He watched from the treehouse. The gun leaned against the window, and the moonlight gleamed off the cold barrel. Sam could see the open window to the dining room—no widow screen in these old-fashioned houses. Miguel was hosting his annual dinner party, inviting all his childhood friends and their spouses for an evening of food, drink, and stale stories. The guests arrived in pairs, covered dishes for dinner, and had bottles of wine clenched tightly in their hands. Miguel’s gorgeous wife, Kate, stood at the doorway, greeting everyone with a smile that broke the world.
The last person to approach was Leslie. She came alone, her hands wrapped around a poke cake to add to the dessert table. Sam watched as she approached alone towards the front door, where he lost sight of her. Miguel walked past each window, looking devilish in his all-black attire with a black goatee to match the look. Shooting him would ruin his suit. The slightest pain of shooting his childhood friend pained him to the finest. Sam’s taste for revenge covered any personal feelings that lay within him.
Leaning against the nearly wooden wall of the tree house, Sam went down memory lane, looking at the Chicago Bear and Chicago Bulls banners that hung from the ceiling. Miguel had covered the walls with Playboy centerfolds he stole from his dad when he was a kid. Most posters were faded and torn, some nearly impossible to see. Old deflated footballs and basketballs sat in the corner beside a chair only a kid could sit in. Darts from Nerf guns were mashed and scattered across the boards, and an old bird’s nest sat in the rotted corner of the roof. Sam touched one of the mashed Nerf gun darts, realizing it probably has been lying in this spot since the last time they played as kids, a good 20 years ago. They always played in this treehouse. His knees ached as he sat crouched. Sam was well past the age to enter this tree house, and he was willing to bet that Miguel had not entered this tree house in many years. If the day would come that Miguel would have children of his own, and in the state it was in, Sam was willing to bet that Miguel would fix the treehouse for his children. Sam gripped his gun and leveled it, watching the house. “Over my dead body,” Sam whispered to the world’s dark. His voice was so faint that the wind carried his voice mere inches from him. Miguel entered the dining room, speaking to Leslie.
“I am sorry he couldn’t make it. I wouldn’t like to make you the 13th wheel. If you want to join the other wives, they are pouring wine. I am going to grab some scotch for the guys.”
Sam couldn’t get a shot off as fast as Miguel moved around the room. He didn’t want to hit Miguel in the arm and needed to shoot him in the middle of his chest. Miguel had it all. The house he inherited from his dead parents, the beautiful wife, the money from his law firm, and his basketball records are legendary at their high school and college. If anyone was jealous of Miguel, it was his long-time friend, crouched in the tree house, itching to blow a hole into the dinner party. Leslie came to one of the windows, a shadow of sadness across her milky white skin as she stared into the dark of the night. Her blue eyes turned towards the tree house, and Sam quickly ducked out of sight, fearing she saw him in the doorway. He could still see her standing through the cracks in the wall boards as Kate approached her with a tray of some appetizers. Leslie snatched one off the tray and backed away with her. It was close, almost too close for Sam’s comfort. With his position resumed, he looked through the gun’s scope, peering at all of his old friends as they had dressed to the nine with well-kept beards and dress clothes.
Ryan stood by the fireplace, a glass of scotch in his hand. His face winced as the scotch touched his mouth. Sam’s disapproval made him shake his head. College memories surfaced of watching this guy slam back beer after beer in some ripped-up rock band t-shirt that he would pick up at a concert wearing fifty times before washing. The boy was long gone, and this sugar-coated man stood before him. Corey stood beside him, a slim frame to the boy Sam remembered from high school. Corey was always that fat kid in their gang, in his sweat-stained t-shirts as he ate everything on his lunch tray, even wiping up the mountain of ketchup on his lunch tray with a baked potato they would sometimes serve in the senior cafeteria. In college, he lost much weight before working as a zoo keeper. Chris approached them with his clean-cut hair and trimmed beard. One arm was around his newly wedded wife, Beth. Her red hair flowed down her back, hiding the hand he placed there. The boy Sam remembered Chris had long, messy blonde hair, matted in the front to cover the acne that plagued him from middle school through high school. Chris grew into his looks in college and met Beth there. He took over his family business which owned a chain of grocery stores.
There were the friends he could see from the windows. They married successful, cute homes in subdivisions with a white picket fence for the little dogs they owned. What happened to his friends? The culture of adulthood hid them from their true nature. When Sam finally shoots Miguel, he hopes they remember. He will make them remember, even if it is the last thing he ever does.
The anticipation sent his heart speeding, and adrenaline crawled through his veins like millions of spiders. The patience installed within him kept him steady. His index finger was itchy, and it felt good to rub it against the trigger. The itch was to squeeze the shot off.
Miguel gathers everyone into the dining room. Sam couldn’t hear what they spoke of but watched as they sat in the room. Miguel walked past the windows so fast that Sam couldn’t get him in the crosshairs. When he came, he was holding a glass. Sam’s heart ignited when Miguel stood in the middle window, holding his glass up to make a toast.
“I am so glad you all could take time out of your lives to join us for our annual dinner. It’s important to keep in touch with friends, especially as we age. I am so glad to see all of my friends here, especially the guys I grew up with, except for Sam, who couldn’t make it tonight, but his wife, Leslie, did happen to make it, and that goes to all the wives here. As kids, we were like a gang, but now you all sit in front of me, and I feel like you all have become a part of us. I would like to raise a glass to all of us and our health for the future.”
Sam had the crosshairs on his chest, and with one long breath, he squeezed the trigger. A burst and a screech escaped the old barrel as the ball cut through the darkness, flashed through the window across the table to where Miguel stood, and spattered the blue paint on his black suit. The room went silent. Miguel looked down at the stain on his clothes. When he looked up, Sam and Miguel locked eyes.
“Game on!” Miguel screamed to all the other guys at the table.
“Miguel, No! Not in the house!” Someone cried out.
The back door burst open, and all Sam’s friends from his childhood screamed like banshees as they ran into the backyard unloading paintballs in every direction. Miguel had jumped through the open window. He was unloading paintballs at the window of the tree house—the orange paintballs splattered between the old wooden boards, raining orange paint in every direction. Sam jumped down from the treehouse, quickly realizing his knees were not 12 years old anymore.
Miguel tackled Sam, and they rolled around in the dirt punching each other and laughing as they did so. All the boys ran around for several minutes, shooting each other in different color paints, ruining all their dress clothes. The wives stood at the door and windows. Some were laughing, but Leslie touched her forehead as if it hurt to watch Sam, her husband, and his childhood friends act like children again.
Kate walked next to Leslie. “Well, you can’t take the boys out of the men.”
Leslie looked up with a smile on her face. “I think I want a divorce.”
In The Spider's Web 