Snake Girl VS the KKK

by Peter Joseph Swanson

“Will your sister mind?”

  “Screw Joanie.”

  “What if her boyfriend is over?”

  Alex grinned. “Then we’ll do him!”

  Michael scolded, “I brought you to a sex party once and you fell asleep under the coffee table.”

  “I was tired. It was after last call.”

  “You hadn’t even smoked any opium.”

  “I should have,” Alex pined. “I haven’t seen any since.”

  “Yep, neither have I. I wonder where he got it?”

  “Ask him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Michael said, “He’s in jail.”

  “Oh. Oh no.” Alex turned on 43rd Street, glad that he was almost home. “You’re such a brat tonight.” He navigated the car into a lot behind the apartment and rolled into his reserved space. “We’re here,” he sang.

  Michael cautioned him, “Keep an eye out for the Nazis. I know they’re out here. Everywhere. I just know it!”

  “Shut up, Michael! You’re paranoid. Alcohol will ruin your life.”

  “Already has.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Michael pushed at him. “Let’s hurry!”

  They quickly hopped out of the car as if in a drill and peered guardedly down the street into the shadows.

  “Let’s go,” Alex whispered.

  “Last one there’s a bad perm.”

  “Shhh, you sick fag!”

  They jogged side-by-side down the walkway.

  Alex looked at his apartment window. “I think I see the light on.”

  “Good.” Michael saw two burly figures step from around the corner into their path.

  Alex saw them, too. “Michael?”

  “Fag!” one of them yelled.

  “Follow me!” Alex ordered as he grabbed Michael’s arm. Michael stumbled but Alex pulled him up. “Here!”

  “Hurry!” Michael cried. “Send in the clowns! Something!”

  They dodged the two rednecks, slipping between the building and its tall hedges. Stiff branches whipped into their faces, painfully scratching them. When they jumped onto the front steps the men were bounding up behind them.

  Alex had his key in the lock but too late. One of the thugs fiercely slammed him against the door. The heavy oak rattled from the impact.

  “Kill them!” the men growled.

  Alex twisted around to see Michael blindly swinging at them and swearing at them. Alex was hit in the face as he screamed for his sister. “Joanie! Open the door!” As the door flew open, the four men poured through, violently knocking Alex’s sister backwards.

  Michael tried to kick them outside but his hair was in somebody’s grip. His head cracked against the threshold. He dug his nails into the man’s wrists until they tore the skin.

  “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Joanie screamed to no avail as she crawled to her feet and raced back into the house.

  Michael secured his foot against his assailant’s crotch and slammed it up as the other man raced out of the house holding his head. Joanie chased after him with a headless statue of David. They jumped into their truck and tore away. Joanie threw the statue at it, hitting its tailgate, then screamed after them to burn in hell.

  Michael sat up realizing that Alex was not at his side. Joanie raced back in, past him, without even looking at him, her face frozen in hysteria. Michael tried to stand but couldn’t. He noticed that his hair was wet with blood.

  “Alex!” Joanie screamed from the kitchen.

  Michael tried to force himself to crawl after her. He couldn’t pull himself up the doorframe because the room was tilting wildly.

  Two neighbors ran down the stairwell, buttoning their clothes.

  Michael called to them, “The cops!”

  “We called. They’re on their way.”

  “Help me inside. I can’t get up.”

  The neighbors hoisted Michael by his arms and he saw he had blood streaming down the front of his shirt.

  Michael said, “Shit.”

  “You’re okay.”

  Michael added, “I need a tourniquet!”

  “It’s your nose.”

  “Hell!” Tears started pouring down his cheeks.

  “Michael!” Joanie cried.

  The neighbors led him through the open kitchen door, over a broken teapot and salad bowl. She knelt over her brother who was sprawled motionless on the floor amidst scattered kitchen knives and pans. Michael saw Alex’s blank face and fell back to the floor. One of the neighbors rushed to Joanie’s side. Michael watched a growing puddle of blood and urine flow from Alex’s body and stream to the hall. Then Alex turned entirely blue.

