Snake Girl VS the KKK

by Peter Joseph Swanson

  James shook his head in disbelief. “Yes! It is you! Matthew?”

  “Michael!”

  “Yeah! That’s right. Michael! Michael! You were always such the pansy!” He laughed nervously. “Gosh! But you did grow up some.”

  Michael looked at his James’ thick shoulders. “And you too. You were always the bruiser. How you been?”

  “Fine.” James frowned. “No. Not fine. I got a divorce last winter. I’m spending some of the summer here on a spiritual retreat here with Burt. He’s definitely been a help.”

  “I bet.” Michael turned to Burt. “A spiritual retreat? I thought it was a sex club.”

  James turned red. “Um.”

  Burt clarified, “Sexual healing. Spiritual sex.”

  “Oh yeah right.” Michael gave a hokey wink. “Sure. I get it. While growing up as a stupid Baptist, while at church camp, James’ was the first pee-pee I touched… other than my own of course.”

  James laughed nervously again. “I never thought I’d see you again. I never thought of anybody ever seeing anybody ever again from those times. So how are you? How have you been?”

  Michael said, “Fine, fine, and I can’t believe this. What have you been doing since summer camp? Are you still the bruiser?”

  “I went to a nice Baptist college. I played nice Baptist football. I got married in the Baptist church to a nice Baptist girl that Mom approved of. My wife finally caught me with gay magazines and she said she didn’t like that. We got a divorce. She considered that adultery. I don’t think I’m a Baptist anymore.”

  Michael patted him on his wide brawny back. “Well if you want to be a full fledged fairy you’re in good hands. Ever since summer camp I just went off and have been a full blown fairy.”

  Burt injected, “That blows a lot.”

  Michael nodded. “And not just hot air. So how do you like sex camp? I mean, Druid camp.”

  James asked, “Burt told you about it?”

  Michael nodded wearily. “Burt and I go waaaay back. I was his first, too. He’s my favorite witch. He used to put blessings and spells on my shows. He did my music on his synthesizer.” Michael glanced around at the small confines of the trailer. “Where is your synth baby?”

  “I left it at the other house. I don’t think that would be appropriate in the woods. It needs electricity.”

  Michael rolled his eyes in condescension. “Anything would be better than Druids with banjos and knee slapping. I think this would be the perfect place for some space music.”

  Burt said, “I’m not bringing anymore crap up here. I’m trying to do without too much crap. See? I’ve really got no worldly possessions here except a few things that wouldn’t bring a nickel at a garage sale.”

  “Is that a Druid thing?”

  “I’m sure the Druids had a lot of nice crap for their time. This is just a me thing for now.”

  Michael turned to James. “So what kind of gay sex have you been up to?” James looked alarmed. “Stop turning red or I’ll have to think you’re still a virgin.”

  James coughed. “No.” He coughed again. “The gay Druid thing we’re doing up here has helped me a lot. Helped me…”

  Michael finished, “Cum?”

  Burt implored Michael, “Gently. Put things a little more gently sometimes.”

  James asked Michael, “Dude, are you ever serious?”

  Michael asked James, “Do you really want to know what I’ve done between being a Baptist boy and today? Seriously?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “I’ve been a runaway. A carny. A hustler. A drag queen. A stripper. Sorry if I talk like I’ve also been a sailor. But I would never be a sailor. Not these days. They just aren’t what they used to be. They lost their talent for sodomy and the lash.”

  James looked alarmed, anew. “You’ve done all that? Isn’t that like being raped all the time?”

  “As a hustler? Usually. You usually only cross paths with the stupidest of pigs. I don’t do that anymore. As Snake Girl, never. As a drag queen? Never. As a stripper? I don’t know but I’ve had some geezers grab my dangly parts like they’re ringing for the maid.”

  James looked away. “Sounds depraved.”

  “Not always.” Michael undid his belt, unbuttoned his fly and dropped his pants so he was standing in his underwear. “Who wants to play doctor?”

  Burt covered his eyes. “Miss Thing. Pull your pants back up.”

