Out of the Garden

Camouflaged in the shadows of fescue and leaves, the serpent made its way out into the open. The sun soaked through its scales, warming it, energizing it. Its tongue flickered, tasting the humid sweet magnolia filling the summer air. Lifting its head, it scanned the surroundings; the pear blossoms frequently hummed with the nectar bees' buzzing, and the wrens flew high, plucking the blueberries from their seam. It admired the garden's busy innocence; that is what the garden is: innocence. So, the serpent was satisfied with the day and satisfied with the garden. It was safe in the garden, it decided.

The years of humid Carolina air and coastal salt caused the old lead paint on the walls to peel like the drooping petals of a late-season dogwood. The church smelled of old pine, and the dust clouded in from the surrounding dry tobacco fields. Quaint and historical, the little white church in the Wildwood would always be my home.

My legs stuck uncomfortably to the wooden pew as the heat inside the sanctuary grew with the rising summer noon. The entire congregation fanned themselves with the bulletins outlining this Sunday's sermon. Flashes of the Apostle's Creed filled the sanctuary as the pastor's sermon went on from the Old Testament lesson to the New. It had been a few Sundays since the air conditioning unit tuckered itself out and eventually died, taking with it the small congregation's last hopes of cool air in one of the hottest summers in coastal North Carolina's history.

I did my best to stay awake through the story of Jesus and the woman at the well, but the heat and soothing alto of the pastor's voice lulled me into drowsiness. I couldn't help it. I loved the church and my religion, but being a southern Presbyterian is not the most active domination. Drifting from side to side, my head made sudden contact with the bony shoulder sitting to my right. The knock to my temple jolted me back to consciousness, and the owner laughed from his belly.

My grandaddy always sat in the back of the church along with the rest of our family. Years ago, when I asked why we still sat in the back while the Pollocks and the Johnstons sat upfront, he simply replied, "We are Presbyterian, so we sit in the back." Although his response never made sense to me because the Pollocks and the Johnstons were also Presbyterian, I never sought a further explanation. Whatever my grandaddy said, I took as fact. I had no reason to question the only real father figure in my life, and no reason to challenge a man whose life was involved with military service, hard work, and family-centered ideals.

I sat straight up, rolling my shoulders back to awaken myself further. Then, feeling a sharp tug on a curl at the base of my neck, I quickly turned toward the direction of the perpetrator: My granddaddy. I looked into his slightly sunken eyes, and under his dark brows, he gave a wink. He was picking on my falling asleep during the sermon, and before I could reprimand his tease, another tug lurched my head to the left. It was my great uncle this time, my grandaddy’s younger brother.

Uncle Mac was always causing mischief inside and outside of the church. He is my favorite uncle, and I am confident that he is everyone's favorite uncle, even if they aren't related to him. His wife died of cancer three years ago, and ever since, he has never missed a day of the church; I figure it was because the church is his family. Always teasing and sneaking in candy, Uncle Mac grinned a sly smirk at me and proceeded to pull out a piece of hard caramel candy from his chest pocket. I rolled my eyes at him and took the candy.

Feeling someone watching me from across the sanctuary as I was just about to plop the smooth caramel in my mouth, I instinctively looked up to see that my grandma was glaring at me in disapproval from the choir loft at the front of the church.

My grandma always sang in the choir and has always been a matriarch of the church. She's my best friend. I can tell her anything, and she listens with a kind smile and warm touch. She taught me everything I know about cooking, painting, and hard work. I can't imagine what my life would be like if she had not had such a vital role in raising me. All that being said, though, I did not want to get on her bad side. I was too old for the 'switch,' but I still knew better than to disappoint her.

Pointing with both thumbs to my grandaddy and uncle, I motioned to her that they had caused the trouble -- as she should have assumed.

My grandfather, leaning into my ear, whispered, "You're in trouble now."

"I didn't do anything!" I replied a little too loud, and to my dismay, this caught the pastor's attention. Just like my grandmother, she also gave a glare of disapproval from her pulpit. I mouthed a "Sorry" to the pastor and did my best to sink in the pew with the sticky sweat causing my thighs to feel glued to the old maple. The best thing I could do was wait for the benediction and hope that I would not face a pastoral reprimand afterward.

After church, my hopes went up in flame; the pastor summoned me to her office for what she called a "brief meeting." Hearing this, my grandfather chuckled and made a note to tell me not to get myself into more trouble because Sunday supper would be cold by the time I got out of the doghouse. I promised him I would be there to help grandma set the table, and I made my way to the back of the church.

