“Paul, I—”
“Squirrels, raccoons, beavers, all of those. Little cuddly furry creatures. And bears, of course. But—”
“Paul, it’s not a stuffed snake.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a living snake. I got it in California, I had the deuce of a time shipping it when I moved. It’s a python.”
“A python,” he said.
“A reticulated python.”
“Well, if you were going to have a python,” he said, “you would certainly want to have it reticulated.”
“That refers to its markings. It’s twelve feet long, Paul, although in time it will grow to be considerably larger. It eats mice, but it doesn’t eat very often or very much. It sleeps in my bed, it wraps itself around me. For warmth, I’m sure, although it seems to me that there’s love in its embrace. But I may very well be imagining that.”
“Uh,” he said.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever told. Oh, my friends in L.A. knew I had a snake, but that was before I started sleeping with it. I never had that intention when I bought it. But then one night it crawled into the bed. And I felt truly safe for the first time in my life.”
An army of questions besieged his mind. He picked one. “Does it have a name?”
“Its name is Sunset. I bought it in a pet shop on Sunset Boulevard. They specialize in reptiles.”
“Sunset,” he said. “That’s not bad. I mean, there but for the grace of God goes Harbor Freeway. Is Sunset a boy snake or a girl snake? Or aren’t pythons anatomically correct?”
“The pet-shop owner assured me Sunset was female. I haven’t figured out how to tell. Paul, if the whole thing puts you off, well, I can understand that.”
“It doesn’t.”
“If it disgusts you, or if it just seems too weird by half.”
“Well, it seems weird,” he allowed. “You said nine-thirty, didn’t you? Nine-thirty or ten?”
“You still want to come?”
“Absolutely. And we’ll call out for a pizza. Will they toss in a side order of mice?”
She laughed. “I fed her just this morning. She won’t be hungry for days.”
“Thank God. And Sindra? Will it be all right if I stay over? I guess what I’m asking is should I bring the bear?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “By all means bring the bear.”
Something to Remember You By
He picked her up at her dorm. She was out in front with her suitcases and her duffel bag and he pulled up right on time and helped her load everything. She got in front with him and he waited until she had fastened her seat belt before pulling away from the curb.
“I’ll be glad to get home,” she said. “I didn’t think I was going to live through finals.”
“Well, you made it.”
“Uh-huh. This is a nice car. What is it, a Plymouth?”
“That’s right.”
“Almost new, too.”
“Two years old. Three in a couple of months when the new cars come out.”
“That’s still pretty new. Does the radio work?”
He turned it on. “Find something you like,” he said.
“You’re driving. What kind of music do you like?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She found a country station and asked if that was all right. He said it was. “I’ll probably just fall asleep anyway,” she said. “I was up most of the night. Will that bother you?”
“If you fall asleep? Why should it?”
“I won’t be much company.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
When they got out onto the interstate she let her eyes close and slumped a little in her seat. The car rode comfortably and she thought how lucky she was to be in it. She’d put a notice up on the bulletin board outside the cafeteria, RIDE WANTED TO CHICAGO END OF TERM, and just when she was beginning to think no one would respond he had called. All she had to do was pay half the gas money and she had her ride.
She drifted then, and her mind wandered up one path and down another, and then she came to with a start when he turned off the radio in the middle of a song. She opened her eyes and saw that it was getting dark out. And they had left the interstate.
“I was sleeping,” she said.
“Like a log. Where do you suppose that expression comes from?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about it. Where are we?”
“On our way to Chicago.”
“What happened to the interstate?”
“It was putting me to sleep,” he said. “Too much traffic, too little scenery. Too many troopers, too. It’s the end of the month and they’ve all got their quotas to make.”
“Oh.”
“I like back roads better,” he said. “Especially at night. You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Why should I be afraid?”
“I just wondered if you were. Some people get agoraphobic, and just being out in wide open spaces bothers them.”
“Not me.”
“I guess you’re not scared of anything, huh?”
She looked at him. His eyes were on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing in particular. It’s pretty daring of you, though, when you stop to think of it.”
“What is?”
“Being here. In this car, out in the middle of nowhere with someone you don’t know from Adam.”
“You’re a college student,” she said.
“Am I? You don’t know that for sure. I said I was, that’s all. I’m the right age, more or less, but that doesn’t make me a student.”
“You’ve got a KU decal on your window.”
“You don’t have to pay tuition to get one.” She tried to look at him, but his face was hard to read in the dim light. “You were the one who put the notice up,” he reminded her. “I called you. I gave you a name and said I was a student and I’d be heading for Chicago when the term ended, but I never gave you my phone number or told you where I lived. Did you check up on me at all, find out if there was a student registered under the name I gave you?”
“Hey, cut it out,” she said.
“Cut what out?”
“Cut out trying to freak me out.”
“You’re not scared, are you?”
“No, but—”
“But you’re wondering if maybe you should be. You’re in a car with someone you don’t know on a lonely road you don’t know either, and you’re starting to realize that you don’t have much control over the situation. In fact you don’t really have any control at all, do you?”
“Stop it.”
“Okay,” he said. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset.”
“Well, whatever. I’m a psych major and sometimes I tend to get into head games. It’s nothing serious, but if I increased your anxiety level I want to apologize.”
“It’s all right.”
“I’m forgiven?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Fair enough,” he said. He yawned.
“Are you tired? Do you want me to drive?”
“No, I’m fine,” he said. “And I’m the kind of control freak who uses up twice as much energy when somebody else is driving.”
“My dad’s like that.”
“I guess lots of men are. Could you do me a favor? Could you get me something from the glove compartment?”
“What?”
“Right next to the flashlight there. That leather pouch. Could you hand it to me?”
It was a black leather pouch with a drawstring. She gave it to him and he weighed it in his hand. “What do you suppose is in this?” he asked her.