  Michael replied, “I’m just wearing black so you can’t see a thing.” He wiggled his hips so one could imagine plenty.

  James’ eyes widened. “Stop that. Are you drunk?”

  “Why! Am I slurring?”

  “No,” James said, “people usually don’t act so bold unless they’re drunk.”

  Michael pulled his pants back up. “Burt, go away. You’re still married.”

  Burt said, “What’s happened to you. You’ve become even more ill mannered than you were before. Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten to where you now think that being a jerk is normal.”

  Michael shrugged. “I think it’s from living in a big city. I feel so tiny compared to all the millions of people always around me. So I have to ratchet it up. I have to be a super exhibitionist to make up for it. I have to be louder to get heard. It’s just terrible. And it’s like a drug.”

  Burt said, “Relax. You’re here now. Good thing you came here. Good thing since you really seem to need a spiritual retreat, too.”

  Michael said, “Life is a cabaret. That means look at it! Touch. Feel. Smell. Taste. Swallow. I’m liberated!”

  Burt asked, “What’s the difference between liberation and making a fool of yourself?”

  Michael smiled. “I don’t know. But look, I’m getting excited. My pants are getting a little crowded.”

  “Michael.” James tried to look anywhere else.

  Burt shrugged and warned James, “As soon as Michael is out of mixed company, watch out.”

  Michael clasped his hands as if in prayer. “Why aren’t you guys feeling horny, too?”

  James rolled his eyes and said to Burt, “Our friend reminds me of the Winnebago Trickster you told us all about last night.”

  Michael asked, “Why? What did he do? Had tricks? I know what tricks mean. I’m never confused about that.”

  Burt laughed mockingly at Michael. “You’re confused.”

  Michael squeezed the front of his own pants again. “It’s all feeling a little tingly and heavy down here. Let’s just all have gay sex. And I do not get confused. Never. Prove it. I never get confused about anything.”

  Burt reminded him, “Like the time you put bath salts in the toilet.”

  Michael huffed angrily and pushed his fingertips against the ceiling, wondering how hard he’d have to push for it to pop off. “I was experimenting! I’m a very creative person! I always wonder about things.” Michael turned to Burt and pouted. “I’m horny. And who’s the Trickster? What’s that? Is that somebody who blows straight sailors in dark alleys so they think they’re getting it from girl lips… and… they’re tricked? Tell me who your Trickster is. What’s the trick?”

  Burt said, “No trick… it’s just an ancient tale from the beginning of tales. An Indian story.”

  Michael asked, “Tell me.”

  “The Trickster was a Winnebago clown figure, a buffoon. He walked around with his giant dick on the top of his head to show it off… or because he was an idiot. It took a chipmunk finally to tell him where to put it, and then the chipmunk chewed it down to normal size.”

  Michael winced. “Really? Ouch! That’s a real Indian story?”

  “Really.” Burt continued, “And the Trickster climbed to the top of a tall tree and while he was up there he shit so much that he filled up all the space beneath him and made a mountain that was so wide it filled all the lakes. He fell and he got all covered in his own shit but he couldn’t find any fresh water to bathe in to wash any of it off. And when he found a lake, he took his dick off so it
could swim to the other side. But it got lost and the chipmunk had to get it for him and then had to tell him to keep it in its place between his legs.”

  Michael laughed. “That’s pretty funny. And crazy. Disney should develop it. It needs Disney songs. It needs dancing mushrooms. But what does it mean?”

  James shrugged. “Maybe… to be sexually careful, clean and organized. And not make a fool of yourself sexually in front of others. I don’t know. It’s an ancient myth so maybe it had a clearer meaning to humans at a time when they were first becoming humans. But my guess it’s all about not making an immature fool of yourself.”

  Michael folded his arms. “I’ll try not to shit a lot on your tree.”

  James added, “For modern times, for me in my life, I think the image of the Trickster is about humans having to have dignity. Having dignity is an important part of being human. The Trickster had no dignity or sense of proportion, having his dick so big up on top of his head like that. It means to be careful with your dick so it doesn’t make you ridiculous.”

