Jimmy Matthew Encounters a Snake

A Piedmont Lantern Story

Jimmy Matthew encountered the snake at precisely the wrong moment.

He was already late for church. He’d already been warned. And he was already thinking about nothing at all, which is when snakes prefer to enter a fellow’s life.

It lay stretched across the path by Terrapin Creek, sunning itself with the casual confidence of something that didn’t care who was coming along or how much explaining would follow.

Jimmy stopped.

The snake eyeballed him.

“Well,” Jimmy said, because silence felt rude, “this ain’t good.”

The snake lifted its head. Not threatening. Just… attentive.

Jimmy’s heart attempted to exit through his throat.

Now, the snake wasn’t really all that large. Later tellings would describe it as anywhere from “long as a fence post” to “big enough to swallow a young pig.” In truth, it was a respectable, ordinary snake, going about its business.

Jimmy, however, had no interest in truth at the moment.

He leapt backward with a noise that startled the birds, the creek, and possibly a Methodist deacon over in Etowah County. He windmilled his arms, lost his balance, and landed in a sitting position that didn’t do one thing to improve his dignity.

“Don’t,” Jimmy warned the snake, pointing. “I ain’t in the mood.”

The snake flicked its tongue, which Jimmy took personally.

“What’d I ever do to you?” Jimmy demanded.

The snake didn’t answer. This silence felt smug.

Jimmy scrambled to his feet and backed away, never taking his eyes off the creature, because that’s what people say you’re supposed to do. Nobody’s ever explained why you’re supposed to do that.

“Now listen,” Jimmy said, reasoning suddenly feeling like the correct approach. “I was here first. Well, I meant to be here first, anyway. That oughta count for somethin’, shouldn’t it?”

The snake shifted. Jimmy yelped and climbed onto a nearby log with all the grace of a startled cat.

From his elevated position, Jimmy had time to think, which made matters worse.

It occurred to him then that the snake was not chasing him. It wasn’t coiling. It wasn’t rattling or striking or doing any of the things snakes in stories are contractually obligated to do.

It was just… being.

“Well,” Jimmy said, breath slowing. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

He studied it, noticing the pattern on its back, the way it moved like water wearing a body for the afternoon.

“You’re just mindin’ your own business,” Jimmy admitted. “And here I am, carryin’ on.”

The snake slid off the path and disappeared into the brush without ceremony, having delivered its lesson and vacated the premises.

Jimmy waited a full minute before climbing down.

Another minute, just to be safe.

As he walked home, he practiced the story he would tell.

First version: heroic but implausible.
Second version: truthful but unsatisfying.
Third version: exaggerated just enough to feel right.

By the time he reached town, the snake had gained length and intent, as well as a sinister look in its eye. By suppertime, it had practically thought about biting him.

But later that night, lying in bed, Jimmy Matthew thought about the moment he’d stopped panicking and started looking.

It bothered him in a way that felt useful.

Because sometimes, he realized, the thing you’re afraid of ain’t tryin’ to hurt you at all.

Sometimes it’s just crossing your path, daring you to decide whether fear gets to tell the whole story.

Jimmy fell asleep still undecided.

Which, for him, was progress.

About Ol' Big Jim

Jim L. Wright is a storyteller with a lifetime of experiences as colorful as the characters he creates. Born and raised in Piedmont, Alabama, Jim’s connection to the land, history, and people of the region runs deep. His debut novel New Yesterdays is set in his hometown, where he grew up listening to stories of the past—stories that sparked his imagination and curiosity for history. Today, Jim lives in Leeds, Alabama, with his husband Zeek, a tour operator who shares his passion for adventure and discovery. Known affectionately as “Ol’ Big Jim,” he has had a diverse career that includes time as a storekeeper, an embalmer, a hospital orderly, and a medical coder. There are even whispers—unconfirmed, of course—that he once played piano in a house of ill repute. No matter the job, one thing has remained constant: Jim is a teller of tales. His stories—sometimes humorous, sometimes thought-provoking—are often inspired by his unique life experiences. Many of these tales can be found on his popular blog, Ol’ Big Jim, where he continues to share his musings with a loyal readership. Jim’s adventures have taken him far beyond Alabama. For seven years, he lived in Amman, Jordan, the world’s oldest continuously inhabited city. His time there, spent in smoky coffee shops, enjoying a hookah and a cup of tea while scribbling in his ever-present notebook, deeply influenced his worldview and his writing. When Jim isn’t writing, he’s thinking about writing. His stories, whether tall tales from his past or imaginative reimagining is of historical events should read from his past or imaginative reimaginings of historical events, reflect a life lived fully and authentically. With New Yesterdays, Jim brings readers a rich tapestry of history, fantasy, and human connection. Visit his blog at www.olbigjim.com to read more of his stories, or follow him on social media to keep up with his latest musings and projects, one of which is a series that follows Bonita McCauley, an amateur detective who gets into some very sticky situations. His book, New Yesterdays, can be found at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble.

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