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Sex and the Modern Snake
by Feech
Oh, no, God, anything but that.
[I am in here, John. I stare up at him and
will him to accept it. If you are repulsed by me,
I cannot go on. But if you know I am in here, if
you accept me, then it is still you and me. You
and me, John. Please say you still need me.]
God, anything but that. Bahni's too good for
this. It could have been me. I could have
laughed, then. But this is beyond integration. I
cannot bring it into my brain. That's not Bahni.
Bahni couldn't stand this.
[Enough of the trite desperation, John.
Touch me. You know you are the only one I have
left. Or are you? Is this it? The end? I'm not
dead, John. I'm here. Kiss me. Acknowledge me.
Me, for God's sake!]
I hide my head in my hands and ignore the
slim little figure before me. If it were anyone
but him, it would still be cruel. But this--
this-- I won't believe it.
[Hiding your face isn't going to make it go
away, Johnny. It's me. Remember, the first
boyfriend who never complained about your razor
stubble? YOU SAID YOU'D KEEP ME FOREVER FOR THAT.
Are you there? John? Look at me. I can't take
this. Don't take advantage of my lack of speech.]
I feel a cold little nuzzling at my elbow and
don't startle. The feeling is strange, smooth and
cold, but the spirit is familiar. It's Bahni.
God, I know it's him. How? Why? I don't want
any explanations about your stupid Martian death
flu or what have you. Not him. Not a snake. Not
this snake. What the hell kind of sense of humor
does the Universe have?
We look at each other. I have been crying.
He has not. He cannot.
Damn everyone to Hell.
Why not something he could have been proud
of? Could have lived with? We just started
living together, officially. I start crying
again, really sobbing, and drop my head to the
bedclothes. "Bahni, I know that's you in there.
I'm not trying to deny it. Well, maybe I am. But
even if you love me, can you go on like this? Can
you really?"
The little snake bumps me again and rolls
over into a vulnerable position, writhing
playfully. I think his mind has gone off the deep
end with that little brain.
[John, I think you're overreacting. Hell, I
thought I was going to die back there. I thought,
this must be how Gabriel feels. And I envisioned
you over a hospital bed, wringing your hands,
waiting in agony for the horrific end. We really
should go and see Gabriel again. I'm sure he's in
there, just like I know I'm in this comical little
body. He must be in there, just not able to come
out yet. Well, I'm free of the hospital and I
feel good. So, KISS ME, YOU FOOL!]
"I can't touch you, Bahni, I'm sorry. I
can't stand to see you suffer like this. I can't
stand the thought of sleeping tonight. Oh,
Christ, What if I roll over on you?" At this new,
ghastly thought I jump to my feet and start
rummaging through my closet.
[What the hell are you doing, John?]
I come back to the bed with a boot-box,
remove Bahni's pillowcase, and line the box with
it. I place it where his pillow used to be.
"There you go. That will keep you safe. After a
fashion-- we'll still be-- sleeping together..."
I trail off, too tired to cry anymore. Bahni
makes his way down the end of the bed, skillfully
using his virus, and slithers in front of me.
"For Chrissakes, Bahni, stop it!" I yell,
another new terror clutching my being. "Don't do
that! I could step on you!"
[And that'd be the end of me. Come on,
Johnny boy, lighten up. So your live-in-lover has
been turned into a two-foot-long garter snake by a
virus from outer space. Don't you love me? I was
all ready to tackle it, John, to overcome the
obstacles, until you refused to pick me up, to
hold me. You've always picked me up and held me.]
I ignore him. There's nothing else I can do.
I'll talk to him when my mind is clearer, when
I've figured out what we should do. When I get
into bed, he climbs into his box. I have no
dreams.
[After I crawl into my box, using muscles
that I have found to be surprisingly strong, I
peek out at John. My resolve is fading. If he
will not have me, well, then maybe this disease is
as bad as he says it is. But at least I'm not
writhing on a hospital bed anymore. And if he
keeps at it, keeps acting, I can study theatre
through him. No more acting, true... My resolve
to be cheerful is fading... No more acting, and no
more John... I climb out of the box and go to my
boyfriend's pillow. I need him. He never even
stirs as my body wraps lightly about his neck.]
The next morning I awake and Bahni is still
in his box. Thank goodness for that much, anyway.
I was afraid he'd sneak out in the night and sleep
on my pillow. Just like him to take the risk of
being crushed just for a little cuddling.
Cuddling. God, I could use some of that right
now.
Bahni looks up at me cheerfully, a bit
impishly, through glossy snake's eyes. I
listlessly offer him breakfast. He zips off the
bed and out to the kitchen, which I take as a
"yes". He can really move. I'm surprised. I
just get a glimpse of his flashing stripes and
then he's gone, out in the kitchen. By the time I
get there he's climbed a chair leg and made his
way to the table.
"Look, Bahn, I know you want to put on a show
of being cheerful for me, but it's not going to
help us have a rational discussion. How about ham
and eggs?"
He nods emphatically. It's kind of cute.
But I've made up my mind.
"Bahni, I'll take care of you in your
illness. You know we could never abandon each
other. But I think that for your own sake it's
best if we no longer consider ourselves lovers."
[I knew it. I knew he was going to say that.
But I will still be living in the same apartment
with him. Don't underestimate me, John! I won
you over once. I'll win you over again. I have
to. I have to, or I shall wither away and die. I
don't think it's too much to say that you will,
too. Just look at yourself.]
I quickly fry the ham and eggs together and
hand him a plate, slightly cooled in case his
little throat is sensitive.
