snake in the class
by laurey masterton

Peggy hands out pictures in our writing class. Mine has three images of women's bodies.

I'm not sure if it matters which picture I write about, because, since the other night, I haven't stopped thinking about the snake incident, so any of these pictures would have led me to write about it. This one, this series, will do.

The first picture is a curled nude, tucked into herself. She wraps her arm around her nude body. She lies, twisted, on a floor.

The night of the incident I sat reading the paper, trying to slow down enough to sleep. My house squeaked—no dust in the rugs, no smudges on the counters. Clean and sparkling. The New York Times was the perfect end to my Sunday of cleaning.

I chuckled after reading a cute story about Lance Armstrong. The writer humorously compared himself to the wonder bike rider. "When Lance gets a flat, his personal car quickly replaces his whole bike with a new one. When I get a flat, I call my wife who, after an hour or so, comes and gets me." It went on like this. I read, amused.

Something moved off to my right. I read another sentence about Lance, laughed.

It moved again. Something dark was moving. Hey, there is something dark on my light, clean kitchen floor. I don't have dark moving things on my kitchen floor.

I really looked.

Shrieked!

A snake! I lost control. Threw back my chair, tore out of the kitchen, ran through the living room, into my bedroom, and up on top of my bed. I, not a screamer, screamed. Interesting, I noted, detached, I don't have one of those high-pitched screams. Mine is more like a loud yell. A loud, "Heyyyy!!!!"

"Heyyyy!!!" I glanced at the clock. 10:37. "Uhhhhh!" I moaned. "Aaagggghhhhh!"

I look at the picture again. The body is curled up, tucked into herself. But she's lying on the floor. I can't lie on the floor. There is a snake on my floor!

I screamed and screamed and gradually realized that, if anything was going to happen, I was going to have to do it. There was a snake in my house and I was the only one who could get it out.

Why the hell didn't you ever go meet any of your neighbors? I scolded myself. How are you going to handle this one? Who're you going to call? It's nearly midnight!

I squirmed and bounced on my bed. Yelled some more. Maybe a neighbor will hear me and come help, I thought. Maybe not. The bouncing and screaming were not helping.

I called Char. In Vermont.

"It's me." I burst.

"Hiya Buddy," she chirped.

"There's a SNAKE in my kitchen!" I yelled. "Can you come get it?"

She laughed. From Vermont?

"In your kitchen? How'd you get a snake in your kitchen?"

"I don't know! But I can't stand it! What can I do?"

I started crying, then sobbing. Sobbing? About a snake? This was embarrassing.

"What kind is it?" she stalled. "How big is it?"

"How the hell do I know? I HATE snakes. I can NOT have a snake in my house. What if it comes into my bedroom and up on my bed!"

Now I was really being ridiculous.

"Open your kitchen door and sweep it out," she suggested.

"NO WAY!" I countered. "I'm calling 9-1-1."

"You can't call 9-1-1," she scolded. "This is not an emergency."

"This IS an emergency." I had worked myself into a frenzy.

"Okay," I said. "I'll try to call a neighbor and then I'll call you back."

In class I stop, take a look at Peggy's pictures. The second picture shows a female torso that is just a solid white form with a black patch of pubic hair. It looks like she has been shot through with a big jolt of electricity. She vibrates, quivers.

I felt like I had been shot through with a big jolt of electricity, quivering.

I dialed my neighbor. A teenage boy answered the phone.

"Um, hi, is your dad home?" I pulled my voice together for him.

"No, he's out."

"Um well, this is your neighbor and, um, I have a snake in my house and I was calling to see if he might come over and help me."

I felt like a jerk.

"Well, he's out playing music."

"Oh, um, well, um, how are YOU with snakes?" I spluttered. He already thought I was an idiot, might as well make him sure of it.

He didn't answer.

"Well, never mind," I said, hanging up.

Now what are you going to do?

I thought of Char's voice. "This is not an emergency!"

I thought of the snake.

"This IS an emergency!"

I dialed 9-1-1.

"Police, Fire or Ambulance?" a man asked, his lilting country voice calming.

"Um, I don't know," I blurted. "There's a snake in my house. I don't know WHO I need."

"That'd be Fire."

I could hear a smile, could tell he was relieved to be talking to a hysterical person who was upset about a snake and not something more serious.

