Bea Eddinger First Notices Bea Eddinger first notices that a snake has grown out of her left ankle. She is in the shower, her fleshy leg propped up against the side of the tub, a pink Gillette motionless in her hand. It wasn't there last night, of that she is sure. It must have happened while she was sleeping. She is not afraid, just severely inconvenienced. Today is the Ladies Society Association Fundraiser Kickoff Extravaganza. Her special Baked Alaska is in the fridge, along with two gallons of Country Time lemonade, poured carefully into empty milk jugs so they will pass as homemade. As soon as she saw it, the snake protruding from her flesh at the crux of her foot and shin, right at the tendon, she knew her footwear plans were out the window. Now she will not be able to wear her gold Aerosoles with special arch and ankle support. She hates her toes, there is no way she is wearing sling-backs. And it is getting too chilly for mules. Hunched over her veiny thighs, Bea tries her best to shave around it. Although she has never been fond of reptiles, she does not fear the scaly creature. It has a bulbous head with eyes that blink vacantly up at her or off in the distance, toward the patterned shower curtain. There is no hissing, no fangs; the snake does not appear to be interested in biting. Nor does it seem to be averse to the water streaming on it from the showerhead, a rapid forked-tongue flick catching an occasional whiff of Skintimate shaving gel. For a snake, it is rather complacent. Bea wraps a towel close around her loose, pudgy belly and limps with care over the rim of the tub. The extra appendage makes her left leg seem bulky. She worries about brushing her calves together or banging it against the wall. Trousers will not do. They hide the snake, but it is clear from one glance in the mirror that something huge is distorting her left leg. Also that this something is moving around beneath the fabric. The last thing Bea wants for the Ladies Society Fundraiser is to have to deflect questions about what is in her pants. A skirt means that everyone will see it. Hose are out of the question - a snake would only tear them. She will have to wear a dress, although she hates dresses because she knows they make her look dumpy. Bea opens her closet and sighs. She is not the kind of woman who has time for a snake to grow out of her
leg. Bea Eddinger flattens the crumpled doily on her plate. This year the Ladies Society Fundraiser experimented with a tea party theme but Bea really misses the spaghetti dinner they have had for the past eight years. Her petit-four is sitting half eaten on the creased doily while she thinks nostalgically of garlic bread and marinara sauce. Bea has said 'hello' to everyone that she was supposed to say 'hello' to and now feels that she should be allowed to leave. "What a lovely dress," Sandra Queen gushes. Sandra is the secretary of the Ladies Society Association and is setting up lunch dates to pump members for money. She also carries a picture of her prized half-Asian grandchild and shoves it under the nose of every lonely blue hair. Bea smiles tightly at the little face beaming up at her. She tucks her left leg further back into the folds of fabric. "Yes, yes, just adorable." Bea makes an appointment with Sandra for
next Tuesday at Antonello's Italian Cuisine and takes another sip of
lemonade. Bea Eddinger finds it extremely difficult to sleep with a snake on
her leg. It makes it awkward to lie flat, and she wakes up to her toes
tingling. The snake stares at her as if it's her fault that it cannot
sleep, either. Bea looks back at it, feeling as though she should
apologize. She goes to the kitchen and eats the leftover Baked Alaska
standing up. Bea Eddinger wears a crinkly paper gown to cover her sagging breasts. She does not understand why nakedness is required to examine her leg. "What seems to be the problem," asks Doctor DeKay after he has taken her temperature, pushed on her tummy, had her inhalefast-exhaleslowly-inhalefast-exhaleslowly, examined her ears, checked her reflexes, and made her say 'ah' with a tongue depressor grating her esophagus. "It's my leg." "Hm?" Dr. DeKay examines the chart in his hand. "My leg." Bea is hunched over, shoulders bent forward. She is cold. "There is a snake on my leg." He puts the chart down. "Ah, I see." He does not touch the snake, just cups her calf in a way that Bea feels is mildly inappropriate. "I see, I see." Bea is shivering. She wants to pull her leg away. "Well," says Dr. DeKay, "that's odd." He glances back at her chart."There is no history of this in your files." "No-oo." Bea hugs her arms and knees in closer. "Have you changed your