| General Fiction posted March 6, 2022 |
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Hmm... That's not quite right... Snakes of a skin? Hmmm...
Snakes of a Feather
by DeboraDyess
"I have something to show the boys!"
Josh spoke as he burst into the house like a friendly, benign tornado. As usual, he sucked all the air and excitement toward him.
I looked at my grandsons, a mere 4 and 6 years old. They were transfixed by their uncle, curiosity on each cherubic face.
"What?" I queried. I looked at my youngest son. Josh had a way of creating more chaos and fun than any of my other children, but sometimes he knew no boundaries. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and his mouth arced up in a smile that said, 'dare you'. I knew that look.
You do, too, if you have your own version of Josh at your home. He doesn't quite put anyone into direct danger but keeps his toes pressed firmly against that line and loves to invite the rest of us to join him in his adventure.
"What is it?" I asked again. My voice sounded a bit warier than I'd intended, but it did nothing to deflate his swelling exhilaration.
He lowered his voice to a hushed, conspiratorial tone and answered. "A snake."
My mind jumped back to a different time, a different son, and a different snake.
"Momma," Currie had said, laughter so evident in his childish voice that he may as well have announced his delight in his trickery.
"Yes?" I'd heard him come in with at least half a dozen of his friends. They were all nearly consumed with giggles so I chose to continue cooking dinner, my back to the miniature mob.
"I want to show you something," Currie said.
"What is it"
"A snake."
Since Currie had been collecting snakes for most of his 10 years of life, I'd come to take them in stride. "There's a butter dish in the cabinet with holes already poked in the lid," I said, still stirring spaghetti sauce. "Make sure to let the poor little thing go when it gets dark." Our standard rules; we were a catch-and-release household.
"But Momma," my oldest boy pleaded. "You really need to turn around and look."
I did.
The snake was draped over Currie's arm like a blanket. It looped from his crooked arm down to his knees and back, with a tail that dangled almost to the floor. He held its head in grimy hands, a look of pure joy and triumph on his face.
And I...
I reacted with all the calm and decorum God placed inside of me.
Actually, I pulled a Lucille Ball, jumping around, shrieking, and slinging the spaghetti spoon so that, soon, the entire kitchen and half the boys wore the tiny red freckles of Ragu Garlic and Herb Sauce.
It turned out that it was a bullsnake, "and it's perfectly harmless, ma'am," the police dispatcher told me as I cowered, phone pressed to my ear, several feet from the now-hysterical boys and their offending beast. "It's dormant right now because it's so cool. Just make sure the kids turn it loose before tomorrow afternoon when it warms up."
So now, looking at my younger son, so much like Currie at this moment, that scene played through my mind like a film clip. I studied Josh's face. "Is it dead?"
He tried to look insulted and failed. "Would I bring the boys a dead snake?" He might as well have said, What's the fun in that?
"What kind is it?"
"Bullsnake. No big deal."
I realized the grandsons' heads were swiveling from one of us to the other as we spoke. Hopeful eagerness filled both faces. But I was still hesitant. "I thought you were at work..."
"I was. And then, on my way home, I saw this bad boy stretched across the road. I ran over it and went back to see what kind it was before I left it to strike someone or someone's cattle." He looked earnest and logical like it was the most normal thing in the world to make sure a snake wasn't poisonous and then bring it home to dinner.
I nodded, consuming the information. I tried to think of a reason -- any reason -- this was the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. The three boys, my grown one and the two little ones, watched me like impatient puppies.
What could I do?
But Josh knew he had to break through the last bit of resistance.
"When I got to him," he told the boys, ignoring me as if I wasn't in the room, "I thought he was dead. He wasn't moving at all. So I thought, 'Hey, the boys are gonna love looking at this snake' and I coiled it up and threw it in my passenger seat." He acted out each point of his story, making big, exaggerated movements. The boys were spell-bound.
I was, too.
"So I get over to the corner by the convenience store," Josh points, although we all know where the little store is located. "And all of the sudden I see movement beside me out of the corner of my eye." He held his hand up and began to wobble his arm around, letting his hand move from side to side like the snake's head. "I look over and, EEEERRRRKKKK!" He pantomimed slamming on his breaks, his imaginary car skidding a bit as it grinds to a halt.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing and looked at the grandsons. I'm not sure they were even drawing breath at this point.
Josh leaped to one side. "So I jump out of the car while it's still rolling."
He paused for dramatic effect. (He's a pro at pausing for dramatic effect.)
"What I didn't know was that a policeman was driving behind me."
"Oh, no!" I groaned but Joshua waved me down.
"He sees the car weaving and sees me jump out, running into the road and looking at the car like Satan himself had appeared beside me." Josh put his hand to his hip and drew an imaginary gun. "He crouches like this and draws his weapon and approaches the car. I guess he thought there was a bad guy in there."
My youngest grandson gasped. I thought he was going to topple over in anticipation.
Josh continued to act out the officer's response, bending half over and stalking across my small kitchen. "So he goes to the car, looks in the open door and ... " He straightened suddenly, re-holsters the imaginary revolver. "'Oh, no way!' the cop says and goes back to his car!" Josh burst in the joyous laughter, holding his sides as he finally sank to the floor. "He looks at me and says, 'You're on your own, bubba."
The boys tackled their uncle backward, shouting things like, "You're braver than the policeman!" and "Let's go see the snake!"
Josh had been right -- it was just a bullsnake. The boys touched and eewed and ahhed for a few minutes and then Josh released the snake.
I like to think that those two snakes got together, or that maybe Josh's snake was the grandson of Currier's. Imagine the stories they had to tell!
