Realms Chapter 2

Jumping forward a bit...Margaret has been hit by a truck and gone into a coma. (See Prologue below) Her life begins to flash before her eyes. At this point she has already recalled the memory of her mother and father passing away while she was younger. This event marked the beginning of MArgaret's struggles.



Two

Margaret felt her lungs inflate and deflate as, once again, a bright whiteness pierced through the painful yet hypnotic memories dancing around behind her closed eyelids. Cupping her hand over her eyes, she realized her head no longer throbbed and as she wiggled her lips, she realized that they no longer felt glued down. A soft voice giggled above her. After suddenly envisioning the truck slamming into her car, she guessed that she was probably in the hospital and she took a deep breath. Even though it had been years since her last visit, she could recall the scent of that hospital, a combination of bleach used to sterilize surfaces and various operative utensils and an odor that could only be associated with latex. These poignant odors had penetrated her nose, and consequently her stomach, each time she stepped foot through the sliding glass doors.
This smell was not bleach and was different than the lingered honey-dew melon and sun-dried raspberry she had detected earlier. Maybe, she thought, she was at a different hospital; one that, perhaps, was closer to where her fate met with destiny in the form of a pickup truck thereby creating this chaotic twist of odor filled reality..
Then it hit her. Lavender. The smell, she finally recognized, was definitely lavender. The sweet, yet subdued scent sent a new wave of memories flooding through her mind.


The spring of her 15th year brought about many changes for Margaret. She had long since proclaimed herself different from all other 15 year olds, that was nothing new. Her so-called friends, as well as her psychiatrist, had already tired of the relentless ‘why should I care, my parents are dead’ attitude but, unfair change was not done with Margi yet.
That was the year she would learn of her unplanned pregnancy of a little girl who she would name Nan. This rollercoaster event thrilled and scared Margaret.
As months passed, Nan swelled inside of Margi creating a potpourri of nausea and elation, as well as a heightened despondency towards life and the world that she would have to, sooner than advised by her surrounding elders and peers, subject a child to.
Margi loved Mark very much but hesitated, rocking back and forth on her heels, clutching her stomach for fear that she may vomit at any moment, staring at the doorbell to the left of the front door panel. From behind her, she heard the soft, understanding voice of Moody, her best friend.
“Go on.” He simply said.
She hadn’t told Marissa and Joseph, the directors of the Helping Hands Placement Center For Girls, of the embryo that bloomed inside her, and she knew there was no chance of spilling the information to her shrink. They did, after all, fully trust her. Moody was a different story, however. His friendship and her ability to confide in him was her only sense of stability.
Despite her unwillingness to divulge her secret to her elders and in a desperate attempt to keep everything the same, the zygote would unknowingly cause a, yet to apprehend, change of view on her world, as well as herself.
So here she stood, as sweat slowly formed on her forehead, on the front porch of Mark’s house. She stared at the eggshell white paint that had long ago been drenched over the now exposed and unappreciated lumber underneath. Margi knew that Mark wasn’t affluent in wealth and money but, standing here, it seemed such a shame that a beautiful house as this should be left to the doomed marriage of time and weather.
The approaching fall season produced a chill in the air that seemed to mock Margaret, and the duty that now lay in front of her, and she shivered as she pulled her mother’s beloved wool sweater closer around her. As she did, the aroma of her mother’s sweet honey-dew melon and sun-dried raspberry lotions pierced through her senses and she closed her eyes hoping this action would fight back the tears that swelled in them. In her mind, she heard her mother laugh and then, as quickly as it had come, the memory faded and Margi breathed in the courage she would need to inform this 16 year old boy, this companion who had lovingly caressed her, whispering lovely sonnets into her ear, making her feel like love, their love, was the reason to continue living, that he would become a daddy long before he would ever have liked to, hoped to, dreamed. As she knocked on the door, she felt the wood conform to her small knuckles in an anticipated sympathy for the task that she was to perform.
After the initial shock of the news, Mark would succumb to the tears that Margi forced to hold back moments before. He would drop to his knees and she would follow suit but this sense of comfort, of understanding and longing to know that it would be alright because he would be there for her, didn’t last.
In the following weeks, and at the advice of his parents, Mark would cease to accept the inevitability of his fate and the child he promised to help bring into the world while on the porch that fall afternoon.
Margi would be left alone, once again, to deal with a sorrow that she had come to embrace and cherish. This distress was different, however. The lingering effects of this abandonment would fade with each passing year unlike the hole that was left to blacken when her mother, and eventually her father, passed into the void of her hope and comfort. This sorrow, however lessened, would develop and mature into a rooted base of anger and abandonment.
As the months passed, her secret was beginning to become noticeable and fearing it’s inevitable demise, like the morning dew that dissipates as the sun emerges to greet the creatures it would stir awake, she knew she had to accept the possibility of being kicked out of the Girl’s Center.
She sank into a deep depression, until one summer day, Joseph, the patriarch of the Girl’s Center, noticing her change in behavior and dress, approached her. She cried that day. It was an emotion she thought she had locked away. Joseph was different, though.
“God loves you, Margaret Medder. Don’t you worry. He’s got a greater plan for you. No matter what happens, remember that.”
Then something wholly unexpected happened. Joseph placed the center’s library key in her lap. Looking up at him through her tear-soaked face she gawked.
“It may help. Just be sure to return whatever you take.”
Margaret soon found herself immersed in the books Joseph gave her access to. Neither the room nor the collection was vast, by any means, but it served its purpose well. She absorbed everything she could, not only about pregnancy but of inner peace and meditation techniques. She researched the healing, soothing, stress relieving effects of different flowers and fell in love with Lavender. She would come to invest most of her kitchen allowance on Lavender incense, body spray, bath salts and bedding potpourri and would agree with the experts to the effects they produced. Even her psychiatrist seemed to sit a little taller and reflect an air of hope at her presence. Of course, he felt the difference was solely his doing but Margaret didn’t mind.
It was a stormy night when she happened upon the leather-bound book sitting upon Joseph’s wooden desk. Her fingers gently caressed the words B-i-b-l-e and as she pulled it open, a large lightening bolt struck nearby causing a quick round of thunder, loud and powerful. Eyes widened, she read, believing this was a sign from the God that her mother and father had spoken so highly about. She never had a chance to question why they believed in God but thought to herself that now was as good a time as any to try and find out for herself.
As her belly, mind, and spirit grew, she felt herself becoming Margaret Medder, mother and loving nurturer of Nan Alison Medder, child without a father and yet so loved by her mother. Days passed as she came to acknowledge and accept these truths; God was good, something so pure could never do her harm and very soon, she would be able to grasp that hope and comfort that she had believed in so long ago.
Then, one day, 56 days before the proposed due date, she would bleed. The bright red puddles that would form and mutate underneath her feet in the girl’s locker-room shower stall would eventually congeal and settle, like she had, once again to cruel fate and destiny. Margi wasn’t conscious when the paramedics rushed in and carried her away to the area E.R. but she knew, in her soul, that Nan would never greet the world and shine forth the blessings that desperately hoped for.
The doctor would eventually explain to Marissa and Joseph of the miscarriage and while Marissa silently rejoiced, Joseph lamented the loss as if it were his own. Even Moody displayed his saddened emotions on her behalf.
Margi joined Joseph and Moody in lamenting for only a short while. Sooner than anyone had hoped, she took refuge in her familiar, swirling black void. She began sneaking alcohol into her room, courtesy of the corner homeless man, whom she passed everyday on her way back from school, and eating was cut to a minimum for survival purposes only. Her regressive demeanor left her psychiatrist packing his bags, convinced that he had failed as a doctor.
To Margaret, the darkness became a comforting friend, once again, as she set the books she had come to cherish ablaze in the back alley while her den-parents, as they were called, slept, undisturbed, inside the cold, stone fortress. She didn’t bother informing Joseph of her decision to dispose of the literature. She figured they no longer offered the hand of hope, the hand of comfort, and should no longer fool anyone else to believe either. They were of no further use to her. God, she believed, had once again turned his back on his fallen angel, leaving her to fend for herself in a world that obviously would not allow her to hold anything dear and precious.