diet recently? Are you having problems sleeping?" His palm is still tight against her calf. The snake is arched like Cleopatra's armband in famous paintings that Bea is sure she has seen in London or Paris or an art textbook in high school. "I cannot sleep because there is a snake growing out of my leg." "Well," Dr. DeKay says again. "That is odd." Bea Eddinger watches Jesús trim the hedges with an electric chainsaw. Joe Eddinger used to trim the hedges and cut the grass and weed the flower beds. But that was a long time ago, and he died, so now Bea pays Jesús to park his white van at her curb the first Thursday of every month and use Joe's old tools from the shed. It is not necessary to trim the hedges with an electric chainsaw, but Jesús likes the eighteen-inch Black & Decker. It has a powerful "vrooming" sound and it feels good to flex it in different directions. He likes how it shakes his muscles so that when he goes to bed at night he can still feel the hum in his shoulders. Bea is on her way to the bank to get her Ladies Society Fundraiser contribution and Jesús's payment. She also has an appointment with her insurance agent to see if the cosmetic surgery recommended by Dr. DeKay to slice a 'snake flap' out of her skin is covered by Medicare. She waits for Jesús to turn off the electric chainsaw. "Good morning, Jesús." Jesus smiles broadly and nods his head. "Good morning, Mrs. Eddinger, good morning." "Jesús, do you know anything about snakes?" Bea shifts the weight on her foot, raising the hem of her dress and angling her left leg forward so that he can see. He does not look down. "Good morning, Mrs. Eddinger, good morning." Jesús is from Guadalajara. He deals with old white ladies who lift up their skirts around him by pretending that he can't speak English. "Snakes, Jesús," Bea raises her voice, "Snakes!" She makes a wavy motion with her hand to simulate the slither. "Snakes! Do you know anything about them?" "Mrs. Eddinger very pretty, very pretty." Jesús keeps smiling and nodding. "Very pretty, very pretty. Good morning." Chunks of her holly hedge are strewn across the sidewalk. Bea looks
in the direction of the sunlight and blinks. Bea Eddinger kneels and prays, reaching through the fabric to turn the snake's head to the side so that it is not crushed under her weight. She thinks she is good at praying. She thinks she is good at church. Bea knows the words to the songs and she has a clear, alto voice and she likes the lovely wide-brimmed hats she buys to match her skirts. Bea is not wearing a skirt today, just another dumpy dress. It did not seem right, in the House of God, to wear a skirt when one has a snake growing out of one's left leg. Maybe if it was another creature, a turtle or a ferret, perhaps, but Bea has read the Bible. She knows the snake is not exactly welcomed, traditionally speaking. "Father Kirtland," she says after the sermon, after the taking of body and blood, after the stragglers of the congregation were all that were left, "there is a snake on my leg." Father Kirtland says nothing but crinkles his brow, the large leather-bound book held close to his chest, pages gilded in gold spray paint. "A snake, Father. On my leg." "I'm not sure I understand." He smiles gently, like he knows he is supposed to. "It happened sometime on Monday night. I woke up and it was there." Viola Scarlet, the parish greeter, brings Father Kirtland a cup of coffee with two sugar cubes on the side of the saucer. He nods in thanks. "I'm sorry, what was there?" "A snake," Bea sighs. Her ankles are sore, and she shifts her weight with impatience. "On my leg. Do you think it's something I've done? That I've sinned?" "Oh my," Father Kirtland angles the leather-bound book under his arm and drops the sugar cubes in the coffee. Plip. Plop. "No, no. Of course not. You have always given generously to the church. Mrs. Eddinger, is there something in your life that is distressing you?" "Yes," she says, "there is a snake on my leg." Father Kirtland sips his coffee. He knows the Parkers are waiting in his office because now Viola Scarlet is flagging him from down the hall. The Parkers want to give a generous gift to the church in memory of Edward Cornelius James Parker III who died last year "in his sleep" but everyone in the parish knew about his penchant for cocaine. It doesn't matter to Father Kirtland that Edward Cornelius James Parker III never went to church except for Christmas and Easter. One can repent after death. Father Kirtland already has plans for renovating the pulpit. If there is enough left over, he will get a new desk in his office, one with a separate sliding tray for the keyboard. "Pray about it, Mrs. Eddinger." He catches Viola Scarlet's eye and
