By Andrea Chesman

I was drinking with a serpent one night in a dim little waterfront bar on the edge of Chinatown. It was late in the night and prospects were dim that I’d find anyone special to hang out with. Or take home. I was coming off a bad breakup, and I wanted to feel wanted. 

My low-cut red dress showed off my figure to my best advantage and matched my new stilettos. I took care with my hair and even wore makeup. Desperate? Maybe. Anyhow, I could see things weren’t going my way—no eligible men—and settled on talking with the serpent. 

He was a good listener, though not that attractive in the conventional sense. Green scales, vestigial arms, friendly demeanor. With all the tequila shots we were trading, I hoped no one would light a cigarette nearby. Still, I felt comfortable enough to slip off the damn high heels so my toes could take a breather. 

We were talking about herbal medicine, which led to snake wine from China. I said I didn’t believe it could possibly have the positive health effects the Chinese healer next door claimed. The serpent visibly shuddered when I mentioned the wine, said family members had been lost to overzealous healers. I sympathized. I had lost someone to opioids, and it had started with a bike injury and a well-intentioned doctor. 

Well, that put a damper on the conversation. We sat silently drinking our drinks for a few minutes. The serpent just sat there, flipping a crystal in his hand. I was mesmerized, watching the crystal flash onto the bottles in front of the mirror at the back of the bar. My very own kaleidoscopic light show. 

The serpent broke the silence. “Look how lucky you are. Look at that dress, it fits you so right. Look at those shoes, how they catch the light. Oh, just for a minute, I’d like to go for a walk in those shoes.”

“You’re a serpent,” I said. “You don’t make sense. A body without feet can’t walk in my shoes.”

“Au contraire, my dear,” said the serpent. “There’s magic everywhere. When I drink tequila I connect with my shaman. And he gave me this crystal that will let me change shapes, but only for a minute or two. Just long enough to know what it’s like to walk with feet. On the ground. But just for a minute or two.” 

My head was spinning, but whether it was the tequila, the crystal, or the serpent’s words, I didn’t really know. He kept talking and spinning, and I agreed to take the crystal. But only for a minute or two. 

The next thing I knew I was coiled on my chair, like a snake. And the serpent was standing in my dress and my shoes. She smiled at me and nodded her head. And then she walked out the door. 

I followed her out, slithering on my belly, not knowing what to expect. I was waiting to change back into myself when I saw that deceitful serpent get into a taxi and sail away. 

Hours passed, the sun rose up, the sun slipped down. Days hurried by and I spent my time chasing mice and avoiding the nets of the snake wine merchants. I wanted my body back, my lonely apartment, my morning coffee, and evening wine. There was only one place where such hope could be found, and that was at the bar on the edge of Chinatown. 

I was drinking as a serpent one night in the dim little waterfront bar. It was late in the night, things were looking just right. There was a young man sitting at the bar, a shock of dark hair, startling blue eyes, tattoos up his arm. Handsome. The kind of man I was on the lookout for, before everything went wrong. 

So I said to the man, “Why so down in the dumps? You look like you lost your best friend tonight.” 

He regarded me thoughtfully, silently. Finally, he said, “I just don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t have a job, I lost my girl. Maybe I should move, but I don’t know where.”

I talked about going to the desert on a spirit quest. I talked about the big Arizona sky, rocks that spoke, spirit animals. I didn’t really know what I was talking about, but I threw so many words at him, I could see his head was spinning. And that’s when I said, “Look how lucky you are.” 

“How am I lucky?  Didn’t you hear what I said?” 

I said, “You are young. You are healthy and handsome. The road ahead is limitless, just give yourself some time.” I said I was a spirit guide to many young men like himself. Then I gave him the crystal that caused the switch. 

Do I regret pulling that trick on the unsuspecting man? Well, we all have reasons for regret, underhanded things we’ve done. He was so young, so innocent. Would he hate being a snake as much as I did? Would he learn to swallow mice whole to avoid their trashy taste? Or would he figure out quickly how to walk in someone else’s shoes? 

Certainly, I’ll never go back to that dimly lit bar, never drink with a serpent or strangers or anyone anymore. I’m seven years sober. When I look in the mirror, I see a bearded face with worry lines. A grim determination around the mouth. Not me. Not the woman I was. 

I work in a bookstore, and I see fantasy books fly off the shelves. Everyone wants magic to erase the grim reality we live in. But I know what magic can do, what decisions it can force us to make. I used to think I was a good person. Now I know that I can be cruel. That, my friend, that’s what magic can do.