text: Ben shivered as the spider crept dangerously close to his nose. He could see its spindly legs pluck at each filament as it made its way across the web. Ben's mother always told him he shouldn't be afraid of spiders; that they were more afraid of him than he was of them. But this spider didn't seem afraid of him at all. He hated to admit it, but considering how frightened Ben was, and how not frightened the spider seemed, he could only assume his mother had been wrong. And if she was wrong about the spiders, what else might she be wrong about? Ben filed the question away for consideration at a later time when his brain wasn't so distracted by more pressing thoughts. His brain had plenty to do right now as it was. He was supposed to be thinking about what he'd done, which as far as he was concerned was impossible. He hadn't done anything, so how could he think about it? It's what his father would call a real head-scratcher, which didn't make much sense to Ben since his head wasn't itchy at all. Now that he thought about it, though, his nose was starting to itch. Did that make it a nose-scratcher? He added it to his mental list of things to ponder later so he could get back to thinking about what it was he hadn't done. It was no use telling the truth. He had tried that right off, but his father said he mustn’t make up lies. That’s when he sent Ben to stand in this corner, which he probably hadn’t realized was already occupied by the spider, to face the wall and think about what he’d done. Or hadn’t done. Of course, now he could add lying to the list of things he hadn’t done but was being ordered to think about. It was all very confusing - or would have been for someone with a lesser mind. Ben considered himself a pretty advanced thinker for a boy of six. Maybe even for a boy of nine or ten. He liked to think about things; he liked to know things. He spent a great deal of time reasoning out the how and the what and the why of things, and he usually arrived at an answer that made sense. But thinking about something he hadn’t done didn’t make any sense, in Ben’s opinion. His list of things to think about was getting longer by the minute, and here he was, dillydallying. If only he could think of the right words to appease his father. Telling the truth wasn’t an option, since that had failed once, and he certainly wasn’t about to lie. Lying was wrong - especially lying to your mom or dad. The spider hadn’t moved in a very long time, and Ben wondered what it was waiting for. Why had it built its web here in the first place? It didn’t seem like a very good place to catch bugs. Maybe this spider was intent on catching wrongfully accused little boys who were sent to stand in the corner. If that was the case, it was going to need a much bigger web. All spiders were stupid, of course, but this one seemed especially dim-witted. It was also very distracting, and Ben wished it would go away. He tried closing his eyes but immediately snapped them back open. Had the spider moved? Was that it’s game? Wait for Ben to close his eyes or look away, and then pounce? Then what? Did it plan to bite him? It wasn’t a very big spider, so Ben didn’t see how a bite from it would hurt that bad. What was it that spiders did that made them so frightening? Was this a poisonous kind of spider? Ben didn’t see any fangs dripping with venom. He realized what he knew about spiders was shamefully inadequate, and he added it to the list. After a moment’s consideration, he moved it up to the top of the list. If he was going to be frightened of something, he should at least know why. It was important to know the why of things, Ben believed. In fact, most of the things on his list started with why. Why did birds have feathers instead of fur? Why did he have to go to bed so much earlier than his parents (and what did they do after he went to bed?)? Why did sticks float but rocks sink? Why did the air feel cold when he was wet? Ben was of the opinion that, with enough thought, he could reason out the why of just about anything. But not Peter. Peter was his older brother, but even at nine years old, Peter wasn’t quite the thinker Ben was. No, Peter needed to see things - to touch things - in order to figure them out. Ben supposed there wasn’t anything wrong with that, exactly, except that it was sometimes messy. And sometimes it landed Ben in a heap of trouble. And sometimes - like today - it was both. It all started when their dad brought home a kitten. It was a tiny thing - with gray stripes, a white face, and a little pink nose. They had agreed to name it Socks because of its white feet that looked like, well, socks. One day Peter decided he wanted to know why kittens purred. Ben thought that if he just had some time to think about it, he could come up with a suitable answer to his brother’s question. But Peter, as always, was impatient. He just had to find out for himself. He just had to see . Unfortunately, by the time Peter had finished with the kitten, they were no closer to knowing why kittens purred. Ben was no more a tattletale than he was a liar, and he didn’t want to get Peter in trouble, but even Peter agreed it was important to always tell the truth. And besides, Peter had a way of getting out just before they got caught, so he was never around to take the blame. Their mother had been beside herself when she found Ben with what was left of the cat. From the blood on his hands, he couldn’t blame her for jumping to the conclusion that it was his fault. He tried explaining that he had been trying to stop Peter, and that’s how he got the cat’s blood on his hands. But of course, Peter was nowhere to be found. *** “The psyche is a fragile thing, Mrs. Lawson. When a person suffers a trauma, as your son did, the mind can fracture. Each piece takes on an identity of its own - in your son’s case, the identities of the loved ones he lost in the accident. Your son feels responsible for their deaths, and to deal with the guilt, his mind has recreated his wife and sons from the fractured pieces of his psyche.” “Doctor, what are you saying? Th--that my son has split personalities?” Dr. Norris nodded. “Though today we call it dissociative identity disorder.” “S-so what he did to the cat -” “I believe from talking to them that it was Peter who was responsible for the cat.” “No, Peter would never hurt a fly, let alone...d-do something like that.” “Remember, Mrs. Lawson, it wasn’t actually your grandson. Peter and Ben and Diane are gone. Though these identities James has created manifest as his family, they are a coping mechanism for a trauma his mind can’t face. James is actually quite distraught by what the Peter identity did. He’s even asked me to help Peter, which is a very good sign. Why don’t you go home and get some rest, Mrs. Lawson? You’ve been through an ordeal yourself, and this is a lot to process. Your son is in good hands, here. We’ll do everything we can for him. With time and the right treatment, I’m optimistic we can manage your son’s condition. But I must warn you that he may never fully recover.” *** “Why is it just sitting there?” Peter asked. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure--” Ben started, but his older brother cut him off. “Why do spiders need eight legs, anyway? Why can’t they be satisfied with four legs, like a cat? Or just two legs, like a person? Let’s see if it can climb that web with just two legs...”