takes a step away. "God only gives us as much as we can handle." Bea Eddinger pushes Antonello's house salad around her plate with her fork. Today she is wearing a skirt, even though it is cold and even though there is a snake on her leg. She says this is because she is practicing self-love and learning to appreciate her body, reptilian growths included, but really she has just run out of clean dresses. Her bare ankles are frozen in summer mules, and she is hungry. If Sandra Queen weren't there, she would have ordered a double portion of spaghetti with marinara. But Sandra Queen is there, as is Sandra's prized half-Asian grandchild, Coral Queen-Chao. Bea came prepared for comments, but there were none. Sandra just leapt out of her car and kissed Bea's cheeks and waltzed in to demand a table, dragging Coral behind her. Coral sits across from Bea now, slouched low and peering beneath the table with juvenile indiscretion. Her slanted eyes are as big as saucers. Sandra keeps gabbing on and on about her son Ben who moved to China and about little Coral who Sandra has seen twice in the Motherland but she can't stand the jetlag, honestly, it takes her a week straight to recover, and how plane food is outrageous because you have to pay for your third gin and tonic but the movies last time were very good, really, but it's just so wonderful for Ben to come visit with Coral but thank goodness he left his wife behind because aren't those Chinese women just dragon-ladies anyway, always after our American men? Bea takes this as nervousness. She wants to interject, to tell Sandra that everything is okay, that they are grown women and do not have to ignore it or talk around it. They can deal with this calmly and rationally. She is distracted by a tug on her leg. Coral has slipped under the table and now grips the snake's head tightly in her little half-Asian hands. "Snake!" she proclaims. Bea and Sandra both crane their necks to see, the latter of which experiences the rare inability to speak. Not even her half-Asian grandchild's remarkable grasp on English animal vocabulary can force words from the mouth of Sandra Queen. "Be gentler, dear," Bea tells the child. Coral's eyes shift from the snake up to Bea. The snake turns its head towards Bea, too, its blank quest for guidance causing it to squirm slightly against Coral's pink fingers. Her little nose wrinkles in sudden disgust. "Ewwwy!" she squeals, the snake released as her hand flings back with repulsion. Sandra's arms are withered but still strong, and Coral is scooped up and planted firmly back in her chair. "NO, Coral, BAD girl!" Sandra reprimands, smacking the table for emphasis. "You don't KNOW where IT has BEEN!" Bea feels sick, the taste of cotton in her mouth. "Oh no, it's not..." but her voice tapers off as Coral begins to wail. "It's not," she tries again, but cannot make her voice heard over the melée. Other patrons are beginning to stare. Sandra clutches Coral in her arms, her sobs finally muffled by Sandra's calico blouse. "Hush now, Coral. Hush." Sandra shakes her head in Bea's direction with an air of strained dignity. "Asian mothers know nothing about common etiquette." Bea lowers her voice, hoping to ease Sandra into understanding. "Sandra, we don't have to pretend. I know you may be curious," she says slowly, inching her leg outward so that Sandra will not be afraid. "I suppose we should just talk about it." A strange emotion seems to flush over Sandra Queen, empathy flooding her features as she grasps Bea's intentions. "Oh yes, of course!" Sandra leans forward, pushing Coral's back against the table as she reaches out to Bea with a sympathetic hand. The look on her face is pure intensity. Sandra Queen is going to be like Dr. Phil and get real. Bea is overwhelmed by emotion and drops her fork. She cannot speak. "Bea," says Sandra, her fingers against Bea's wrist, "how much?" It is October and so chilly outside but Antonello's Italian Cuisine has the air conditioner at full blast. The snake wraps itself around her calf, tucking in closely against her skin. Bea looks at her uneaten salad. "Put me down for fifty dollars." The frosty grass crunches beneath her matted felt slippers. Outside the rising sun makes her shadow sky-scrape across the lawn. The key to the shed is icy against her palm, but clicks into the frozen lock with a jiggle. Bea Eddinger removes the electric saw. |
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Megan Rolfe is a senior English major and Creative Writing minor at UNC-Chapel Hill. She believes in the inherent goodness of (almost) all people and is very fond of the color red. |