Slug, Willow, and the Snakes

By Betty Lou Mell

Slug ran along the dusty road, then turned in at Marshall’s yard. Marshall waited on the porch with his chin in his hands. When Slug saw him, he slowed, then stopped. “What’s the matter, Marsh?” he asked.

“I changed my mind about helping you with your grandma’s cellar.”

Slug’s forehead creased. “Come on, Marsh! Two of us will get done in no time! You want to earn some money, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but there might be snakes in there.”

Slug blinked. “My dad and brother were out there this weekend, and they didn’t see any.”

Marshall shook his head firmly, then got up and went inside. Slug rammed his hands into his back pockets and turned away. He kicked at a stone and thought of the time when he and Marshall had seen a snake at Hadley’s landfill. He remembered how he’d felt as it slithered away through the tall weeds.

Now he glanced toward the fields and imagined one coiled beside every rock. They could be anywhere, he thought fearfully. You never know till you see them! Slug zigged across the dusty road and kicked at a clump of weeds. “Too late now,” he grumbled. “I promised Granny!”

“Hey, Slug!” Willow called from the middle of the field. “Where are you going?”

Slug kept walking. “To my granny’s old house!”

Her hair flowing, Willow ran through the tall grass. “What for?” she asked, falling into step beside him.

“Mind your own business!”

“I don’t have any,” she said with a shrug.

Slug kept walking, and Willow kept pace. Girls! he thought irritably.

When they reached Slug’s grandmother’s property, they slipped easily through the space left by two missing pickets in the fence. As he stomped across the uncut grass toward the slanted outside cellar doors, Slug scanned the weeds. No snakes yet, he thought. He lifted one cellar door and let it fall open. Cautiously he peered inside.

Willow leaned over his shoulder. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing.” Slug lifted back the other door. “I have to clean Granny’s cellar and hose it down, that’s all. Why don’t you get out of here?” he added as he craned his neck to check every corner of the sloping steps.

Willow flipped her hair over her shoulders. “I can help you,” she said, and she flitted fearlessly down the steps.

“Willow?” Slug called apprehensively.

Willow pushed open the door at the bottom, then turned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Slug mumbled, following reluctantly. “Just watch out!”

Willow wiggled through the stacks of boxes toward the other side of the damp, musty cellar. Quickly she climbed onto an old wooden workbench.

“What are you doing?” Slug squawked.

“Letting some air in!” Willow said, opening a window. “What’s the matter with you?”

Slug kicked at a stack of boxes. “I don’t know why you’re hanging around! You probably can’t even lift anything heavy!”

“Then you lift,” Willow said as a warm breeze swept through the muggy cellar, “and I’ll sweep.” She grabbed a broom. “Well … get lifting!”

Slug gave her a look, then cautiously lifted a box. With a fearful glance at where the box had been, he started up the steps. When he had placed the box by the road, he went back to the cellar steps and looked around. “That Marshall’s dumb!” he mumbled disgustedly. He descended the steps slowly, peering into every corner again. But there was Willow, pushing boxes across the floor toward the door. “What are you doing?” he snapped. “There could be snakes down here!”

Willow frowned. “Slug, stop trying to scare me! There aren’t any poisonous snakes around here. Besides, my dad says that snakes are as afraid of us as we are of them, so what’s the big deal?” Shaking her head, she went back to work.

Slug scowled at her, then grabbed another box and climbed the sun-splashed steps again. When he came back, Willow was singing. Slug stacked two bundles of tied newspapers and lifted them. Willow kept singing but looked at him and grinned. After he put the newspapers with the other trash, he stopped and glanced around at the bright yellow day. The trees had gobs of shade beneath their shiny green leaves, and the grass waved in gentle patterns. He wiped his arm across his chin and smiled. It’s a nice day, he decided.

Finally all the trash was outside, and Willow was sweeping a pile of dirt into a dustpan. “Looks better,” she said, brushing back her hair.

Slug nodded and uncoiled the hose. “Sure does.”

“Is your grandmother going to sell this old place?”

Slug reached for a bucket. “People from upstate want to see it.”

Willow aimed the broom at the rafters and swatted at cobwebs.

When the sun was high and grasshoppers were jumping, Slug wearily closed the cellar doors. “Thanks, Willow,” he said as they started across the overgrown yard.

Willow shrugged. “That’s OK.”

Slug slipped through the opening in the fence. “Granny’s paying me—I’ll split it with you.”

Willow shook her head. “I didn’t help for money.”

“Then why did you?”

“Something to do.”

“Yeah, but there could have been snakes down there!” Slug insisted.

Willow chuckled. “Oh, maybe. But there weren’t.”

“Yeah,” Slug admitted. “Even so, you kind of helped me forget about them.”

Willow pulled a long weed from beside the road and swatted at her leg with it as they walked. “Dad says that half of what we’re afraid of we make up. The other half hardly ever happens.”

Slug watched their shadows as they walked. Funny, he thought, how a friend can hurt you—or help you. He was glad that Willow had helped. “I don’t want you to argue with me, Willow Thompson!” he blurted out. “When I get paid, you get half!”

With that, Slug ran down the wooded path toward the stream. Willow watched him go and smiled, then continued toward home.

Photos by Dick Brown