“Honey bunch, if I hit you with the oar you’d still have your eyes closed.”
“Help me up. At least I got rid of the spider.” I looked up at Hooker. “I did get rid of him, didn’t I?”
He got me to my feet. “Yeah, you got rid of him.”
I picked a long slim black thing off the front of my shirt. “What is this?”
“Spider leg,” Hooker said. “You fell on him when you went down, and he’s sort of smushed all over the back of you.”
“Not even.”
“The good news is…he’s dead.”
I started to cry. I know it was stupid to cry, but there it was. I’d held it back lots of times, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I had spider guts on me, and I was crying.
“Listen, we can fix this,” Hooker said. “We’ll just wash you off in the stream. Most of it fell out of your hair already, anyway. Well, some of it. But, we can get the rest out. Damn, I wish you’d stop crying. I really hate when you cry.”
Okay, get a grip, I told myself. Get out of the spider guts clothes, wade into the water, and wash your hair. Simple.
“Here’s the plan,” I said to Hooker. “I’m going to get undressed, and you’re not going to look. Then I’m going to wash off, and you’re not going to look. And if you look, I’m going to cry.”
“Anything! Just no more crying.”
I walked to the edge of the stream, got undressed, and dropped t
he clothes with the spider guts attached into the water to soak. Then I waded out and dunked myself. I swished my hair around a lot, hoping that would do it in the absence of shampoo. I waded back to the bank and caught Hooker looking at me.
“You’re really pretty,” Hooker said.
“You’re looking!”
“Of course, I’m looking. I’m a man. I have to look. I’d lose my union card if I didn’t look. I’d have my testicles repossessed.”
“You promised.”
“Promises never count when naked women are involved. Everybody knows that. If it would make you feel better, I could get naked, too.”
“Tempting, but no. Is my hair clean? I got all the spider guts out, right?”
Hooker looked at my hair. “Oh shit.”
“Now what?”
“Leeches.”
I started crying again.
“It’s not that bad,” Hooker said. “There are only a couple of them. Maybe three. Or four. And mostly they’re not attached. Well okay, probably they’re not real attached. Stay right there, and I’ll get a stick.”
“A stick?”
“To pry them off.”
Now I was up to openmouthed sobbing.
“Oh man, I’m sorry you’ve got leeches. I’ll pick them off. Look, I’m picking them off. Do you think you could stop crying?”
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” I said, tears streaming down my sunburned face, sliding past my peeling nose and blistered lips. “I never cry. I’m really brave. And I’m a good sport.”