Orange Passenger

I head out to my appointment, but see an

orange, tiny spider on the windshield.

Is she inside or outside?

Pull over – get it out, my mind screams.

Running from me, she picks up speed as I try to capture her on paper.

But she is uncooperative. Finally, I get her close enough to scoot her outside.

Whew. I didn’t turn around and search behind before I sat in the driver’s seat.

The surge of adrenaline is lessening, and I merge onto the freeway.

Movement catches my eye. There she is, or is it a mate?

Orange legs calmly cross the dashboard to the passenger side.

“I thought I swooshed you outside,” I say to her.

Then my thoughts pick up speed too: are they above me and behind me, too?

I keep eyeing her, trying to stay in my lane.

Don’t turn around, you are going 70 mph!

Whoa, look out! The driver in front of me swerved,

so I did too, and we both missed a tire in the middle of Interstate 5.

I see you crouched low by the passenger vent, your orange on the black dash.

Look out! Tire treads in the road.

As I swerve to miss the retreads lying across lanes, my grip tightens, my shoulders stiffening to concrete.

Don’t turn around; use the rearview mirror; watch for any drivers behind that are following too closely. Pump those brakes, and give them a warning.

She’s not on the dash now; is she behind me?

Don’t look, you mustn’t turn around.

Keeping up with traffic at 70 mph;

time to change lanes, side mirror clear;

I don’t dare look behind.

Between the rubber in the road and the tiny orange being,

my heart is beating hard, trying to keep up.

Fitbit tracker says heart rate is 130 bpm.

What if she’s making her way around to my headrest?

I am unfamiliar with this spider. She is tiny.

Orange.

Does she bite or jump?

Will she burrow into my hair?

I have on shorts; will she circle slowly and climb my leg?

My neck is so stiff, I can’t turn.

Don’t

turn

around.

She’s crossing the dash again and disappears,

as my eyes dart from her to the road.

Did she climb into the vent?

Keep your eyes on the road.

No! There’s a shadow on the dash!

Oh, thank goodness, it’s a bird that flew by,

not Missy Spider coming at me on the windshield.

Great! Now I cannot stop looking at the windshield,

watching for her.

Quit it! Watch the road, don’t turn around looking for her.

She must want out, but how did she get in?

The weather is 90 degrees, and she might die in the car.

Will she die from heatstroke, trapped in the place she sought safety?

I don’t want spiders in my car. Spider webs are sticky.

My appointment over, I look toward the vent and see no orange.

As I drive home, I don’t turn around.

If I can’t see her, she is not there.

Copyright © 6/15/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin Thanks for stopping by! 😃 If you like ♡ my scribbles, hit the subscribe button. Please consider leaving a comment. ✍️❤️