It’s me and Rosie on a late, late night. Her mother must be gone cause it’s just she and I, and a dark country house, and a black desert night.

And another front porch. And another motion light. And another damn snake.

A little guy. He looked scared. He didn’t even know to coil up like a cow-pie. He remained mostly open–eying me and Rosie like he knew he was about to get killed. I saw a shovel leaning against the house, I nodded and said “We can chop his head off”.

Rosie thought that was a good idea. She grabbed the shovel and before too much energy could build up she jabbed the guy in his snake-neck. It nearly decapitated him. She jabbed him again in his snake-neck with the shovel. He became two separate parts that I swear we’re still moving like the thing was alive.

Since Rosie had been the one with the balls to kill the rattler–I took the shovel with the head in it even though it was still chomping and I could see its fangs, nearly see its venom. I chucked the snake’s head over the fence into the far back corner of a neighbor’s yard. I don’t know why we put it there; we were teenagers, we were stupid. We tossed the rattlers teenage body over there too.

Then we went inside, got high, and laughed about it the next morning over wild Arizona summer grapes grown in Rosie’s backyard.

My best friend, the badass.