[How thoughtful of you.]
I sit down to my own breakfast. I couldn't
care less that grease from the ham runs into my
beard stubble. If Bahni were here, he would tell
me to wipe it out.
[Wipe the ham-and-egg grease out of your
beard, Stupid.]
Christ, Bahni _is_ here. I wipe my face as
best I can. I guess I should try my best to be
respectable, for his sake. After all, he is
dreadfully ill. Suddenly those little jokes I
used to make at Shadow don't seem so funny. If
only it were me....
Our Friday-night comedy-movie ritual seems
dull. Bahni sits on my lap and tickles me, trying
to get my attention, but I think about how hard it
would be for him if I began treating him like the
lover I once was. I wouldn't know what to do with
a snake's body, and chances are that even if I did
touch him and he liked it, I would get used to
there being a garter snake around the house and
would forget one day and sit on him.
Like I'm sitting on the couch now, not
laughing at films, only now he's on my lap. I can
just imagine the crunch of little bones if I sat--
the last of Bahni--
[John, you're being silly. I'd look out for
your friggin' butt. Accidents happen to the
biggest and best of us. Here, look at my belly.
See that scale there, the slightly lifted one? I
think it needs to be tickled.
John pays no attention so I press myself up
against his chest and feel it vibrate as he
mutters something to me about the movies.
Friday night passes.
A weekend passes.
Monday morning, and John decides to go to
school. I ride in his bookbag.
The first thing the class notices is that
John has come in without me. Then they notice
that he looks awful. The first assumption they
make is, of course, the most dreadful one. But I
have poked my head out of the bookbag and now
descend to the rather chilly floor. Immediately
the Playwriting I class descends upon me. It is
not difficult to divine what they are saying.
"Bahni, is that you?" "Thank God!" "John,
we all worried when you didn't answer your phone
this weekend." "Has it stabilized? Are you
okay?"
When I can tell that everyone is done
speaking, I pull a notebook out of the bag with my
body and then dig for a pen. Using the middle of
my body, pressing and sliding, I write:
"Hi. Am Bahni. Was a little Hellish there,
but pulled through. Will be reading J's notes and
staying in class, if is OK"]
Melodie tells me that they're thrilled to see
Bahni "all right" and that he is more than welcome
to finish the class using my notes. I lift his
muscular little body up onto my desk. The class
begins, but I'm barely paying attention. Bahni
watches raptly for any words I might add to my
notes.
At one time he turns to me, with that
strangely impish expression, and gently tugs at
the pen in my hand. I am numb and have no energy
to resist. He uses the pen and writes, "Johnny
we're sitting even closer than before in class."
[John gets up and walks away when I write
that. I drop the pen and go after him,
practically leaping off the desk, but the
classroom door has fallen shut behind him by the
time I get to it.
Melodie trots up behind me in heels and opens
the door, but as we look out into the hall we see
nothing. I get no vibrations from John.
Normally the professor would not interrupt a
class for one student leaving. Melodie is
rightfully concerned about John. However, he is
not there and if he doesn't want to talk then no
one can make him. I curl in his abandoned bookbag
and wait out the rest of the period.]
I go down to the black box. I'm stumbling,
nearly falling down stairs on the way there, but
there's no way I'm going to be seen in tears in
Melodie's class. This is Hell. It shouldn't have
happened to Bahni. It shouldn't! And how the
hell did the little fucker manage to retain his
own handwriting? I hate him. God, I love him.
Shut up. Now I'm talking to myself.
I don't know how Bethuel knows to be there.
The guy is spooky.
I walk up to him in some zombifaic daze.
"Good God, John, what's happened?"
I whisper like the sound of Bahni moving over
the sheets. "Are we alone?"
Bethuel looks around him. Nothing but the
movement of air from unseen fans somewhere above
the black painted catwalks.
"Sit down, John. We're alone."
I collapse into a plastic chair the last
class left lined up by the wall. He turns one to
face mine and sinks into as if he has all the time
in the world. At least his girlfriend is human.
It's hard to be bitter at him, though. I spill
it. The whole thing. When it's over I say:
"I don't understand it, Bethuel. What could
he have done to deserve this suffering? What have
I done to deserve watching him suffer? Don't look
at me with those eyes like that. Say something."
Bethuel regards me steadily for a moment
more, then answers my question with a question.
"What, you should ask yourself, has Bahni
done to deserve watching you suffer?"
He's got me. I feel the air sucked into my
throat, held there in one short, harsh sob. I
reach for Bethuel without thinking. It's been so
long since I felt human arms around me. Three
days. For me, it's suddenly an eternity.
"Hold me," I say, not caring how ridiculous
it sounds.
Beth does. He strokes my back while I sob,
and when I look up again I find that some sort of
weird resolve has replaced the emptiness.
"Thanks, Beth."
"Don't mention it. By the way, what has it
been, three days?"
I nod sheepishly.
"Charmer, isn't he? Turned you around inside
of a week."
I think of odd words, "snake charmer", and
something quirks at the edge of my lips. But I
leave without another word.
I wash up at a sink in the men's room and
catch myself smiling in that wry way that I have
when I'm ready to go flirt with Bahni. Snake
charmer. He is. A sudden image of what we would
look like under the sheets sets me laughing. I
mean I really roar. I'm leaning on the sink
wiping my eyes and thinking, Hell, I could get a
book on snakes and it'd be like a brand new sex
manual.
Snake charmer. You little shit. If one of
us had to get SCABS, I'm glad it was you.