Folio 25

Angel…
Spread your wings upon my lonely heart tonight
Fill my days with vibrant rays
And guide me towards the light
Show me your kingdom of golden gates
And statues of sculptured stone
Where kings of sculptured stone
Where kings and queens rule the land
Upon their majestic throne
Roaming the fields of eternal life,
Serenity fills my soul
Celestial sky where angels fly
Compels my spirit whole
So take me now, upon your wing
I'm free and full of grace
Above the sun, make me one
A child of your immortal race.

~Steve Ray

Angela and the Octoped

"I want it gone. I don't care how. I just want it out tonight," stated Angela emphatically. "No, wait! Scratch that. I want it gone now."
"Oh, would you relax," replied Peter as he straddled a chair, "He'll only be here for a few nights."
"I am not sleeping in the same apartment with that thing," she said, pointing at the bookcase while pacing nervously. "What happens if it gets loose?"
"It is a he and he won't get loose."
"I'd die if I woke up and found that thing crawling on me," fretted Angela.
"His name is Herby and he won't get loose," responded Peter with certainty.
"I can't believe Eddie asked us to do this. I can't believe you agreed to do this. I can't believe he named the damned thing!"
The "damned thing" in question, also known as "Herby," observed the quarrel over his future site of habitation with muted interest. His plexiglass room, carpeted by dirt clods and separately decorated with an artificial, hollowed-out log as the centerpiece, kept him comfort- ably content. He did begin to feel a bit peckish, however, and hoped the big pink creatures would drop him a few crickets soon.
"He's harmless," Peter reassured his girlfriend.
"Harmless animals are not kept in aquariums," retorted Angela. "Terrarium," corrected Peter, "it's only an aquarium if we filled it with water."
Abruptly halting her circular path about the living room, Angela latched onto Peter's comment. "Y'know, that's a great idea. They can't swim, can they?"
Concerned that her motion towards the kitchen signified a serious intention to administer Herby's first-and ultimately his last-swimming lesson, Peter stood from his chair and gently admonished, " Angie."
Angela returned to the living room moderately offended, "Oh, I wasn't really going to do it." After a quick glance at the terrarium and a jump away from same, she frantically added, "Oh, God, it's moving!".
"He's supposed to do that. It's a good sign," said Peter, retaking his seat. "Means we're doing a good job as babysitters."
"It's so creepy. I hate to even look at it."
"Could be worse," mused Peter, swiveling in the chair. "Could have little blackflies picking at your bones in north Ontario."
The non-sequitur had the desired effect of momentarily diverting Angela's attention from Herby and placing it fully upon trying to comprehend what had just been said. After several moments, in which she crossed her arms and strained to find a relevant connection, Angela turned her frustration and incomprehension towards her boy- friend, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"See what happens when you don't stay up with me to watch Cartoon Network? You miss all the really cool, obscure stuff," re- plied Peter, a self-satisfied grin plastered upon his face.
Angela rolled her eyes. "Cartoons," she groaned. "You 're such a little boy."
"And you're a little girl, who's afraid of a little spider. Which makes us all one, little, happy family," reasoned Peter.
"Tarantulas are not little spiders," she argued. "And I'll remember that crack."
"Herby's really not that big when you consider that tarantulas in South America can grow to be up to afoot in length."
"I don't wanna hear this," Angela said, returning to her pacing.
" A spider's size is usually dependent on its food supply. That's why the one we found in the school cafeteria, that time, was so big- lots of cockroaches in the kitchen to snack on," Peter continued, taking great joy in watching Angela squirm.
"Ewwww." Angela's vocalization of disgust was twofold: first, she hated cockroaches more than she hated spiders. Second, she had noticed Herby's latest trick; he clung to the wall of his tank, his belly exposed to the onlooking caretakers. Herby's attempt to signal his readiness for dinner only provided Angela with another view of the arachnid that she would have preferred to do without. "It's gross no matter how you look at it."
"Don't be like that. Listen, you like dogs, right?" began Peter. "Well, just think of him as a furry, eight-legged Chihuahua. We can make him a little leash and walk him around the apartment."
"Don't you dare let that thing out!" exclaimed Angela, aghast at the mere suggestion.
At this point, Angela became aware that Peter had been chuckling at her for most of the discussion. Peter obviously derived tremendous, perverse pleasure from seeing his better half so freaked.
"You're a real jerk, y'know that?"she scolded him. "l mean, here I am, your girlfriend, an arachnophobe, and there you are, laughing while I go crazy."
"If you were really arachnophobic, you'd be having panic attacks," Peter offered.
"What the hell do you think I'm doing?"
"You're so cute when you're flustered," said Peter, smiling sweetly.
Angela's eyes became slits. "I hate you," she growled as she turned on her heels and stormed over to the couch.
"No, you love me. You hate Herby," he informed her.
"I hate you both," she reinformed him as she plopped down on the couch, crossing her arms gazing askance at her possibly soon-to- be ex-boyfriend.
Realizing that he had perhaps pushed too far, Peter abandoned his chair to take a seat next to Angela. She shifted her position, moving away from him slightly and refusing to meet his eyes. Undaunted, Peter sought to smooth over his insensitive indiscretions by lightening his lady-love's mood.
"Hey, listen, if I thought you were really arachnophobic I'd've never messed with you like this. You know, Ben?" he queried with- out waiting for a response. "Now, he's an arachnophobe. I've seen the man hide himself behind a chair when a spider that was no bigger than an inch made its way along the wall."
The mental picture of Ben, a burly 6'2" man, weighing at least 250 pounds, cowering in fear behind a piece of furniture in response to a common household spider evoked a fit of unintended giggling from Angela.
"And just think of all the good things spiders do," Peter contin- ued. "I mean, didn't we all learn a valuable life lesson from Charlotte's Web?"
Once again, Angela graced her boyfriend with a beautiful smile and an amused laugh. Her tension drained away in ever-increasing waves, and she no longer had the desire to wrap her hands around Peter's throat. He always knew to say whatever would best ease her disposition.
"Somehow, I don't see Herby breaking out into song," she joked.
"Certainly not in that impeccable falsetto, I agree," he commented in return.
Angela heaved a deep sigh and laid her head upon Peter's shoul- der. " Alright. He can stay for the weekend," she acquiesced. "But you owe me so big for this."
"Thank you, dear," said Peter as he gently kissed her forehead and put his arm around her.
"I'm not going to sleep for the next three days."
"Well, that's no problem. I'm sure we'll find something to oc- cupy our time in bed."
Angela and Peter stared at one another, both of them having play- ful mischief dancing behind their eyes and affectionate smiles pulling at their lips.
"Don't count on it. Turnabout is fair play," teased Angela. "Now, it's my turn to torture you."
"Oh, we'll see about that," countered Peter as he unleashed a vicious barrage of tickling upon the unprepared Angela.
Herby watched from his perch on the pseudo-log as the couple wrestled upon the couch, laughing with the joy only possible between young lovers. The pink creatures' display meant nothing to the arach- nid, however, as his attention remained solely focused on pondering when he would partake ofhis cricket dinner. He idly wondered if the pink creatures ever knew he was even in the room to begin with.

~Joseph M. Klein III