“Wanna lift up the floorboard?” I asked.
Zac’s eyes lit up again. “Fuck yeah!” He dug his finger into the black splintering gap in the corner, trying to get some leverage over the wood. After a few failed attempts, he looked at me, said, “Be right back,” and ran off to the bedroom where he’d been staying for the past few months. A few minutes later, he returned with a large pile of tools that he proceeded to lay out on the floor.
I looked at him, puzzled. “Err… where did they come from?”
“My suitcase,” he replied, while jamming some kind of implement into the floor.
“Why do you have a selection of tools in your suitcase?”
Zac stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “Because I’m a man, Nikki. I like manly things, like tools and machinery and the occasional hydrating face mask. I already have blueprints for potential renovations to this study, including a bookshelf that opens into a secret room — and I don’t even live here. I can’t help myself. If there is something to fix, I will fix it. If there is something to build, I will build it. If there is something to tinker with, I will tinker with it.”
“Oh, I know,” I teased. “I’ve seen your Tinder matches. You aren't exactly a discerning tinkerer, if you know what I mean.”
Zac rolled his eyes and began working on the floorboard again. “I don’t know what you mean, no.”
“Oh. Well, I just mean that you’ll stick your screwdriver-”
His focus on the floorboard deepened. “I’m not a man-whore, you know. If you ever end up telling this story one day, the whole world will think I’m a walking STI dispensary.”
I laughed. “But as my father always says — ‘Never let the facts stand in the way of a good story.’ You’re the comedic relief, remember?”
Zac shook his head. “I thought you just went on a giant rant about lies and illusion and truth-seeking and all that drivel, and now here you are painting me into a stereotype of the crazy bachelor friend who sleeps with anything that moves.”
“But this subtle bending of the truth is for the greater good!” I exclaimed. “You said it yourself — no one is going to pay attention to my boring physics lecture unless I make it entertaining, so I have to massage the facts a little. It’s just a story, Zac. Will you permit me a little hyperbole, for the greater good?”
“Fine,” he grumbled.
“Don’t worry. I know the truth. Behind the illusion of your bachelor lifestyle, you’re actually a massive romantic. I remember that time you flew halfway around the world to surprise your ex on Valentine’s day and got rejec-”
Zac glared at me.
“Okay. Sorry…”
At that moment, the floorboard came loose. Zac grabbed hold of it. “Ready to make a measurement?” he asked.
We both huddled over the magical piece of wood, excited to see what lay beneath.
I took a deep breath. “Three… Two… One…”
Zac ripped the floorboard off.
We both stared down into a dark, empty hole. Nothing.
“Oh well,” Zac sighed. “A treasure chest or a vintage Playboy would have been fun, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Is that what you were expecting to find?” I asked. “Nothing? Emptiness?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so.”
“Let me rephrase the question. If there had been something down there — a treasure chest, a vintage Playboy, a key to a hidden safe with a trail of clues — would you have been surprised?”
Zac thought for a moment. “Yes.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, now that I think about it, it just seems a bit improbable. I mean, I love the idea of it. I can visualize all kinds of wonderful things in my imagination. But if something like that were to show up under the floorboard a few minutes after I imagined it, it would seem a little too uncanny; a little too magical; a little too coincidental.”
“So you’d get a large prediction error if one of those items were beneath the floorboard?” I asked. “Like, there would be a big gap between what you subconsciously expect to observe and what you actually observe?”
“Well, yeah,” Zac agreed.
“So, would you say that the least surprising scenario is finding nothing beneath the floorboard?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I smiled to myself.
“What?” he asked. “What are you smiling about?”
“Oh, nothing,” I replied. “I’ll tell you later.”
I kneeled over the hole and began fixing the floorboard back into place, just as a large huntsman spider crept out of the darkness.
“Aw, we have a new friend,” I cooed. The spider was almost the size of my palm — a gentle giant. Huntsmans are a staple in Australian dwellings during the summer, so we were quite immune to their scary appearance. They’d usually creep in through our apartment windows during the day as a balmy summer breeze billowed through the hallway.
“Let’s call this one ‘Gary,’” Zac said. “He can join Jemima and Juan Carlo in the living room.” Zac picked up a container from the desk and gently caught the creature, who scuttled around in a panic — trapped. After a while, Gary just gave up the struggle and stayed still.
We both moved to the living room. I opened the window. Juan Carlo and Jemima were chilling on the wall by the fireplace, next to the houseplants that I frequently forgot to water. Zac walked over to their little party and let Gary out on the mantelpiece nearby.
“I wonder if spiders fight over resources,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there is a whole apartment here for them to hang out in. We also leave the windows open so they can leave whenever they want. And we’re on the ground floor, so there’s a little jungle oasis just outside for them to play in. They’re as free as can be, but I wonder if they see that from their perspective. Or if they just see a group of spiders nearby and fall in sync with each other: fighting over the same insects, trying to impress each other, doing-”
“Nikki, they’re spiders. Don’t overthink it.”
“Hmm…” I took one more look at them, shrugged, and wandered back to my bedroom.