The office was the size of a small storage closet, (because that is what it used to be), and the stacks of Tupperware boxes and filing cabinets made it even smaller. Three fans were plugged into an extension cord to help offset the heat. My frizzy hair flew into the air, and I gave a terrible Monroe impersonation attempting to keep the hem of my sundress down.

"I'm sorry. Let me turn these down. You know me, I can't stand this intolerable heat; I've done most of my work from home since the AC went out," Reverend Phillips said, leaning over her desk to unplug the extension cord from the outlet.

"Please sit," she motioned to the wooden chair at the front of her desk. "So, you are headed off to college this August?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, confusion evident in my tone. "Reverend, I...I'm so sorry for the disrespect during church. I know we joke around in the back pew every Sunday... and I can only imagine how disappointed you are. But, I promise, we are listening. Today's sermon was about the woman at the well and the washing away of sins by Christ...I remember-" my words jumbled, and she cut me off.

"Do you think I stayed awake every Sunday as a teenager? Uh, I didn't. I can barely keep my eyes open in this heat standing at the pulpit," Reverend Phillips laughed. "I did not call you in here to lecture you. If anyone should be lectured on congregational etiquette, it should be your grandaddy and uncle. I can only imagine what their poor mother went through raising those rabble-rousers."

"Wildwood wouldn't be the same without them. Grandma and I have hoped for years now that their age would limit their pranks, but honestly, I think it's only made it worse now that they can just turn their hearing aids off when you begin to nag them." The pastor laughed, and an awkward pause followed.

Anxiously sitting on my hands, so my thighs didn't stick to the chair, I asked, "Reverend, why did you want to see me?"

Reverend Phillips smiled and said, "I called you here because I wanted to tell you a story."

"A story?"

"Yes," She answered. "I want to tell you about a young character named Eve."

"As in Adam and Eve? The first humans? Adam and Eve were kicked out of the garden of paradise because Eve was foolishly tempted by a snake to eat a fruit from a pear tree. God gave Eve explicit instructions not to eat from the tree of knowledge. She betrayed God, so God made good on his promise and kicked her and Adam out, leaving them to be lost to sin. It's from Genesis, and it's one of the first Bible stories that we studied in Sunday school as kids. It teaches us that humans are easily tempted and to not make such terrible mistakes like betraying God, or you will face the consequences," I said, proud of my summary and analysis.

"Hm," the pastor nodded and reclined in her chair. "I disagree."

"Disagree?"

"That is what I said."

"Reverend, I don't understand. What do you disagree with? The story of Adam and Eve? You can't disagree with that; it's in the Bible."

"You are correct. It is in the Bible. I agree with your telling of the story. I disagree with your interpretation. You never gave Eve a chance. You judged her actions without looking at the whole picture."

"I don't understand, Reverend. Eve decided to give in to temptation, and so did Adam. (By the way, Adam doesn't receive the grief that Eve does, which is totally unfair). Also, I don't mean to be rude, but why am I here? To discuss a Bible lesson? You said something earlier about me going to college?" More confused than annoyed at this point, I rambled.

Smiling, the pastor sat upright and said, "You and Eve are very similar…"

"But we aren't-" I interjected.

"Let me finish," she said calmly, and I closed my shoulders in embarrassment. "You and Eve are very similar because, like Eve, you are about to take your first steps 'out of the garden' and into a whole new world. You are growing up, and many things are going to change for you. Like Eve, you have lived in one place your entire life, and everything that you have known and loved is going to become strange and foreign, but that is okay. Just like it was okay that Eve ate the tree’s fruit. It was a decision brought on by God's gift of free will. Eve was a child, an infant even, she was new to the world, and as all children do, they grow up. Yes, Eve did something she was not supposed to do, but did she not learn? That is why it is called the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, right?"

I sat in the stuffy room, taking in all that the pastor said, then I spoke up, "I'm not like Eve, though. I don't want to be like Eve. She messed up by falling into temptation, and excuse my French, Reverend, but she kinda sucks."

"Well, we all suck from time to time, don't we?" she chuckled. "We all make mistakes every day. Does God not love us still, as he loved Adam and Eve? Even when he kicked them out of the garden? You see, this story of Adam and Eve, specifically Eve, is one that does not merely consist of what we need not do; rather, it is one about what we all do. We grow up, and we learn things that we wish we never did. It is something that we cannot stop or change. The loss of innocence as we step 'out of the garden' is a hard burden to bear, but one we all must carry."

