The spider was tiny. Its legs were longer than the tiny black round body. Maybe a baby Daddy Longlegs?
No matter. What kind of spider wasn’t the important thing. The important thing was where the spider was and what was going to happen in the few seconds after it was discovered.
I tried not to squirm on the hard church pew because I knew that meant stern looks and maybe even a pinch from my mother that would make the preacher’s description of Jesus’ pain on Calvary even the more real.
So I sat and watched as the tiny spider with the long longs inched its way across the back of the preacher’s wife sitting directly in front of us. The spider was going up toward the exposed neck.
“Cristo, el hijo de Dios, sufrio para ti,” the preacher said, switching between Spanish and English. “He gave his life so that you might live.”
I wondered if the little spider might have to give his life too as it inched closer to Sister Pura Rodriguez’s neckline.
I wondered if the spider knew where it was., or did the splashes of bright flowers on her dress make it believe it was in a garden somewhere?
Probably not. Sister – Hermana -- Rodriguez probably didn’t smell so sweet.
I leaned forward.
A sharp pain hit my side. My mother whispered, “Pay attention.” I didn’t yell out, just rubbed my side and leaned back.
I wondered how my mom paid attention. There were eight Perez children, and most of us were sitting on the pew with my parents. She always knew when we moved, made a noise, tried to talk during sermon. So how did she pay attention? But she did. She would quiz us during Sunday dinner, but she was hardest of all on my dad who never really went to church voluntarily as far as I could tell.
The spider was now on the large white collar that topped the flower garden dress. It had successfully maneuvered across the white lace edging the huge collar and was getting closer to real skin. Would it bite her?
“He gave his life for you,” Preacher Rodriguez yelled slamming his fist down on the pulpit.
I and half the congregation jumped. I immediately felt another pinch. My sister Emma giggled. Another pinch. Sometimes I would look at my sides after church to see if I was black and blue. I wasn’t. My mother was a master at inflicting punishment.
Dust storms, miles and miles of cotton fields and flat land: that was the west Texas where we lived. Abernathy, population 2,000, had no theater, no bowling alley and no pool hall. The town had one swimming pool, several miles outside of town at the country club.
We weren’t members of the country club.
Our entertainment was provided by the high school sports teams. Football season was my favorite, though I’d never really gotten to go to a game yet. I loved the pep rallies. Our only other sources of entertainment were family gatherings and church.
Our family was at church every time the doors were open. Sunday morning, we started with Sunday school and stayed for church. We’d go home and have our family dinner – fried chicken or roast – and be back for a second round of Bible study and preaching. On Wednesdays, we would be back. We children would attend Royal Ambassadors or Girls Auxiliary (RAs and Gas), the Baptist version of the Boys and Girl Scouts. The adults would have more Bible study then we would all meet in the sanctuary for another round of hymns and preaching. As we got older our days at church increased because we had a very active youth group, and then there was choir practice.
One more step. The spider hesitated. Did it sense danger, I wondered.
Then it moved on to Hermana Rodriguez’s skin. One step, two. She moved her shoulders a little.
I held my breath.
The spider was now boldly crawling on Pura’s neck. It stopped. The Hermana touched her neck, swiping across in a dusting motion. She missed the spider.
My mother leaned forward in front of me. “It’s a spider,” she whispered, using her church bulletin to sweep the offending trespasser off Hermana Rodriquez’ s neck.
The spider flew through the air and landed somewhere inside of the dress of Sister Gloria Salazar.
Sister Gloria was younger, and much less restrained than my mother or Hermana Rodriquez.
Gloria saw the whole thing and let out a little scream as the spider flew into the front of her dress. She started tugging at the front, screaming the whole time.
By now the preaching had stopped and the whole church’s attention was on Sister Gloria. Hermana Rodriguez jumped up to help, fanning across the front of Gloria’s dress with the bulletin.
My brothers and sisters and I were laughing and we stood up to get a closer look. My mother had retreated to her pew, too mortified and feeling responsible for the recent events to pay attention to what her children were doing. Sister Gloria jumped up and walked to the back of the church and out the door.
My siblings and I were still laughing. But my mother had regained her composure, and any child within reaching distance got a pinch.
Preacher Rodriguez knew he had lost the congregation. There would be no more preaching today. He motioned for Gloria’s husband Esteban, the church’s music director, to lead the congregation in the invitational hymn.
The closing prayer included a special mention of Sister Gloria.
I said a silent prayer for the spider.