Scary Lips and Killer Spiders

Sometimes I just look at my wife and wonder, “How long she could possibly talk.” I mean, after a while I’m really not listening to what she is saying. I just look at her and in my mind I think, “Look at her lips, aren't they getting tired? Could she get a cramp in her tongue, her cheek, both cheeks, her lips? What would happen if she got a cramp? Would her mouth pucker up like she bit a lemon? Would she say, “owwwwththth,” and then try to keep talking through the whole cramping? Would it make her cry?”

Lips are funny when they just keep moving and changing shapes to make sounds. I see them transforming and morphing, moving so fast, vibrating, like the wings of a hummingbird. You can’t fix your eyes on them for a second. They blur. They go from looking like lips, to looking like slugs on her lips, to no lips, to lines of pinkness, to monkey tails, to fat worms wiggling up and down right under her nose. They dance. They do a rain dance celebrating all the new ideas that will come out of the hole of knowledge. They celebrate every word, loving every vibration. Her lips just keep moving, open, close, open, close, a little open on one side, a little more, then close and ooopen on the other side, then aaallll open and aaallll closed. I am amazed, transfixed, and hypnotized sometimes by just her lips and how they dance in front of me on her pink stage of a face.

More amazing is how she just keeps going, one subject flowing smoothly to the next having nothing to do with the one before, but joining it as if one long, long, long, long sentence that never ever ends. She even asks questions in the middle of the talking, but there is never any time to answer. And it doesn't matter where she is; in the kitchen, outside in the backyard, the bedroom, the back of a store at the mall. I hear her voice roaming and flying into my ears calling my name and asking questions. In the middle of it all she’ll throw a pop quiz. “Are you listening,” she asks? Staring into her face, at her lips, I say, “Yes, I hear you.”

She continues, “I am so tired, John. Why do you think I am so tired? I slept last night, except I was thinking of the birds in the backyard and about the clothes I bought. I couldn't get out of my shopping bag. I can't look at my clothes before I go to bed. I was hungry last night. Were you hungry? I didn't eat anything before I went to bed. I should eat toast, but then I worry I’ll just get into the habit of eating toast and then I'll eat it when I am not hungry. I should take a nap today. What are you doing? I am going to my friend Heather's she is having a birthday party for her baby, Jackson. Do you think what I got him was alright? Ohhh, my spine hurts. That spot in my spine. What do you think it is? Will you feel it? Will you just look at it? I just hope it's nothing serious, like c...” Finally, I speak, replying, “Don't say something silly. I don't want you wishing something on your...” “It just hurts,” she says. “Why don't you go to the doctor? Make an appoint...,” I try to input. But she cuts me off again with, “I know what he is going to say and do. I know, I know. Are you hungry? I am hungry. I am going to get a bowl of cereal. Do you think that green top would be good for pictures? I think I need to go buy one that is a different shade.....” And it goes on and on and on.

I wonder if there is no filter for her thoughts. Do they just run straight out of her brain to her mouth? Then I wonder, “What is wrong with me? Why don't I have anything to say? Is there something wrong with my brain that keeps it moving so slow, like Jello eking out of a faucet? Like one thought at a time, just one thought, so slow, like Jello. I have nothing to say, nothing to say, like a big slug! I am a big slug of Jello just sitting here with nothing to say! All her talking takes my breath away. Where is my voice? Where has it gone? My mind is a white eraser board and there is nothing written on it. A chalkboard without chalk searching for its’ own relevance. I think of nothing when I open my mouth, these little things that contain my day are just that, little things. I try. I say, “I am going to write today and try to workout and I slept pretty good today, I mean last night. I don't remember what I dreamt about, but I didn't think about my clothes. Sometimes I think about what I need to get done the next day and I can't fall asleep.” Then she looks at me with that, “I know what you are doing,” look and says, “Stop it you are being annoying.” And I just, well, I am amazed and my jaw drops and I just look at her as she gets up walking away to get her breakfast. I am just different and will never understand.

Like when we watch a documentary on TV. You know one of those ones that talks about animals? Like last night we watched one on Killer Spiders. I sit down to join her on the couch. Now shows like this are meant to explain things to you about things you might not know so much about, like Killer Spiders. But she must think I am an expert at everything, like I wrote the show and studied spiders, because while we are supposedly watching the show all she does is ask me questions and I just get frustrated. She says, “Why does it...” The announcer is saying, “It builds a web like that so it can....” And she continues, “…build a web like that?”

All I hear is, “Why doekdnkdlkghakdufmkmjglkjldkjj,” and turn to her to say, “What?” Then she asks, “Why does he build a web like that?” So I turn back to the TV to see why, because my first impulse is to answer her question. I pause for a second while the announcer is talking about webs. So she asks again, “Why does he build a web like that?” In the meantime, I am focusing on the TV. She says, “Did you hear me?” I say, “Yeah, just a second.” She asks, “Why would it go into...” At the same time, the announcer is saying, “They go into people’s homes to...” She continues, “…into peoples homes like that?” And I turn, and my head is turning back and forth from the TV to her, from her to the TV, and my brain is trying to still answer, “Why the web is built like that?”

And then the announcer says, “The most incredible thing about these creatures is that they...” And I am freezing up. My brain feels like it is actually turning to stone as she asks, “So why would it get into someone's bathroom?” And again I hear right after the most incredible thing, “Makjdlkjfalkjdlj.” And I am flipping back and forth and finally loudly say, “Just watch the program and they will tell you everything. That's what it is, that’s what they do, Christie!” And then I feel bad. I yelled and she looks at me as if I am some parental figure, some, “old, trying to be a father figure,” guy, and like she just wants to get away from me. And now we feel like we are miles apart on the same couch. I feel like I can't ever talk again or I will hear, “I thought you didn't want to talk now.” I don't understand, we are just different and these differences are what broke up my parents. “I love your father, Johnny, but I just can't live with him.” I have heard both my mother and father say this and so I am scared.