.’

   ‘Hey, Lennie.’

   ‘Sorry I never wrote when I was in Macon.’

   ‘That’s okay, I never really expected you to.’

   ‘Heard you missed a lot of classes.’

   ‘I’ve been kind of sick.’

   ‘That why you went to the clinic?’

   ‘Lennie, I’m expecting a baby.’

   Lennie’s shock was so great it was almost funny.  ‘When?’

   ‘End of December, they say.’

   ‘Who --?’ began Lennie, but Willie shook her head. The cramps were back, and she felt sick. Still, she was glad she’d told Lennie. It felt good to have told someone.

   ‘What were you wanting to talk to me about?’ she asked him now.

   ‘You remember Barbara?’ Barbara, Willie remembered vaguely, was Lennie’s older half-sister. She had a faint memory of a time when she’d seen more of Barbara. Ida and Lennie’s mother had been on friendlier terms back then and Barbara had come to babysit her a time or two.  

   ‘What about her?’ asked Willie. Lennie had so many sisters and brothers and half-sisters and half-brothers, it was hard to keep track.

   ‘Well, she moved to Oregon, way back. Her husband did contracting, made good money. She’s in California now, up north, place called Mt Shasta.’ Lennie produced a crumpled postcard featuring a crisp white mountain against an impossibly blue sky. Blue like all the blues in the world layered together, cornflower and violet and azure.

   ‘Anyway, she’s living in this place now, this real big house. They’re fixing it up and they need people to help -- cleaning and carting junk, fixing things and what-all. I’m going. There’s no pay in it at first, but I figure it’s gotta be better than this.’ He gestured around the trailer park.

   ‘That sounds real nice,’ said Willie. Her heart ached at the thought of that mountain and the depthless blue sky all around it.

   ‘They need lots of people, Barbara said. You wanna come?’

   Willie stared at him. Once again, a wrenching pain bit into her gut. She winced and shook her head. Ippity began to strain on his leash.

  ‘Lennie, I can’t.’

   Lennie stared at her. ‘You really want a baby?’

   Willie stared back at him. Whether she wanted the baby or didn’t want it, it hardly mattered, did it? If you don’t want to go to Atlanta, don’t get on the bus, Ida had told her countless times, but she’d gone and accepted a ride from those boys, flirted with them, given them ideas. She’d gotten on the bus and now, well, like it or not she was headed for Atlanta.

   Ippity was making little keening noises now and straining at the leash. ‘Oh come on then, you,’ said Lennie. He glanced at Willie again. ‘If you change your mind – if you decide you want to go, you just let me know. I’m not leaving for a couple of weeks.’

   ‘Sure.’

   Back in the trailer, Willie’s cramps had gotten serious. Pulling the sheet around her, she shivered and sweated and fought the overwhelming nausea that had become her constant companion. In the midst of another feverish dream she awoke again, retching.

   ‘Willie?’ Ida was calling. ‘Are you alright? Willie! You okay?’

   Willie stood, weak and trembling, bracing herself against the cistern. So much blood, blood absolutely everywhere, like the very worst period you could imagine.

   Over the cistern, a tiny spider was lowering itself carefully, its body suspended from the ceiling by one shining silver thread.