Uncle Hank's Headache

Uncle Hank’s Headache

One hot afternoon in 1967, Aunt Beverly parked the elementary school bus at our house and started checking under the seats for stray kids. She drove for Uncle Hank when he had a headache. As I helped my three-year-old cousin down the steps, Uncle Hank strolled out of the house. I was amazed to see him. He usually kept to himself in the garage.

“Hey girls, come see my baby boa constrictor.” He held up a shiny gray snake about two feet long.

Terry Ann ran to him. “Lemme hold the worm, Daddy.”

Aunt Beverly rushed to grab her. “Have you lost your mind, Hank? Get rid of that snake.”

“But I got him on clearance for next to nothin’.”

“Then they won’t mind giving your money back.”

“There’s no returns on clearance items.”

She stomped inside with Terry Ann. I stayed with Uncle Hank. The snake was the prettiest thing I ever saw. His scales shone like pearls and his eyes were as brown and round as a puppy’s. I asked if I could take him to school for show and tell. My third-grade class would die of envy.

“Sure, we'll take him, Charlotte. Go ahead and pet him.”

I gave him an experimental pat. I thought I’d have to wipe my hand on my dress, but his hide was as dry as a football. “What’s his name?”

“Since your aunt won’t let us have a dog, let’s pretend he’s one. What’s a good dog name?”

“Bowser.”

“Bowser it is.” He looked happy for the first time since getting home from Vietnam. Humming “Rock-a-Bye Baby,” he took Bowser into the den to watch The Andy Griffith Show.

Aunt Beverly was pouring grape juice for Terry Ann when I arrived in the kitchen. She dumped a can of beanie wienies into a pot and violently stirred.

Uncle Hank sidled into the kitchen a few minutes later. He’d coiled Bowser around his shaved head, which made it look like an ostrich egg in a nest.

Terry Ann waggled her fingers. “Lemme hold the big fat worm, Daddy.”

Aunt Beverly brandished her spoon. “Don’t you get near my baby with that thing. And why are you wearing it like a turban?”

“To prove he’s friendly. I’ve wanted a boa since I was ten.”

“You’re still ten. Why don’t you grow up? This isn’t the first juvenile stunt you’ve pulled when you’re hungover.”

“It ain’t a stunt. I didn’t plan to buy him, but he looked lonesome in the aquarium.”

“You’re gonna find out what lonesome is, when you’re sitting on the couch with nobody but Barney Fife and a snake for company.”

“Ain’t no reason for you to be scared.”

“After driving a bus full of kids all afternoon, do you think I’m scared of a stupid reptile? You get that dirty creature out of my kitchen before the girls catch salmonella.”

Folding his arms, my uncle looked as stern as a man could look with a snake knotted around his head. “You said the same thing when I brought home that stray dog. This time, I ain’t givin’ in. Bowser’s my new best friend.”

Her eyes glittered. “I hope you and your new best friend enjoy each other’s company, then, because I’m taking the girls to Mother’s. I won’t have them around that dangerous creature.”

“He’s not dangerous.”

“You won’t say that when it mashes them to death in their beds. Babies in Borneo get mashed all the time.”

“Yeah? When’s the last time a boa constrictor mashed a baby in Alabama?”

“There’s always a first time.”

Hoping to smooth things over, I said, “Uncle Hank, ain’t he squeezin’ your head a mite too hard? Maybe you ought to go put him up.”

“Nah, the pressure’s curin’ my headache.”

“I’ve got your cure,” my aunt said. “I dumped your Jack Daniel down the sink when you passed out last night.”

“You didn’t have no call to pour out my Jack!”

“How else am I gonna get you to quit? You refuse to go to AA.”

Pouting, he sat down beside me. Aunt Beverly began shoveling beanie wienies onto our plates. “Aren’t you going to take that thing off for supper?”

“I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Worm’s sleepin’,” Terry Ann said.

“It’s not sleeping. You’ve got a rude daddy.”

“Rude Daddy, rude Daddy,” she chanted around a mouthful of beans.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Hank, you’re ruining dinner.”

“All right, just a second.” He took hold of the coils over his ears and lifted. His cheeks moved, but the snake didn’t.

“Come on, stop fooling around. Take it off.”

He pushed until his scalp wrinkled like a prune. “He’s stuck.”

“You mean it’s squeezing you?”

“No, he’s just holdin’ on a little too tight. They do that.”

“They do that when they’re trying to crush you. I swear, your eyes look closer together than they were a second ago.”

Bowser stretched his neck out and rested his bony jaw on Uncle Hank’s scalp. Aunt Beverly clutched her throat. “I think it’s planning to swallow your head.”

“Don’t be silly, he’s not even as tall as Terry Ann. He can’t swallow my dang head.”

“Then why’s it licking your scalp?”

“He’s smelling my scalp. They smell with their tongues.”

“It’s working up an appetite, then.”

Gritting his teeth, he dug his elbows into the table and pushed until his eyes disappeared beneath his rising cheeks. Bowser held on for dear life.

“Worm got Daddy! Worm got Daddy!” Climbing onto the table, Terry Ann knocked her plate and cup off, splattering beans and grape juice on the floor.

I had an idea. “If you push on one side, he’ll pop off like a bottle cap.”

“Good plan, Charlotte.” He changed his hold. As he pushed, half of his face drew up while the other half sagged like he’d had a stroke. Bowser jammed the tip of his tail into my uncle's left ear and held on like a rock climber.

