I was dumped. This isn’t the sort of thing I usually write about on this blog, but this dumping has specific life influences. No, I won’t go on about the stupidity of the Dumper, or the banality of the reasons, or even the lameness of the dumping event which occurred via email. The result of the dumping event was that I was pretty darn angry at the end of it all. When I’m pretty darn angry about something, I find a little walk is calming, okay, well, in this case it was a six hour hike, but same concept.
I was at Wekiwa State Park, Florida, when the notorious email arrived. I did not respond immediately, except by tossing a granola bar, some water, and a folded trail map into my backpack and setting off at a hiking pace best described as, well, furious. It was still very early in the morning and I began quite literally charging ferociously down a park trail. This was not one of those slow dumpings where both parties come to the realization that they barely even belonged in the same species much less belonged dating. No, this was quite sudden and I was quite angry and I was charging down the trail while perhaps revisiting our very brief dating life and perhaps muttering under my breath, or not so much under my breath, incredulously “HE dumped ME?” And I was angry and hurt and stomping forward when I realized that I was breaking again and again through spider webs.
Now, there is some chance that through past adventures (http://jamiesue.typepad.com/jamiesue/2008/03/index.html) you might be slightly aware of what can only be described as a spider phobia of mine. Snakes, alligators, vicious hyenas – basically, I’d sit down to dinner with any of them (would we call it a date because I could use one) instead of passing the time of day with a spider. But, that particular morning, the morning of the dumping, I had an advantage. I was a recent dumpee, a woman scorned, infused with anger and purpose, to hike until I had come up with every last name imaginable for the Dumper. And, the spider webs only added fuel to my already hot fire. You see, there was a bit of spider Dumper history.
I do not generally portray myself as a girly-girl. In fact, I probably prefer to portray the exact opposite. For example, on my very first date with the Dumper I suggested off-road biking in a South Carolina state park. I had my beat up old bike in my giant lifted pickup truck and country music playing. I had stories of traveling Argentina alone and a glass of Jack(neat) as my favorite drink. No girly-girl details there. First date and we were riding down the path in the park and the Dumper was in front. We were riding for maybe twenty minutes when he stopped and I pulled up behind him. He turned and said in his calm mechanical matter-of-fact-way, “I can’t help but notice that I am riding through a rather large number of spider webs,” at which point I see that he has a fist-sized giant spider crawling on his shoulder and I, in a rather less mater of fact way, screamed in high-pitched bird voice, “There’s a giant spider on your arm get it off get it off get it off I can’t help you” while fluttering my hands about face frantically. Yeah, I’m a tough one. So, the Dumper casually brushed off the spider and we continued forward with him pointing out giant spider webs stretching across the path from tree to tree. We tried to avoid them for about five more minutes before I, having regained a small amount of my decorum, suggested we perhaps desist from the spider-death-biking and walk through the woods down to the lake. We did just that and we walked and talked on the beach for at least an hour before returning to the spider laden path. I thought that I had regained my composure and at least a little bit of my pride.
Oh, but what I had forgotten was that we had to get back to my truck, and by then the sun was low in the sky and many of the spiders we had ridden through earlier had rebuilt their webs, and with the sun so low we could actually clearly see them and they were….everywhere. The path was a massive shining spider web tunnel. The Dumper again took the lead on the path and very chivalrously pointed out the giant hanging spider webs. I discreetly carried a stick across my handlebars with the image of being able to brush off a hard-to-reach spider or perhaps destroy a web if one was lowered on to me. I managed to ride (terrified) through the webs for about ten minutes. Then, we approached a whole spider community. There were webs stretched the length of the bushes, over head and down the other side of the bushes so that there was, literally, room only for the Dumper to crouch forward on his bike and peddle through with not even six inches of spider free territory on either side. The Dumper very deftly did this feat. I, on the other hand, stopped my bike a good six feet from the spider enclave, and stood with my entire body shaking and, frankly, my eyes starting to tear up at the concept of going through that tiny little space. I started to, quietly, hyperventilate.
After a moment the Dumper realized I had not followed him through spider hell and he asked what was wrong. I said I could not go through the webs and explained my phobia of spiders. He parked his bike, returned, took my bike through the giant web hole, walked back and then walked with me further into the woods and around giant spider death trap. In other words, he, the boy, the Dumper, walked me, the girl, the drinker of Jack driver-of-stick-shift dessert camper around a big spider web. At the time, I felt both pleased at his kindness and very, very embarrassed. Now, you may be thinking “awww…isn’t that sweet of him. Oh so sweet.” Yeah, well let’s remember that he is the Dumper and additionally he subsequently explained how it was irrational (duh) to be afraid of spiders and how he did not understand how I felt that I could not move. Worse, he explained this after admitting that he, himself, had a fear of heights. I am not afraid of heights, I pointed out. But heights can really hurt you, he said. Let’s just say that now that he is the Dumper, I really cherish the knowledge that when he repaired the roof on his one story house, he had to lay on his belly to do it. I imagine myself stomping around on that roof, perhaps doing a little jig.
So, there I was in Florida. On a trail covered in spider webs. Angry as hell, both at being dumped and at the previous embarrassing (certainly no longer sweet) spider date story. Once again faced with a path covered in spider webs through which I would need to walk or turn around and return to my computer and dumping email. There was obviously no choice. I forgot to be afraid or maybe I just decided not to be. Every time I charged through one more spider web, I gave a little smirk at the Dumper on his belly roof repairing and felt just a little bit better. And even, after a while, I stopped walking and started taking pictures of some of the spiders . I’ve taken pictures of spiders in the past and I enjoyed it even then, but my hands shook the whole time and my breath came in little pants that made the camera unsteady. Well, no more. I photographed spiders. I climbed under webs. At one point, I had sat down on a tree to eat a granola bar, I looked over and there were two spiders just a foot from face (see ridiculous picture of me trying to take a picture with the spiders) and I didn’t leap up in terror. I didn’t even leap up. There was no fluttering of hands. There was no girly screeching. Six hours of hiking, a great deal of muttering at the stupid Dumper, and dozens of spider webs crashed and I seem to no longer have a phobia. In fact, as this blog travels at least several weeks behind where I actually am, I have since petted a huge tarantella at the ranger station. My hands didn’t even shake (and the tarantella back was soft, who knew?).
What does this all mean? Why is it important, you wonder? Well, without my spider fear it will certainly be a lot easier for me to slip that black window into the Dumper’s mailbox. Black window. Apropos, no?