Crossing at Sundown
1Ever since I was little, I have been afraid of spiders. Even a tiny one in the bathtub makes me jump. So when my older cousin Dez said, "Let's go see the tarantulas," I laughed. Then I realized he was serious.
2Every fall, Dez explained, some tarantulas leave their burrows and wander across the desert. Many of them are males looking for a mate. They often walk in the evening, when the ground starts to cool.
3Aunt Marisol drove us out on a quiet dirt road just before sunset. The rocks glowed orange, and the air smelled like dust and sage. I stayed in the back seat with my window rolled all the way up.
4"Stop!" Dez said. Aunt Marisol eased the car to a halt. In the middle of the road, a brown, fuzzy spider as big as my palm was walking slowly toward the other side. It lifted each leg carefully, like someone crossing a creek on slippery stones.
5Everyone else climbed out. I pressed my nose against the glass. The spider wasn't chasing anybody. It wasn't even fast. Every few steps, it paused and tapped the dirt in front of it, as if it were checking whether the path was safe.
6Slowly, I opened the door and stepped out. My heart was thumping, but I crouched a few steps away, next to Dez. Up close, I could see the fine hairs on its legs catching the last orange light. "They're shy," Aunt Marisol said softly. "They hardly ever bite, but we never pick them up. We just give them room."
7Just then, we heard the rumble of a truck coming around the bend. Without thinking, I jumped up, waved both arms and pointed at the road. The truck rolled to a stop. The driver leaned out, saw the spider and gave me a thumbs-up. Together, we all waited until the tarantula reached the bushes on the far side and disappeared.