  Michael glanced out the window. “I thought dignity was only for when ladies are around. Well, I wasn’t expecting sex just now, anyway.” He made a loud aside to James, “That Miss Saint Burp always thinks he can read my beads, like he is so grand. He thinks that just because he has a religion… he has a personality.”

  Burt replied, “Touché, and you think that just because you can do Mae West real good, you have a personality.”

  Michael scowled. “I have expanded since then. I’ve grown up. I can now do a lot of impersonations. I have become multifaceted.” Michael nudged up beside James and tried to do Lucy’s mature frog voice. “Life is a banquet! And you’re a dish on my table. You always were. I’ll never forget about our little fun at Baptist camp.” It hurt his throat. He coughed. He sang a bit of the song from Mame, “Open a new window. Open a new door…”

  James said to Michael. “Maybe before the meeting tonight we should all think about the story of the Trickster and what it means for us today.”

  Michael became angry. “Oh darlings, both of you. Don’t use that tone of voice with me. You think I’m stupid and vapid and dingy. I am! I mean, I’m not! I know deep down that all mammals and birds and fish are fucking ridiculous and sex is repulsive. I think about it all and wonder about it. I ask why is the body always so tuned-up and turned on into such nonsense as always wanting to shoot cum… but not after torture, flirting, and hours of kissing until some guy’s beard stubble gives you a bad rug burn all over your face. Hell if I know why I bother! So take your stupid religious take on it and shove your little twig of Druid mistletoe up where I just might still kiss it!”

  They all three laughed.

  Michael then asked, “So… what do you all do at sex camp?”

  James said, “We have sex, sure. But it’s just a little different.”

  Michael scratched his head. “How different. You’re hanging from the oak trees? There’s Tarzan yodels? What. Is there a sacred grove out there with a YMCA shower in the middle, under the mistletoe? What are you all up to out here?”

  Burt chuckled. “Not quite. It’s about context. Everything needs a context. Especially sex. Partners are chosen with ritual… so it feels like… destiny. And the lighting is a lot more romantic at night away from the fire, in the shadows of the woods. It’s like Beltane… but one every night of the summer.”

  Michael nodded. “Oh. That’s the ticket. Good lighting. Who can argue with that one? But at least you liked my underwear. What kind are you wearing now?” He pulled at James’ waist. “Limme see!”

  James looked to Burt in mock distress. “Is he always like this? He doesn’t stop.”

  “He’s gotten worse. What’s wrong with you Snake Girl?”

  “I need to join a sex club. That would let off some steam. You can all let me be the Trickster. You can all laugh at me. Instead of Snake Girl I can be Penis Boy. I don’t care. Just let me in on the party.”

  Burt walked outside. They followed. Burt threw some wood on where the campfire would be. He finally said, “Stick around and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Good. And look at these! Look at these berries! If I rub one on my lips I have prehistoric lipstick!”

  Burt said, “Careful Miss Michael. Back away from that bush. I think those are poisonous.”

  “Oh really? Yes, primitive makeup was all lead, they say. Yuck. It tastes like Martian butt.”

  “Miss Michael! Stop it! I think those are poisonous! And what do you know about Martian butts? Don’t tell me you were abducted… and you probed them. It would explain a lot… if you’ve been abducted a few times too many.”

  “No. I just have an imagination. And maybe this poisonous berry juice on my mouth will make me hallucinate so I can become a cosmic oracle with, just, omigod, beaucoup things to say about everybody’s hair and clothes and shoes and glitter hair mousse!”

  Burt laughed. “We can only hope.” He gave him the middle finger and went back to the trailer.

  * * * * *

  Michael lay on his belly on an old hay wagon that was parked between the trailer home and the road. He remembered a conversation he’d once had with Burt in the bar’s dressing room.

  Burt said, “Most of us are on the yellow brick road to God even if you don’t know it or even believe in God. God doesn’t need you to believe in him, he’s far too big for all that ego junk.”

  Michael asked, “Most? Where’s the rest the people?”

  “Running in circles on the walls of the witch’s castle.”

  “Well, that’s not me, I’m the one getting her hair done in the Emerald City.”