  Chapter five

  The next night at the roller rink, Lizzi sat under flashing carnival light bulbs in a booth in the concessions area. As she sipped a blue Slush Puppie she sadly recalled the good ole days when Mom first let her come by herself. She was a freshman, they often played Xanadu songs and the place truly seemed like a fantasy. Now it was getting boring.

  Lizzi started writing on napkins, working up ideas for homework, wanting to do it now because the assignment was actually going to be fun. She had a small pile when a guy with a mullet haircut and moustache skated up to her table.

  “Hey, dick-less.”

  Lizzi coolly replied, “As if! Of course I don’t have one of those.”

  “Yeah. I could tell.”

  “You’re a dork.”

  The guy explained, “I said that ‘cause you look like Boy George.” He laughed. “He’s sick in the head.”

  Lizzi didn’t laugh. “How clever.”

  “I’m Chuck.”

  Lizzi narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you a little old for this place? How old are you?”

  “I’m only twenty-eight.”

  She made a face as if he was a pervert.

  “That’s not old.”

  She glanced at the roller rink floor. “You could break your leg.”

  He shook his head. “I can skate better than anybody.”

  “I suppose you’ve had a lifetime of practice.”

  He looked around. “You here with that fag again tonight? Why you always chasing him?”

  “I’m here alone. And what fag? Who the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know.”

  “Tony? He’s no fag. Shut up.”

  “Whatever. Whatcha writing, Cyndi Lauper?”

  “Cyndi Lauper I can take. She’s a girl. She’s way cool. And what do you mean I’m always chasing him?”

  “That’s what I saw the last time I was here. You were always trying to get his attention. He was always looking at the boys. It was plain as day. It’s amazing he didn’t get punched out.”

  “That’s crazy. Who are you? Why were you, like, spying on me?”

  “I wasn’t spying on you, you looked funny. You stood out. You were wearing something crazy. Worse than what you’re wearing now. Was that a pinwheel on the side of your head?”

  “Yeah, a total pinwheel. I wanted it to go round and round when I skated but I guess all my hair got in the way. Pretty rad, huh?” She frowned and looked at her wide plastic bracelets. “I feel so plain today.”

  “Everybody’s still looking at you anyway.”

  Lizzi put her nose in the air. “Because I look way colorful and they do not. They look bland.” She regarded that he didn’t have a mall look. Other than his mall haircut he had a lumberjack look. “What’s your name?”

  He smirked. “They call me Up Chuck. You can too if you want.”

  “Chuck? Are you sure you’re not ten? You’re so gross! And I look like a star! And I’m sure Tony was just looking at the guys to see how people skate without looking retarded since he can’t skate well at all. Monkey see monkey do.”

  “Hey, say this real fast, how much wood can a wood chuck chuck-up if a wood chuck could chuck-up wood.”

  Lizzi did so, messing up a bit but pretending she hadn’t.

  “You’re a genius.” Ch
uck glared at her napkins. “Whatcha working on? You look so intense at it.”

  “And, um, maybe I’ll get a gold foil star.”

  “What is it?”

  Lizzi tried to look intellectual. She tapped her pen on her nose. “I have to write a page of visionary future stuff for my creative writing class.”

  “Like what?” Chuck suddenly seemed impressed.

  “The teacher told us to make a list of all the stupid things in life, or whatever, that we thought would be completely forgotten about in a few years.”

  Chuck shrugged. “Whoa… that’s so future.”

  “Yes it is but I think I might be a bit psychic… so it’s a good assignment for me.”

  “Like what?” he asked. “What’d ya come up with?”

  She smiled proudly and neatly arranged her napkins. “First, Madonna will be gone because every song on her album, Like a Virgin, sounds like it’s done by a drum machine and a chipmunk.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”

  “Then, rap,” Lizzi continued, “because people are going to want to buy records with singing on them.”

  “Oh, completely. Rap is the music of the retarded.” He looked disgusted.

  “And home computers… because the pocket calculator does way more than enough. I don’t even know what half the buttons are for, as it is, on my calculator.”