True Story Contest contest entry
"I have something to show the boys!"
Josh spoke as he burst into the house like a friendly, benign tornado. As usual, he sucked all the air and excitement toward him.
I looked at my grandsons, a mere 4 and 6 years old. They were transfixed by their uncle, curiosity on each cherubic face.
"What?" I queried. I looked at my youngest son. Josh had a way of creating more chaos and fun than any of my other children, but sometimes he knew no boundaries. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and his mouth arced up in a smile that said, 'dare you'. I knew that look.
You do, too, if you have your own version of Josh at your home. He doesn't quite put anyone into direct danger but keeps his toes pressed firmly against that line and loves to invite the rest of us to join him in his adventure.
"What is it?" I asked again. My voice sounded a bit warier than I'd intended, but it did nothing to deflate his swelling exhilaration.
He lowered his voice to a hushed, conspiratorial tone and answered. "A snake."
My mind jumped back to a different time, a different son, and a different snake.
"Momma," Currie had said, laughter so evident in his childish voice that he may as well have announced his delight in his trickery.
"Yes?" I'd heard him come in with at least half a dozen of his friends. They were all nearly consumed with giggles so I chose to continue cooking dinner, my back to the miniature mob.
"I want to show you something," Currie said.
"What is it"
"A snake."
Since Currie had been collecting snakes for most of his 10 years of life, I'd come to take them in stride. "There's a butter dish in the cabinet with holes already poked in the lid," I said, still stirring spaghetti sauce. "Make sure to let the poor little thing go when it gets dark." Our standard rules; we were a catch-and-release household.
"But Momma," my oldest boy pleaded. "You really need to turn around and look."
I did.
The snake was draped over Currie's arm like a blanket. It looped from his crooked arm down to his knees and back, with a tail that dangled almost to the floor. He held its head in grimy hands, a look of pure joy and triumph on his face.
And I...
I reacted with all the calm and decorum God placed inside of me.
Actually, I pulled a Lucille Ball, jumping around, shrieking, and slinging the spaghetti spoon so that, soon, the entire kitchen and half the boys wore the tiny red freckles of Ragu Garlic and Herb Sauce.
It turned out that it was a bullsnake, "and it's perfectly harmless, ma'am," the police dispatcher told me as I cowered, phone pressed to my ear, several feet from the now-hysterical boys and their offending beast. "It's dormant right now because it's so cool. Just make sure the kids turn it loose before tomorrow afternoon when it warms up."
So now, looking at my younger son, so much like Currie at this moment, that scene played through my mind like a film clip. I studied Josh's face. "Is it dead?"
He tried to look insulted and failed. "Would I bring the boys a dead snake?" He might as well have said, What's the fun in that?
"What kind is it?"
"Bullsnake. No big deal."
I realized the grandsons' heads were swiveling from one of us to the other as we spoke. Hopeful eagerness filled both faces. But I was still hesitant. "I thought you were at work..."
"I was. And then, on my way home, I saw this bad boy stretched across the road. I ran over it and went back to see what kind it was before I left it to strike someone or someone's cattle." He looked earnest and logical like it was the most normal thing in the world to make sure a snake wasn't poisonous and then bring it home to dinner.
I nodded, consuming the information. I tried to think of a reason -- any reason -- this was the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. The three boys, my grown one and the two little ones, watched me like impatient puppies.
What could I do?
But Josh knew he had to break through the last bit of resistance.
"When I got to him," he told the boys, ignoring me as if I wasn't in the room, "I thought he was dead. He wasn't moving at all. So I thought, 'Hey, the boys are gonna love looking at this snake' and I coiled it up and threw it in my passenger seat." He acted out each point of his story, making big, exaggerated movements. The boys were spell-bound.
I was, too.
"So I get over to the corner by the convenience store," Josh points, although we all know where the little store is located. "And all of the sudden I see movement beside me out of the corner of my eye." He held his hand up and began to wobble his arm around, letting his hand move from side to side like the snake's head. "I look over and, EEEERRRRKKKK!" He pantomimed slamming on his breaks, his imaginary car skidding a bit as it grinds to a halt.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing and looked at the grandsons. I'm not sure they were even drawing breath at this point.
Josh leaped to one side. "So I jump out of the car while it's still rolling."
He paused for dramatic effect. (He's a pro at pausing for dramatic effect.)
"What I didn't know was that a policeman was driving behind me."
"Oh, no!" I groaned but Joshua waved me down.
"He sees the car weaving and sees me jump out, running into the road and looking at the car like Satan himself had appeared beside me." Josh put his hand to his hip and drew an imaginary gun. "He crouches like this and draws his weapon and approaches the car. I guess he thought there was a bad guy in there."
My youngest grandson gasped. I thought he was going to topple over in anticipation.
Josh continued to act out the officer's response, bending half over and stalking across my small kitchen. "So he goes to the car, looks in the open door and ... " He straightened suddenly, re-holsters the imaginary revolver. "'Oh, no way!' the cop says and goes back to his car!" Josh burst in the joyous laughter, holding his sides as he finally sank to the floor. "He looks at me and says, 'You're on your own, bubba."
The boys tackled their uncle backward, shouting things like, "You're braver than the policeman!" and "Let's go see the snake!"
Josh had been right -- it was just a bullsnake. The boys touched and eewed and ahhed for a few minutes and then Josh released the snake.
I like to think that those two snakes got together, or that maybe Josh's snake was the grandson of Currier's. Imagine the stories they had to tell!
My boys never left me wanting for something to wonder about, marvel at, and write about. And then there are the girls...
Thanks for reading!
Blessings.
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