Corner. Stare. Ignore.
Each time Kim opened her mouth, I found my gaze directed immediately to the nearest corner of the room. I would stare at it with a blank look on my face, my mouth hanging open, and “what the heck, what in the world, what is she talking about” going through my mind.
Kim was a good friend, but she would articulate sentences that seemed to be made up of random words strung together with no meaning. Today was no exception. She burst into my bedroom at five o’clock in the morning to tell me an amazing story. “Last night it was raining. I like rain.” She paused, stared at the corner of my bedroom, then continued. “I like not-rain, too. They’re both so wonderful.” It was now my turn to stare blankly at a corner.
Kim continued talking while my mind began to wander. Looking at that corner, I wondered who had lived in this room before me. Was it a cute college girl with light brown hair and highlights or a murderer? I pondered this thought for a moment as Kim continued her pointless story. I adjusted my gaze to Kim’s pretty face and tried to listen to her. “…then he took my hand and we walked outside in the rain. I told you I liked rain. That’s why I like rain, you know. But I like not-rain, too.” she said. I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought about snapping at her; “get to the point!” But I didn’t. I looked back up at the corner of my room and my mind began to wander once again.
I noticed a tiny crack running from the corner of my ceiling and down the wall about an inch. I began to imagine that the crack was a spider’s web. The web of an eight-legged little guy named Stan who lived for the sole pleasure of coming home to a nice fly. Stan would hide in the corner until a fly got stuck in his little web then he would scurry out of the shadows and suck the little bug’s blood. Yummy! Then I realized that no fly could get caught in a web that was just a crack in the corner of the room.
At that, I began to feel a bit paranoid. If the crack’s not the part of the web that catches flies, there must be a bigger web somewhere for Stan, the corner-dwelling creature. I reminded myself that spiders are little, and realized that the “bigger web” could very well be somewhere in the room. I frantically searched each corner of the room while Kim rambled on. There was not a web in sight. After twelve minutes of pondering this problem, I realized that there most certainly must be some horrific, giant spider web in the closet (where else could it be?) and now all of my clothes are full of spider eggs (I forgot Stan was a boy spider). Although I didn’t mind spiders before, the thought of walking around with a colony of those creepy-crawlers growing under the collar of my shirt was not appealing in the least.
I screamed, “Kim! Stop talking! You’ll scare the spiders out of the closet! They’ll take over the corners of my room. Then what will I stare at while you torment me with your meaningless words?”
I suddenly realized what I had said, but it was too late. Kim jumped out of my chair, stomped her foot with tears on her cheeks, and turned abruptly to walk out the door. But, alas, she didn’t make it. She smacked into the corner of my room, hit her head, and fell to the floor. I didn’t know what to do, so I shrugged it off, lay down in my bed, and proceeded to stare at the corner of my room as I drifted to sleep.