Unexpected passenger

A short story • 5 min | In marriage, I’ve learned that keeping afloat means knowing when to ignore the snake in the canoe

In marriage, I’ve learned that keeping afloat means knowing when to ignore the snake in the canoe.

Crowding the river, cattails surveil our passage. Algae crusts the edges of our hollow aluminum vessel, a fine line between our steady drift and a murky plunge. Bullfrogs croak along the riverbank. While I grip the rusty railings to prevent us from capsizing, Alice watches her fishing pole. To her credit, despite the journey here, she finally caught a fish. A scraggly little thing, but still a fish.

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Dragonflies zip overhead. Our paddles and backpacks line the hull, but I sense something underneath. Alice might panic. I should tell her, but it took us so much to get here.

Just this afternoon, we were cruising down the highway. 

Alice’s face sank as every state campsite was booked for a hundred miles. 

“It’s ok, we can just find a room,” I said.

“No. We’re camping tonight.” She scrambled to find a last minute option on some sketchy Airbnb for camping website. 

“Alice, I don’t know. Let’s think of some other options first.”

“It has fishing, canoeing, and doggies!” she said, while confirming the reservation.

We crossed into wildfire country, dusted the gravel roads, and rolled up to our home for the night, a ranch neighboring a dilapidated graveyard. Looking back, how could it have been more obvious to keep on driving and find some pricey hotel?

We rang the host, a rickety gate swung open, and we drove onto the property.

“Welcome, come on in!” said a sunburned, balding man, teeth peppered by years of tobacco. His friendliness defied my prejudice of the Gadsden flag towering overhead. ‘DONT TREAD ON ME’ it read, a yellow serpent warding off trespassers, big government and my peace of mind.

Two golden retrievers bolted from the front porch to lick my face. Cute, if not for my sneezing fit. 

“Don’t mind them,” the host said. “They like people.”

“Ugh, they are so cute!” Alice said, rubbing her face in the shaggy pups.

The host grabbed his pets and motioned to the nearby field. “Just park over there and pitch your tent. Down by the river, we have poles and a canoe, which you’re welcome to use. Take ‘em downstream.”

“Amazing,” she said, her voice escalating higher. “We'll settle in.”

The host rubbed his belly. “And there’s spaghetti for dinner tonight, so drop by the house later.”

Alice lit up. “Oh my god, yes. We’ll absolutely join!”

That feels like ages ago, at least I can eat once I’m out of this damn boat. 

“I think I can catch another one,” Alice says, peeking over the side. “There are so many fish down here.”

“Ay, back up. Can’t have you falling in. We’ll both be overboard.” 

“Stop worrying,” she says. “Nothing’s going to bite you.”

A collage of fish weaves through the maze of underwater pondweed, teasing the fishing line. Like a snake charmer, the bobber mesmerizes Alice. 

“How deep do you think it is?” she says. 

“I’d prefer not to think about that.”

A shadow coils around my muddy boot. It vanishes beneath our backpacks. We need to head home. I knew paddling up here was a bad idea.

Two hours ago, after settling into the campsite, which was just our host’s lot to graze his cows, Alice was on a mission to fish.

“This time,” she said, “I will catch one. I see the poles down by the canoe.” Before I could chime in, she had skipped halfway down to the shore.

I trudged down to Alice. Holding the fishing pole in one hand, she tugged at the canoe in the other. Filled with paddles and life vests, it slumped crooked in the mud. Still clean and dry, I stood a few feet away.

“Help me get this in the water,” she said.

Lily pads and water striders hovered on the surface. Pondwater essence hung in the air.

“Why don’t we just fish off the shore?” I said.

Alice poked her bottom lip into that adorable pout. “That’s no fun. Help me.” Sinking into the mud, she continued to struggle. 

I hate watching her squirm, so I plodded into the muck. The odor of digested hay wafted around us.

“Alice. We’re standing in cow shit.”

“Whatever, it's the Outdoors.” Alice chucked the pole into the canoe. “Don’t worry, we got on boots.”

Toads escaping from underneath, we slid the metal coffin offshore. As Alice grabbed the edges and stepped into the hull, the boat teetered on the water.

“This isn’t safe,” I said, “and we don’t know what’s down there.”

She plopped onto the weathered seat. “I’ll go alone if I have to.”

I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t risk Alice drowning in her own stubborn fit. What else was I going to do, chill with the pasta chef?

So here we are, upriver, stuck in a canoe with our slithering stowaway. I can’t see it, but if it sneaks up on her, we’re guzzling pond water. I got to tell her.

Alice reaches for her backpack. A mild hiss.

“Alice, stop.” 

She withdraws.

“Listen. Stay calm.” I motion towards our bags. The boat rocks. I brace my legs against the metal. “There’s a snake. It’s small, but in the canoe.”

Alice sits motionless, processing the news with an unblinking stare.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m sorry to disrupt your fishing, but I think we should head back. Slowly.” 

“That’s it,” she says, pulling in the fishing rod. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”

“Deal.”

We paddle back to shore in complete silence, moving with such focus and coordination that it takes half the time to return. We bank the canoe in the cow patties and use a paddle to usher a garter snake away from our bags. While I step out, Alice jogs to our tent. She can’t wait to eat. I double check that we have everything, then walk over to join her. 

When I arrive, she’s kneeling down.

“Well that was an exciting adventure,” I say. “Ready to grab some spaghetti? I think we earned it.”

“Let’s go,” she says.

I turn to the house and hear a metal clang. Alice pulls a stake from the tent.

“Alice?”

She pulls another stake. “Screw dinner and screw this place. I’m not dealing with snakes.”

We pack up the car in search of a nice, dry hotel bed.

Sometimes, keeping afloat means stepping out of the canoe together.

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