You're fucked up like me on the weekends.

I'm quietly sitting at the kitchen table this morning when I hear the sound of a loud truck. Because I'm 12 and expecting a Wii to come in the mail any day now, I jump up and run to the front window.

Outside a dump truck comes to a stop. The backend rider flings a snake from the truck into my front yard and hops off after him. The man then grabs a plastic snow shovel and proceeds to beat the living shit out of the snake. Using the blade end of the shovel he is clearly trying to chop the head off, but because it's plastic all he seems to be doing is breaking bones.

"Jesus Christ." I say out loud.

Naturally my mother comes over.

"What's he doing? Is he killing that snake? Where did it come from? What's he doing?"

The snake is barley moving, but not dead. Since the plastic shovel isn't working he returns to the truck and pulls out a metal ended one. It's much heavier and he hits the snake once more in the head. Then, just for kicks, he goes along the length of the nearly still body, leaving visual divots as the shovel crushes ribs and back bone against the concrete sidewalk. Satisfied, he jumps back on the truck and drives away.

Outside the snake is still for a moment. We soon realize his is paralyzed, but not dead as the delicate tip of his tail slowly rises. He carefully wags it back and forth, the very tip flops over so it's nearly grazing the concrete. Eventually the tail lays down and the snake makes one last effort, squeezing his entire body and arching about an inch off the ground. He finally relaxes and lays still.

My mother and I close the plantation shutters and return to the interior of the house.

***

That night myfather threw the snake into a creek behind a neighbor's house while my mother made spaghetti for family dinner.

I opted for a sandwich instead.