I left the pastor's office, feeling more puzzled than I was when I first arrived. I kept thinking to myself about what a strange time it was to have a conversation about losing innocence and growing up. I was only moving two hours away from home, and I was always a good kid. I never held a beer, never even considered smoking, and I had made a vow of celibacy until marriage. The conversation made me wonder what kind of person Reverend Phillips thought I was? Had I given some sort of bad impression? Also, did she do this with the other college-bound church members? Either way, I decided to push the entire conversation to the back of my mind, and I made my way down the railroad tracks to my grandparent's house.

Upon opening the door, the smell of fried squash tickled my nose and made the air taste like butter. My grandma gave me a You're late look as she began to set the table, something that I had promised I would be doing.

"I'm sorry. Reverend Phillips wanted to talk," I apologized and, taking the silverware from her, continued setting the table.

"About what?" Grandma asked.

"Just college stuff, and she talked about Eve and growing up or learning or something," I replied nonchalantly. I didn't want to have to explain the entire conversation. Not that I could explain it, anyway.

"Hm. Okay, then," grandma said, turning her attention to the simmering squash on the stove. "After supper, I need to go over yonder by the garden to water the horses. So, I was hoping that you would help me pick some blueberries for my canning while we were down there."

"Sure, but I'll probably eat most of them," I winked.

The garden was just past my grandparent's red barn and right across the dirt road behind it. The seven blueberry bushes towered over the foot carved paths, creating a natural arbor underneath the blossoming pear trees. Bees trafficked in and out of the garden, suckling the berry bushes' sweet nectar, while the titmice and chickadees feasted on the drupe. The garden was peaceful and pure, one of my favorite spots to frequent in the summer.

Leaving grandma, berry bucket in hand, I meandered my way through the garden, starting at the end so that I could work my way back. The bushes at the end were naked, so I crossed the path to the center of the bushes where the grass was tall, and the shadows were wild.

Before I could land a step towards the deeper garden, a sinewy form crawled between my feet. I knew in an instant what the creature below me was and what threats it carried. I did not move for fear of startling it, which might cause it to strike. Breathing slowly in and out through my nose, I watched frozen as the copper-scaled serpent glided seamlessly through the grass between my feet.

At least six feet long, the snake stretched quickly across the small path between fruit bushes. With half of its body now on either side of me, it stopped. The muscles under its scales tensed, raising its head up and around to face me. It knew I was here. Contorting the joints in its jaws, the snake unlatched its white mouth threatening death. I needed to act.

The snake lurched half of its body back, posing for a strike. Just as suddenly as it forced itself forward, I leaped, urging myself forward. Once both feet were on one side of the beast, I bolted from the garden and away from danger.

"Grandma! Grandma! Snake! Big Snake!" I shouted from the top of my lungs as I ran toward her, still filling up the water trough.

Once I made it to her, I babbled, "Snake, the snake was gonna bite me in the garden, so I ran out."

"Calm down. Breathe in and out!" Grandma laughed, "Did you get any berries? Where's your bucket?"

"Grandma, do you really think picking berries was at the top of my list when a giant snake was about to take my leg off!?" I retorted. Then, after a silent pause, we both began to laugh hysterically.

Then Grandma turned away, almost solemnly, so I replied, "Are you okay? I'm fine, I promise. I'll go get the bucket later...after the snake has had time to clear out."

She took a sharp breath and turned back to me, "I told Reverend Phillips to talk to you today. And the situation you just had reminded me of the story she shared with you. It made me realize that I need to be upfront."

I furrowed my brow, "Okay..."

Taking my hand, she looked me in the eyes, "You are going to be without me for a while, and I-"

"I know, Grandma, but the college is only two hours away, and I'm going to come home every weekend…"

"No." She rubbed her forehead. "Like the serpent caused Eve to grow up outside of the garden without God's safety, you are going to have to grow up without me. I am so proud that I have been a part of your childhood and your innocence. I have watched you grow into a beautiful young woman, but it is time for me to let go, as Eve's Father did."

"I don't understand. What are you trying to tell me?" Cold fear ran over me.

She squeezed my hand. "I have cancer. I'm dying."

It's been six summers since the serpent reared its fangs at the girl in its garden. And every summer since, she returns alone. She does not pick the fruits; she never ventures further, she only stands on the outer edge and stares in. From time to time, the serpent swears she's staring right back at it. It has since determined that they, (it and the girl), have an understanding. It now possesses the sole rights to the garden with all its purity. The girl accepts this and possesses the outside's knowledge, however dark and dangerous it might be.