To Trust a Spiderweb

Cary Williams
Milton Academy, Grade 12

The thing I liked least about living in an old house was the way the spiderwebs looked in the evening. I sat by the fire in the living room and read a book that might make me look smarter in front of my mother’s new husband, James. My eyes were always drawn from the text to the corner of the room, where the spiderwebs caught the light of embers. They were gauzy and grey by day, but glowed a light orange around six o’clock, the threads so thin they looked like the pressure of the light itself could shatter them.

James’ shadow entered the room before he did. The scent of tobacco poured from his mouth as he exhaled. It felt as if he didn’t want me near him, but I didn’t want to move. When he sat down across from me, I turned my head so he couldn’t see my face. I didn’t want him to look into my eyes and try to figure me out as if I were one of his patients. He was a successful psychiatrist, and his training made him an observant stepfather.

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