Our class studied snake behavior hands on. We each held our own black mamba and yellow (viper?) one at a time. I pressed my viper’s bottom jaw into his upper so hard it caved in. As the doctor lectured about African jungles, I felt the groove of the deadly snake’s mouth in my thumb like a plastic spoon. His tail barely twitched. I didn’t want to lengthen the risk. I went to the front desk to put my snake back in his terrarium early. I wouldn’t loosen my grip on that spoon until I was ready to snatch my hand out.
My hand recoiled faster than a gun but that fraction of a second was slow and easy prey. The Viper snapped back. His teeth plunged just below my wrist. That viper took two bites and a mamba also in there managed to get a taste of me.
The teacher jabbed me with three “Epipens” one for each bite. My arm never even swelled from having the antivenin so quick but I felt as tired as when I had mono. The next day my arm was in a cloth crook. I barely felt a cell in my limp limb and it wouldn’t move. Not feeling any pain I loyally returned to class.
I scratched away some notes with my inferior hand. The teacher sat down next to me, looked at my notes, gave me a look of pity and said “Go home, get sleep.” I got to keep the pens. They had gold rings around them.
In the hall I showered the air with them in joy. The hall traffic had enough crowding to begin with. The burly gym teacher whose path I now blocked stopped and said “Are you casual?” (Meaning: are you free for a moment?) I said no referring to the rings on the floor and he kept going as if I had done nothing wrong.
A spectacled girl scout had already started cleaning up my mess by putting it in a tray along with her bead collection. I thanked her and told her “These are special beads, they saved my life.” Then thinking about it made me tired so I gathered my rings and exited the building via the elevator at the end of the hall.
A tween friend of mine wrapped in ballet ribbons looked longingly at my arm wrap and asked in earnest when I would recover so we could continue practicing our routine for the competition. An elderly teacher nodded at my pens and called them “epidurals” “We’ve just perfected our box formation.” My friend interjected the topic of this stumbling block.
To demonstrate, I stepped along with her in a mirror effect, stepping around each other inside an imaginary square. In slow motion I made waves with my free hand opposite her. One of the competing girls dressed like a sleek but prepubescent black swan glanced coolly at us from the opposite side of the elevator.
I fell asleep, and began my recovery.