  Michael chuckled and tried to rest while pretending he was in the Emerald City getting a super rubdown like the Tin Man. The solar heat that was stored in the rusty metal bed of the hay wagon soaked into his clothes. It felt exciting on his skin. He fell asleep and dreamed that he was at the creek sitting on a fallen tree and he wanted to touch James. So he reached out to touch him but he slipped off the tree and fell onto a hard hot city sidewalk. He jolted back awake feeling horrified, feeling alone. Movement caught his eye in the woods. He looked close and saw a man in the distance moving backwards away from him. He was wearing a blue shirt.

  “Hey!”

  The man ran away.

  “Wait!” Michael ran after him to catch him but stopped when the thicket became too much. He saw the man run up a steep hill to the road. The man got into a pickup truck and sped away. Michael thought it looked like the man could have had binoculars but he couldn’t be sure with all the bushes in the way. Brushing off some burs, he went back to the trailer. “Burt! There was a man in the woods.”

  “Did you leave him alone?”

  “He ran from me.”

  “Did you scare him away?”

  Michael nodded. “He did run away pretty fast. He had a blue shirt. Know who it could be?”

  Burt didn’t look concerned. “Probably some dumb lost hunter. I see so many. I hope I’m not shot someday.”

  “Hey, I don’t think he had a gun.”

  “Good. Then you can’t get shot.”

  Michael asked, “Do you think it could be a spy for the KKK?”

  Burt stepped out and looked around at the trees. “What do you think he saw?”

  “I was resting on the hay wagon. I guess he just saw me.”

  “You? Oh my god. And what were you doing?”

  Michael smiled sheepishly. “Just laying there. Just sunbathing a bit.”

  “Oh god, we’re in trouble!”

  Michael put his hand on his heart. “Don’t joke like that! We could be in trouble! It was creepy. That was my feeling from it.”

  Burt went back inside the trailer. Michael went back to the hay wagon and watched the woods. He started to imagine evil scarecrows staring back at him from the mottled shadows. Then he thought he heard gunshots but he couldn’t be sure, the percussive sounds were far away. An evil scarecrow came to life, he thought, for just
a moment, until he realized that it was a weatherworn paper bag stuck on a branch. He grabbed his heart anyway. It became so quiet that the only sound was his pulse behind his ears. Then a bird called out. Then he heard a car. His stomach tightened in fear that it might be the pickup truck. Michael let out a loud dramatic sob to dispel energy.

  A yellow Oldsmobile drove down the gravel path and parked next to the trailer. A man step out. He was rather attractive, wearing flimsy gray dress pants, which looked very out of place. Michael hurried up to him and gave him a hug. “Hi! I’m going to be in the group tonight. I think. Burt is such a flaky bitch… so who knows.”

  Burt popped his head out the trailer door to yell at Michael. “Leave him alone, damn you, Snake Girl! Mind your p’s and q’s!”

  Michael yelled back, “I always mind my perverts and queers!”

  Burt yelled, “Leave the man in peace!”

  “Why? I thought this was a sex club!”

  The guy laughed and waved a greeting to Burt. The guy wagged his finger in Michael’s face and then walked to the trailer leaving Michael alone again. Michael sat up on the hay wagon, breathed deep, and tried to soak in the nature. “I am one with you! You are one with me! We are one and in harmony.” A horsefly bit his arm. He tried to catch it. “Die, damn you! I hate nature!” He stared into the woods. “It’s all a horror movie!”

  Chapter twelve

  When the shadows got longer and bluer, more cars drove down the path. Michael enjoyed meeting the guys, being very cheerful about it, making sure he asked each and every one of them if they’d brought beer. Nobody had. They lit the campfire. In the last of the day’s light Michael’s could see a few blurry flits of bats zigzagging just above the trees. He knew the mosquitoes outnumbered them terribly. He wished the bats would come down, swirl around him, and make a personal bug free zone for him.

  Michael finally asked, “Where’s the hotdogs? What kind of queer group is this to gather around a campfire and not have lots of hotdogs. I want wieners. I want buns. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.”