Chapter Text
Although its effects are widely felt, the term “post traumatic stress” is not widely bandied about in the animal world, much less the insect. A being whose entire energy is given over to its moment to moment survival does not have any left over to spend pondering its own moral choices, the life it could have had if past events had shaken out differently, or whether reacting to every new event as a possible threat is exhausting it into an early grave before a predator can.
This applies as much to little boys as to insects.
The words are not well known to bugs or little boys. And big traumas need only little triggers to set them off.
Ms. Ladybug was not often up this late. Miss Spider was in her nocturnal stride, humming gently under her breath as she tidied the kitchen. Her four eyes made full use of the dim light, and Ms. Ladybug could just see her stark white stripes as she moved through the shadows, crawling up the walls and sinking to the floor to dust every nook.
Like the Earthworm, Miss Spider had stayed horizontal after their transformation, while the rest of them had wound up bipedal and multi-armed. She would never say it to the dear, but sometimes the arachnid’s crouched, almost stalking movements still sent an unsettling chill along Ms. Ladybug’s spotted carapace.
It was much better now, of course. Before, the sight of long, thin legs - climbing in and out of the shadows, circling her, hanging over her - would have signaled the end of her life. Now, with the sound of that deep, sonorous humming, it sent her nodding into her tea as she tried to summon the energy to excuse herself and go to bed.
It’s like those Tibetan meditation bowls, moving all around you. I think the Yank talked about that. Something in National Geographic, no doubt.
She couldn’t understand the French words, even if the song had been loud enough for her to catch all of them. But it was a gentle, happy sort of sound tonight. Sometimes they were happy, sometimes sad. Always hypnotic. Sometimes she sounded so mournful Ms. Ladybug wanted to throw all four arms around the dear and remind her she had a safe home and loving family, and didn’t ever need to sing such songs again.
She’d spoken about the spider’s singing habits to the Old Green Grasshopper. A music lover himself, he’d told her that all spiders were beautiful singers. Ms. Ladybug had not known this.
“Few do,” Mr. Grasshopper said. “They are solitary creatures. They sing to themselves as they weave their webs, and few get to hear them for whom it is not the last thing they hear.
“At any rate,” he continued, “the beauty of music is it allows us to find the beauty in any emotion, sorrow included. And we may induce a sweet ache to experience its sublime comfort, even in the best of times.”
Ms. Ladybug didn’t quite understand that, but it sounded like something Miss Spider would understand (the old English man and the young French woman had tonal similarities in their artistic spirits), and so long as it meant she was happy when she sang her sad songs, that was alright.
The song had stopped.
“James.”
Ms. Ladybug awoke at the sound of the boy’s name. She’d dropped off all the way, her teacup half empty on the table. She blinked in the dim light, sending a warm smile to the pale face peeking in the kitchen. Another blink and she registered the worried look on James’ face, and the note of the same in Miss Spider’s voice. Alarm brought her fully awake.
“What’s the matter, love?”
James didn’t answer. He slipped into the kitchen, barefoot and in pajamas. His lower lip trembled, and as he came into the light, lines on his cheeks glistened.
“Oh, love.”
Ms. Ladybug opened four arms to embrace him, but at that moment, James burst forward and threw himself around the neck of the spider next to her. The boy’s breath came in hitching, hyperventilating sobs, and the glistening lines became rivers.
Miss Spider spoke rapidly and low, in mixed English and French, shushing and soothing.
“Mon cher, are you hurt?”
James shook his head, but seemed unable to speak. He remained in a death grip around the large spider, who held him back tightly.
“It is okay…you are fine…Just breathe.”
She rubbed circles against his back, nuzzling her heart-shaped face against his. Slowly, the desperate spasms of grief relaxed out of the boy. He still held her, tears streaming, but his breathing was much more controlled.
“Shall we go sit?” Miss Spider asked.
James sniffed and rubbed his eyes, but nodded. Ms. Ladybug produced a handkerchief and dried his face. The two bugs and the small boy adjourned to the living room, James’ arm still around Miss Spider’s shoulders, and hers around his waist.
Since they did not sit upright, Miss Spider and Mr. Earthworm had comfy cushions on the floor among the couch and the arm chairs of the rest of the room. Miss Spider led James to hers and settled there with him, the boy snug against her, wrapped in a pair of arms and several legs. Ms. Ladybug threw a blanket over the two of them, and offered James a glass of water. When the boy had had a few sips to calm the hiccups, she asked, not unkindly,
“Now, what’s all this then?”
James looked from one lady bug to the other.
“I had a nightmare.”
“Mon cher…”
Miss Spider kissed his cheek. James’ eyes welled again, and he buried his face in the green neckerchief she wore.
“It is over now, mon petit. You are safe.”
“It wasn’t me.”
His words were muffled against her neck. Miss Spider and Ms. Ladybug exchanged a look. Miss Spider started her slow circles again, while Ms. Ladybug leaned close.
“What wasn’t you, dear?” Ms. Ladybug asked.
James pulled back, wiping his eyes.
“I dreampt about a book we read in school.”
“A frightening book?”
“No. It’s call Charlotte’s Web. It’s about a spider who saves a pig from getting butchered by writing words about him in her web that make the farmer thing he’s too special to eat.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Yes, but…”
James was getting some of his color back. Ms. Ladybug felt a relief that was mirrored in four amber eyes still focused on the boy.
“We’ve been reading it in class for two weeks, and I was really enjoying it. And today we finished it, and…and…”
James’ face crumpled.
“And Charlotte dies! She never makes it back to the farm, she doesn’t see winter with Wilber, she just - she dies, she - “
Miss Spider swooped around James and pulled him close as his words dissolved into sobs. She purred assurances over him.
“Shhh, shh shh. Mon cher, mon petit ami, I am here. I will not leave you. We are here together, everything is fine. James, darling, everything is fine. I am here. I am right here.”
Slowly the boy’s sobs slowed down. He and Miss Spider stayed wrapped around each other, rocking gently. His gaze when he finally pulled his face out of her neck was vacant, exhausted. His voice rang hollow.
“I dreampt it was like when my mom died. But it was you. I wanted to run to you, but everyone wanted to take my picture with the spider web”
Miss Spider kissed him.
“I am alive, and with you. I am going to stay that way. You know this, yes?”
James gave her a gentle, less desperate hug.
“Yes, ma’am.”
It came out, to Ms. Ladybug’s ears, sounding a lot like “mum.”