mrs C

someone please tell the story about riding to school  in the back of mrs c's car and someone yells "ssssnnnakkke!"   mrs C is just smoking

Jim, this is Mary Ellen and I will tell the story. Certainly it happened. Certainly it was at least once. Certainly we were traumatized. To this day, my soul seizes a little right before I sit down in a car; a voice inside of me saying, "did you check for snakes? did something move? is that mouse piss I smell?"

I remember the scene. Mrs. C picked up William, Liz and I. If Booba was in the car he was in the front seat, and considering the fact that the 3 Reeds were packed into the back with our book bags, this was probably the case. Five people in a car. Cigarette smoke and the radio on. Someone yells, "snake!" and all hell breaks loose. None of us are wearing seatbelts, that's a given. My mind is a blur of childish knees getting yanked up onto the seat, of bookbags getting in the way, and elbows flying as each of us seeks to escape the snake who has found himself the center of all this pandemonium. There is too much excitement. There is screaming and jumping. Liz, and William and I moving like a panicked school of fish from one side of the bench seat to the other while the snake seeks shelter.

And Mrs. C, smoking, continuing to drive along the street to school, where we tumbled out when she finally stops. Heavy breathing and tears from us. "Tell you mother that Booba needs a ride tomorrow," she says. And pulls away, smoking, radio on, snake in the back seat.