Weaving Skills
- Kinsman Quarterly
- Jul 31
- 4 min read
by Tammy A. Sincavage
I drove into Washington, D.C., to review two pieces of art that Sordoni Art Gallery would be receiving next month for a fundraiser in Wilkes-Barre. My anxiety about reviewing these masterpieces overwhelmed me so much that I gripped the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking during the last few miles of the drive. This was my first big break, and I certainly didn’t want it to be the last time I wrote for the Kinsman Quarterly.
By the time I reached the exhibit, dusk had settled outside, and my eyes felt heavy from the long drive. A black wooden bench with a red leather cushion awaited me in front of the display, as if the curator knew I’d be exhausted after my trip. Attempting to quiet my mind and hoping for inspiration, I took the hint and sat down. I closed my eyes and drifted into the nothingness beyond space and time.
Yellow and white highway lines flashed before my eyes until I was able to envision the two works of art that I was there to critique for an upcoming editorial. What if these two women, each inhabiting a different world, could have a conversation? One sat poised at her desk, penning a letter; the other wove an intricate web to ensnare her unsuspecting victims.
As my eyes drifted shut, my imagination wandered…
***
The woman sat with her white, fringed blouse buttoned to her collar, gazing at the letter she was busy writing to her lover. Since her education and family inheritance made her one of the most sought-after women in town, the weight of her task felt too heavy for her petite shoulders to bear. She wrestled to find the proper words, tapping the quill pen against her fingertips. How could her father announce her marriage to Count Smith without her permission? He was twice her age. The sentences blotted the blank page like blood soaking through a cotton sheet when a spider crawled across the page, stopping in the center of the stain like a bull’s-eye.
The young maiden dried her tears, turned to the spider, and asked, “My wondrous black widow, why do you visit me on a night when my heart breaks and my dreams shatter? Are you here to scoff at me?”
“Oh, pale woman sitting in defeat,” said the wanderer, crawling closer to the young woman’s quill, “society has spun your web and ensnared you in the sticky threads cast before you. I come not as a companion, but as a guide to help you weave your own web of destiny, one free from the constraints you’ve woven around yourself. My name is Esmeralda.”
Her gentle fingers dropped the quill and reached for her cameo necklace. She laughed. “You can’t be serious. You’re a spider! What can you teach me about the ways of society’s men?” She shook her head in disbelief and allowed the cameo to drop against her bosom.
“You find it strange that a menial spider can instruct a refined woman such as yourself about capturing dreams? I’m not the one who wove a web from which she cannot escape. This, my inexperienced girl, I can teach you!” chided Esmeralda, pointing with one of her front legs. “But only if you’re willing to release yourself from your entanglements.”
The young maiden opened her desperate eyes and peered into the spirit of the black widow. “I am willing,” she replied.
“You’d be a fool not to be wise to what you spin and don’t spin, child. That’s the first lesson,” said Esmeralda, pleased that she’d begun teaching her student the way of weaving. “I’ll be back tomorrow night when the sun sets and the full moon rises.”
Unsure if I’d fallen asleep, I opened my eyes and saw a tiny black spider crawling beside me and making its way to the edge of the bench. I blinked, hoping for more clarity and looked around the museum to make sure no one had noticed my lapse into reverie. I focused my stare back on the spider and filed my experience as a dream until the black spider kicked its front leg out toward me.
***
“I’m not joking, young lady,” the spider warned. “Tomorrow night, your lessons continue.”
Esmeralda crawled inside my briefcase and found a place to rest while my inspiration soared. My fingers glided across the keyboard as smoothly as if I were performing a Beethoven Sonata. Within minutes, I finished my editorial, and I knew I’d never run out of weaving thread again.
Tammy A. Sincavage is a writer, educator, and editor whose work explores the intersections of family, spirituality, and personal transformation. She earned her Master of Fine Arts and became the inaugural recipient of the Kinsman Avenue Fellowship. Her research, Effectively Structuring Rising Action in Fiction: Using Fichte’s Curve to Build a Sturdy Story Toward a Worthy Climax, was published on ResearchGate. Drawing on her background in education and her fascination with the resilience of the human spirit, Tammy writes stories that blend emotional realism with metaphysical wonder. Tammy is the seasonal senior editor for Iridescence: The Second Dimension. To purchase your hardcover. See the link below:
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