Try this one on for size, David Arquette!

It's not as clear to me as it was when it initially happened.  To be honest, a part of me wants to forget.  But a larger part of me knows that. . . .I can't.  I won't.  I definitely shouldn't.  The following events took place 6 years ago in the chilling, thrilling month of November.

And so. . .is begins like this.

Adam is driving. We pull onto the road from the driveway at home. We are on our way down to the college. Just about to pass by his old stomping grounds, Camelot Elementary when I see it.

A fingernail-sized. . .

Fat. . .

Fuzzy. . .

SPIDER!!!!

With short stumpy, stupid legs!

He's crawling his way across the dashboard.

My instinct is to freak my freaking freak and then experience paralysis. Maybe he won't notice me. Yeah. Me. The giant human. The one with the terror-stricken look on her face. Right across from it, the horrible, horrible thing. “Spppiiiiideeeeeer,” I begin in a whisper that gradually builds louder as I near the end, enunciating the hard “r.”

Adam enjoys the presence of an arachnid as much as I so there's not much I can expect from his side of the car, never mind the fact that he is busy with his eyes on the road. Or should be. We pull over (if this were a movie like the 2^nd or 3^rd Bourne installments, this is where the camera would start getting reeeeally shaky) and I speedily and efficiently drop the jockeybox door and shove my hand in to grab a fistful of napkins; completely oversized for their future use as the very first case of total destruction of matter.

Hesitation. What if there's that horrifying and unwelcome crunch? That's why you have the entire toilet paper roll wrapped around your hand, you dolt! Get him!!! There is a method to my madness. AND to HIS! HE'S HEADED FOR THE WINDOW!!!!!!!1111one

So I have to react. And quickly!

THUD!

I'm holding the napkin up against the window, the veins on my arm pulsing. I look like the road map seated 5 inches to my left. Adam steps out of the car to assess the damage.

There's a discouraging wince on my face as if I've just tried a lemon for the first time. Will Adam return that wince? And, in-so-doing, reveal to me that the spider's bloody carcass is NOT inside the napkin I'm pressing against the windshield with so much might as to almost break through the glass?

His expression is unreadable. He walks around. I roll down the window.

“He's not there, Beth.”

“WHAT!?!?!? *hyperventilates* HE'S! *gasp* NOT! *gasp* THERE!”

How could he not be there? I replay the entire scene in my mind. What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? What did I miss? Where was the error made? I. . .I got him. I specifically remember getting him. I mean. . .I even felt the crunch.

Didn't I?

Adam returns to the driver's seat. And I proceed to wig out the entire rest of the trip down to the campus. I feel like I'm sitting on an anthill. My heart's new permanent home is my throat and I want to literally jump out of my own crawling skin, leaving it behind much like a spIDER CAN. AAAAAAAAH!!!!!

It gets worse. I can't leave the car for good yet. Adam's staying at school while I return home. In the car. Otherwise known as the Daddy Longlegs Daycare facility. I will admit that the frightening episode earlier had at least relaxed to just a wistful yet terrifying memory. It was slightly subdued by my sudden realization that, after all things considered, it is just a spider. Sure. We didn't get him. This time. But even if he's still somewhere inside or on the car or currently laying eggs in my ear, I can take him. Ah yes, little friend. I await the return of my little eight-legged nemesis with almost a touch of anticipation.

Read anticipation as blatant and paralyzing fear. I am not fooling anyone, least of all myself.

I am in the car now. Driving back home. Alone. I am struck by the sudden need for a burger and fries. Chock it up to my racing heart rate and the possibility that my anxiety just burned off all of my calories but I am super hungry. Ooh, a stop at Sharp's Burger Ranch. No big deal, it's on my way. If I was looking for a burger, I need look no further than the Ranch, go go, go to the Ranch.

If there was even an inkling of remembrance for that dreadful brute, it was immediately forfeited to the scrumptious feast I then gorged myself upon. Extra pickles please. I'm feeling fancy free. Not a care in the world.

I unlock my car. Get comfortable. Click it or ticket. And I'm off.

Not more than 2 minutes later, I am whizzing away from a stoplight and I happen to catch some movement. Upon the dashboard. Memory triggered. Horrific events. Within that very car.

HE'S BACK!

To be continued. . .