“Help me get him off, Bev. He’s pushin’ his tail into my brain.”

“You haven’t got a brain, Hank, and I’m not touching that horrible slimy thing.”

“He ain’t slimy, Aunt Beverly,” I said.

She silenced me with a glare. “I’m calling the police.”

He scowled at her from below the scaly coils. “Don’t call the cops. Can you imagine what kind of idiot I’d look like?”

“I don’t have to imagine. I’ve got two eyes.”

I again tried to intervene. “What if Bowser winds around his neck and mashes his windpipe?”

When she only frowned, I conjured up another idea. “If Uncle Hank smothers, you’ll have to drive the bus every day. And you know Sarah Jane gets carsick.”

That decided her. Snatching on a pair of oven mitts, she started pulling on Bowser. “I can’t budge the thing.”

Uncle Hank leaned forward and gripped the edges of his chair. “Put your foot on my head.”

“I’m not putting my foot on your head.”

“You need the leverage. Hurry up, I’m getting a brain hemorrhage.”

Aunt Beverly cocked her leg, planted her sneaker on his scalp, and yanked. Her standing foot slipped in the spilled food. Uncle Hank came flying out of the chair and crashed down on top of her.

Locked onto Uncle Hank’s head, the boa constrictor stared into my aunt’s eyes from two inches away. He flicked his black shoestring tongue into her left nostril. I figured he was just getting to know her, but she didn’t see it that way. She hurled Uncle Hank into the stove.

“You and your goldarn snake! I think my tailbone’s broken.”

“Never mind your tailbone. I’m not gonna have a head bone if you don’t get this tourniquet off me. You should’ve let me keep that dog and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I should’ve married a man with more brains than a grasshopper in a turkey pen, and I wouldn’t be in this mess. Terry Ann would have a decent daddy, and Charlotte wouldn’t live with a drunken sot for an uncle. Stay there a minute.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He lay where he’d fallen, feebly pushing at Bowser.

The back of her skirt covered with juice and mashed beanie wienies, Aunt Beverly rooted through the utensil drawer. She knelt beside my uncle and attempted to insert a metal spatula between his forehead and the coils.

“I can’t get it in there. The snake’s stuck to you like a pancake on cast‑iron.”

“Pancake? You’re a genius, Bev. Quick, butter my head.”

“Are you insane?”

“We’ve gotta slip him off. My head’s fixin’ to explode.”

I handed her the butter dish. Muttering that butter cost thirty-five cents a pound, she straddled his chest and buttered his head like a dinner roll. She slid the spatula beneath the coils and started pumping like she was jacking up a car. Butter drizzling into his eyes, Uncle Hank yelled every time the handle hit him in the nose.

During the excitement, Terry Ann slid off the table and trotted out the back door. A minute later, she dragged in the wooden shovel from our sandbox. “Lemme hold the worm, Daddy.”

Aunt Beverly was still pumping the spatula. “Stand back, baby. It’s stuck.”

“I help you.” Terry Ann reared back and hit her daddy over the head with the toy shovel.

Uncle Hank’s eyes rolled around in his head. Bowser’s did too. He flopped onto the floor like a blown truck tire. Aunt Beverly scooped him up with the spatula and threw him out the door.

Uncle Hank sat up. He had a lump on his scalp, and there was a red ring around his head like the one I get on my hiney when I sit on the potty too long. He staggered into the den. Aunt Beverly looked after him without saying a word, but I saw tears in her eyes. She pulled off the oven mitts, got an ice pack out of the freezer, and followed him.

I went outside and picked up Bowser. He was greasy but didn’t seem any worse for wear. Holding him at arm’s length, I carried him to the front porch and settled him in his aquarium. He curled into a ball and went to sleep.

Aunt Beverly drove the bus the next morning. I worried about Uncle Hank all day, remembering him humming “Rock-a-bye Baby” to the boa constrictor.

When my aunt picked us up that afternoon, the aquarium was behind her seat with a towel over it. After dropping off the other kids, she drove me and Terry Ann to the animal shelter.

Uncle Hank was sitting on the porch swing when we got home. Terry Ann helped me lug a cardboard box up the steps. Aunt Beverly parked herself on the swing and gently touched his lump from the toy shovel. “How’s your headache, dear?”

“Tolerable. What have y’all got in the box?”

“Open it and see.”

Before he could move, the lid popped off and a fuzzy brown face appeared. Circling her lips, the puppy unleashed a rusty howl.

I took my uncle’s hand. “Aunt Beverly said you needed a new best friend. We got her at the rescue shelter. She’s a coondog mixed with a chihuahua, which is how come she’s got them stubby little legs and that big ol’ head.”

Aunt Beverly lifted the wiggling puppy out of the box. “I’ll let you have her on one condition, Hank.”

“Name it and I’ll do it.”

“You have to go to AA. And I don’t mean one time and then quit. Take the dog with you. In fact, keep her with you all the time. I’m not putting up with messes on the rug and germs in the kitchen.”

“It’s a deal.” His eyes shining, he kissed Aunt Beverly right on the mouth. She laughed and handed him the puppy, who slurped his face.

“Lemme hold her,” Terry Ann said.

“We’re all gonna hold her. And from now on, I’m gonna hold all of y’all. No more Jack Daniel. No more keepin’ to myself. It’s time I made a new start with my family.”

Uncle Hank pulled us three girls and the puppy into his embrace. “Y’all are the best cure for a headache I could ever have.”

The End