  “Yeah, I know what you’re saying. How much math can anybody do anyway?”

  “And slasher films.” Lizzi rolled her eyes in bad angst. “They’ve already run out of ways to kill teenagers, like, totally.”

  Chuck laughed. “I love them. I hope they make a lot more.”

  Lizzi added, “Viruses, because they are so small and dumb. In a few months they’ll figure out AIDS, cancer, the cold, and… zits! Can you imagine what a great life we’ll all have if they finally find a real cure for zits?”

  “Oh, yeah! Heavy. But the AIDS will be stopped because the fags will all be killed.”

  “And video camcorders, because home movies look so much better projected onto your refrigerator. And MTV will be gone because they’ve already run out of ways to show a rock star singing. And cars that run on gas because they pollute so much and stink. In a few years, say by 1989, I bet cars will just be these bubbles that float on some new technology that was being suppressed by Jimmy Carter because he was trying to develop gas made out of peanut oil. That’s what Mom said… but she drinks a lot.”

  Chuck scratched his head. “Cars and gas will still be around in a year from now. I think you’re being too imaginative.”

  Lizzi shrugged. “I have to fill a whole page, so of course a few ideas will be Mom’s bullshit. She also said Star Trek would come true and we’d have one world government. Like, yeah right, Captain Kirk is going to run the whole world. But my teacher’s so dumb he won’t care what I put down as long as I put shit down.” She neatly stacked the napkins.

  “But most of those opinions are right on the money! You’re really smart about things. I bet most come true… like rap.”

  “I just wonder if I have enough. You have ideas for me?”

  Chuck shook his head, then smiled, embarrassed. “Would you skate with me during the next blue light special?”

  “Is that what you call it?” Lizzi chuckled. “That’s pretty good.”

  He twirled his finger in the air. “You know, the blue light goes around. How old are you?”

  “I’m eighteen soon,” she answered.

  “Then you’re seventeen.”

  “I’m eighteen soon!” Lizzi thought for a moment how she used to think eighteen sounded so old. She wondered if she’d be married and have babies by the time she was twenty, with old lady stretch marks. Her heart sank. She had a crashing feeling that she was already too old for this roller rink and probably looked ridiculous, or at least like somebody’s older sister. No wonder he skated up to her to chat. “Let’s not talk anymore. You look sweet.” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Can we hold hands?”

  “Now?” Lizzi looked aghast. “As if! You’re old enough to be my father!”

  “No, when we blue light special. And I’m not that old. Sheesh! Give a guy a break!”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She suddenly wondered if he was a psycho killer. She hoped they’d play a Thompson Twins song or maybe they’d blue light to “Purple Rain.” She wished she could find a boyfriend her age to skate with, like Tony. She felt sad that she only had this old redneck to talk with. “Where do you work?”

  He grinned proudly. “I’m self employed.”

  Lizzi gave an impressed nod and gave a woot.

  “I sell flags. People order through the mail. I advertise in the back of gun magazines. You wouldn’t believe which flag sells the most.”

  “The American flag?”

  “Oh yeah, that one. And what’s next?”

  She shrugged.

  “Nazi flags and KKK flags. You shocked?”

  “Ooookaaay. You would sell that?”

  “It makes me money. I never say no to money. Well, I wasn’t making too much money so I also bought a big stash of perfume that cost me an arm and a leg. But when I sell them all I’ll have a nice profit. You need any perfume? I have some in the car. It’s a great deal.”

  “No way.”

  “Come smell.”

  Lizzi shook her head. “I’m not coming to your car. What are you—some kind of pervert?”

  “Oh, you think I’d bang you in my car right here and now?”

  “I bet you would if you could.”

  Chuck frowned. “Well now you’re the one who put the thought in my head. I was just trying to sell some perfume.”

  “Okay let’s change the subject.”

  He looked sour. “You hear about the fags who got attacked?” Then he laughed. “They got beat up good.”

  “No.”

  “Kicked in the face and stomped on!”