"I'm really sorry to bother you…" I started crying again.

"That's okay," he soothed.

I sputtered my address, gave some detail to the directions.

"They'll be right there," he said.

And can YOU come here and wait with me while I wait for the fire department to come? I asked him in my mind.

I dialed Char's number.

"They are going to come and get it," I blurted.

"Who's going to come and get it?" I could hear her relief.

"I called 9-1-1. The Fire department is coming. They are on their way. I'm going outside. I'll call you after they leave. Bye."

I tiptoed out to my side porch, trying not to look back at the kitchen floor. The night was dark and quiet and peaceful, much more so than it was inside my house, especially knowing there was a snake in my clean kitchen.

Will they send a whole company? I wondered. A brigade of flashy red, wailing trucks coming up my road, looking for my mailbox, waking the neighborhood - all those neighbors that I didn't even know.

I waited for the siren.

Now, usually when a siren comes anywhere near my house all the dogs go nuts, barking and howling like crazy. No dogs were going crazy. Now what? Have I been triaged to the bottom of the list? Doesn't my snake invasion even count? Where ARE they? I was feeling panic again.

Finally, finally I heard a truck engine racing, coming over the rise then slowing down to look for a house number, speeding up to look at another one, slowing, and then, at last, turning into my driveway. Thank god!

I padded down my side stairs, embarrassed but still absolutely not able to consider going back inside.

The firemen, fortunately just two of them, got out of the truck, fortunately just a small pickup, trying not to smile. I could see smirks but I forgave them. It WAS dumb, having to call 9-1-1 for help.

"Got you a snake, do yah?" one fireman said, as he got out of his truck. I could see him putting on thick gloves and reaching for a long metal stick, a snake grabber.

See? I comforted myself, you're not the first one to have called for snake help. They even have a tool for this. I felt a little better.

"Yes, a black snake. I was just sitting in the kitchen reading the paper and I saw something move and I looked and it was a snake and I ran into my bedroom and I'm sorry to have to call you out here but I can't deal with it." I splurted, escorting them up the side steps.

"No problem, ma'am. Where is the snake?"

"In the kitchen." I waved, not wanting to leave my porch. "Go in, and just on the other side of the counter look down and it'll be right there," I continued.

In they went, walking carefully, coming right to the edge of my kitchen counter.

"You see it?" one fellow asked.

"Nope."

Oh crap. Had I just imagined the snake? No! It had been there. I knew it!

I thought of other times in my life when I had had false alarms. Like the time when I was 9 and banged my knee on my bike's handlebars so hard that I couldn't walk. We were right in the middle of dinner at the Inn and no one could leave to take me to a doctor. Late that night, after a long drive to the emergency room, after not being able to walk for hours, I had hopped out of the car, forgetting that I had not been able to walk.

No snake? What the? Now what? Where…

"Here it is. It's in the living room."

In the living room! If I hadn't called, it could have gotten into my BEDroom.

I could not watch, didn't want to have another image of the snake. I could hear the firemen quietly talking to each other, opening my kitchen door, going out onto my front yard, letting the snake go.

"It's gone, ma'am," they said as they came out onto the porch. I thought of those old sheriffs in westerns. "Glad to 'blige, little lady."

"Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you." I spluttered. I was beginning to calm down but was still finding myself acting sort of hysterical. How lame. All because of a snake.

"Are you going to be okay?" one asked, remembering, no doubt, the dispatcher's warning about the sobbing caller.

"Yes. Thanks. I'll be fine. Goodnight."

The night's noises came in, sang me a quiet lullaby.

"They got it," I called Char a third time. "They're gone. I'm fine."

The last picture in Peggy's triptych, back in class, shows a pair of woman's legs, shot by the photographer. The right leg is crossed over the left. It's a relaxing picture.

I hung up the phone. Tried to calm down. Went back to my bed, lay down, picked up the crossword puzzle, crossed my right leg over my left.

"Breathe," I coaxed myself. "Calm. Quiet. Shhh…"

I let the puzzle drop out of my hands.

Curled up. Tucked into myself, safe up on my bed. No longer vibrating, I went to sleep.

© Laurey Masterton

Laurey Masterton is THE Laurey ofLaurey's Catering. Explore her website at laureysyum.com You might go by Laurey's at 67 Biltmore Avenue and see what she does in her calmer moments . . .