Just Melanie

I’ve always been an “imitator” — I pick up on people’s physical tendencies and gestures, their catch phrases. And then, for entertainment purposes only, I act it out for them. We all get a kick out of it — but when I’m done, I always maintain that I don’t have any recurring motions or usual words that I use all the time.
That’s what I said a week ago, when working with the husband and our good friend, Paula. But then, Paula looked at Jerry, they both smiled at each other, and then Paula said to him in this strange tone filled with inflection, “Are you KIDDING me?” They both broke out in laughter. Jerry said it back to her and there was more laughter.
Quickly, I went into debate mode.
“I do not say that all the time,” I argued, exasperated. “I do not!”
Then, they said in unison, “Are you KIDDING me?”
They acted out different scenarios that supposedly ended with me saying my alleged catch phrase. Alright, maybe I do say that once in awhile. But I still argued that I don’t say it all that much.
Over the week, they continued to kid me — and I mildly accepted their observation. However, I still wasn’t completely convinced until Tuesday night.
I ran home quick, after work at the newspaper, to change clothes and get ready to help Jerry. I was deep in thought, knowing that later I’d have to go back to the newspaper and then the courthouse to cover the election.
I vaguely remember hearing some rustling sounds near the steps of our house, thinking, “Oh, great, the snake season is back,” because we historically have had an extreme amount of them in our neighborhood.
But I shook the snake thought, went into the house, and accomplished my short-term goals. I prepared to leave — I grabbed my keys, stuck my phone in my pocket. I reached for the door knob and pulled the door open. As I took my first step across the threshold, something suddenly whacked me in my head!
Stunned, I stopped — and then something else hit me in my head — and for a split second, I thought, “Is someone throwing stuff at me?”
It didn’t really hurt — but it was a stunning slap to the top of my head and kind of across my forehead. I looked around — and in my stunned vision, I thought I saw bungee cords, or maybe pieces of hose lying on the cement in front of me.
“What in the world is going on?” I thought, with a million questions running through my mind. “Is there some freak out here, throwing pieces of garden hose at me?”
And then . . . with a resounding slapping sound and a clunk on my head, something fell on me. But it didn’t hit the ground! I shook my head . . . and . . . it started to move.
I threw whatever it was off me — feeling it squirm and seeing it writhe as it flew through the air. That’s when I realized they were alive, they were long . . . they were snakes. Snakes were falling from somewhere, onto my head.
Blood-curdling screams erupted into the quiet afternoon as families (including my neighbors across the street) watched their kids ride bikes and play catch in the yard. I saw the first two snakes (maybe three, I’m not really sure) squirm and writhe their way toward my open door, bound and determined to get inside. They were moving pretty quick, and I knew I had to fend them off from the boundaries of my fort. If they made it another foot and a half — we were invaded, because they would have the opportunity to slip and slide their way down the stairs into the basement. I grabbed the broom and started sweeping, beating, sweeping, beating, screaming, wailing, sweeping, beating, screaming.
By now, the neighbors had figured out that something was seriously wrong with me — that something quite unusual was happening at the Wilkinson house. They stood staring, yelling, pointing — and I heard myself scream, at the top of my lungs, “Snakes! Snakes! Falling on my head! Are you KIDDING me?”
I would have stopped and marveled at the fact Paula was right all along, about how I use my catch phrase any time I’m caught off guard — but there wasn’t time. I had already swept one smashed snake into the evergreens and I was still battling the leftover monster. It was like the two of us were playing a game — he’d fly toward me, I’d push him away, he’d slither around my broom, I’d stomp my boot toward his direction, I’d scream, he’d freak out and try a new direction. And the whole time, I had to remember to periodically look up, to ensure the storm of snakes weren’t going to rain on my parade any longer.
Then, with one good smashing effort — I may have knocked him unconscious because it really slowed him down — I got a good angle and threw that thing into kingdom come. I stood armed and ready, broom in hand, ready to go if anything else flew at me. I heard words come out of my mouth that made no sense, and then again, “Are you KIDDING me?”
When the snakes on the ground were no longer visible, I looked up. It appeared they may have been sunning themselves on a narrow ledge, on the top of the door frame. I have no idea how they all fit up there, I have no idea how they got up there. All I know, I’m never using that door again — well, until it’s winter and the slithery nightmares are gone for a few months.
Snakes falling on my head. From the top of a door frame. For no apparent reason. Snakes on my head, coming from 12 feet in the air?
There you go, Paula — you are right.
“Are you KIDDING me?”