  “Where? Who. Why would you hear about something like that? How would you know that?”

  “Everybody is talking about it. My uncle told me. He said the fags are taking over this town, burning people’s cars and trucks and houses. They all have to be stopped!”

  “I don’t see things on fire anywhere.”

  “It’s been happening and it’s getting out of control, the fags are taking over! They all got AIDS and it drove them crazy and they want to tear down all the rest of society and take it into the toilet with them. They want us to all get sick and die because that’s what they’re doing. We have to fight back before they destroy the whole world! AIDS is the end of the world if we let it spread!”

  “No way.”

  “The fags are just a Trojan Horse to get AIDS everywhere! Boy George is just trying to get you to think fags are cool so you feel sorry for them while they kill us all!”

  Lizzi wrinkled up her nose. “Are you sure?”

  “Seriously! They’re out there all night long wherever there’s woods in the city, like South Park. And back alleys and bus stops and any dark place full of strangers. All night they hunt for new victims.”

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  He nodded. “And now they’re armed with AIDS. The final global fag war has started! We have to make sure they don’t win!”

  Dolly Parton started to sing her new cover of “Downtown.” Lizzi jumped up and went off to skate so she could holler the refrain. He didn’t follow. She wished he had so everybody could see that a man who could skate good was chasing her.

  * * * * *

  That Monday night Michael walked up to Joanie’s apartment. It was almost ten, the moon was waxing and from where he stood it seemed to be sitting on the chimney. He entered the apartment and was surprised to see an altar set up on the kitchen table. Joanie sat at it. The altar was ornamented with white candles and flowers. A pearly plastic statue of the Virgin Mary looked over it from the kitchen window ledge.

  “Come in and sit,” Burt said to him from the hall, dressing in
front of the mirror.

  “Is your Swatch clone here tonight?”

  “No my wife isn’t here.” Burt yanked a full muslin vestment over his head that had been unevenly dyed a deep verdure green. Then he slipped a cluttered necklace over his head that held personal charms, medallions, icons, a blue rabbit foot, and at its end was a large enclosed gold pentacle.

  Joanie pulled out a chair for Michael so he sat next to her. He asked her how she was doing.

  She nodded and squeezed his arm. “I look better than you anyway.”

  He gave her a stiff smile, touched his swollen nose, and looked at the table. “It’s fitting that the kitchen should become a church. What altar isn’t really just a kitchen table? I brought a nice chalice.” Michael put it amongst the dripping candles. “Burt told me that he lost his.”

  “Good that you had something.”

  Burt walked into the dining room and rang a small bell. Then he entered the kitchen holding a long decorated sword. “I’ll cut a circle around the entire dwelling. It’ll not only carve a ring of spiritual protection around where you live but it’ll also provide a bit of practical magic.”

  “What’s that?”

  Burt smiled. “It’ll scare the neighbors.”

  “But the neighbors aren’t the problem.”

  “We’ll keep it that way.” Burt winked.

  Michael chuckled and looked at Joanie who hadn’t even cracked a smile; she was off in her own world. He rubbed the tip of his tongue against the wound on the inside of his mouth. With Burt outside, Michael and Joanie watched the flame of the candle.

  Burt returned and rested his sword against the east wall of the apartment. Then in the dining room he gathered a large wicker basket from the buffet and hung it over his arm. He sat on the floor and placed before him four sage bundles, dozens of candles in four colors—red, yellow, blue, and green—a crystal egg, and palm leaflets.

  Michael watched curiously, never seeing Burt perform his obscure pagan ritual outside the club. Burt lit red candles and placed them in the open windows of the south side of the apartment. He lit the yellow in the east, the blue in the west and the green in the north. The rooms were now wondrously aglow with golden light. Michael watched Joanie’s eyes glisten.

  Burt took his bundled sage and lit it at the four corners of the house. The pungent incense fumigated the air. To the four corners he set wards. The palm leaflets went on a sill in the south. To his sword in the east he added a dagger laced in a leather sheath. Burt paused to pop his head into the kitchen. “Michael? Where’s the chalice?”