A wee glance at Realms

I finally finished my book this summer. It has been a real labor of love and strongly feel that the inspiration, motivation and topic were divinely given. It's the only thing that can explain what came out. I've been letting friends read it to see how they thought of it. So far the response has been positive. My "manager" (I know he'll appreciate that) told me straight out that he doesn't read a whole lot, but listens mostly-to books on tape. He then stated that he may read it if I posted it online (which is the new trend in book writing anyway) so I felt it may be time to wet your whistles.
May I present....REALMS.

Realms
By: Kat Barrilleaux


Life And Death

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.” – Deut. 30:19 (NIV)


Prologue

She woke up screaming. When I entered the room to calm her, I felt a mixture of chaos and excitement; a feeling that, I have to admit, I hadn’t felt in years.

“NOO!!”
“Margi?! Holy Lord God…Doctor…DOCTOR…SHE”S AWAKE…! Margi, it’s me, Nurse Harlow…listen to me…”
“Malahi!”
“Stay with me Margi…DOCTOR...listen to me honey, calm down…”
“MALAHI!”
“DOCTOR JENSON, I NEED YOU IN HERE!”

She seemed disoriented and delirious; a common reaction to waking from a lengthy coma.

“What’s going on!? Margi, you’re alright! It’s Moody Jenson, You’re at White’s Creek Hospital. Jade, what happened here?!” Dr. Jenson firmly pressed one hand down upon the gyrating women’s shoulder while the other frantically searched for pupil definition.

Ever since she was a little girl, she had been adamant about not being taken off life support. There was a fear there; a genuine fear of “The Ultimate”, as she referred to it. She believed that being unplugged would force her into a cell; a cell she would never be able to leave. It would be dark and cold, unending and, most of all, lonely.

“Malahi!”
“Margi, it’s Moody Jenson. You’ve been in a coma and I’m going to give you some medicine that will help to calm you down, ok?!” As he shifted from one eye to the next, he raised the light to the second pupil and determined that the first step was sedation…and quickly.
“What happened here, Jade?”
“I don’t know, sir…one moment she’s…then the next she’s wide awake, screaming for Mala..Malahi!”

It seemed, however, that “The Ultimate” would become something far more than she could possibly ever imagine.


llllllllll

“Good Morning, Margaret. You look like you’re feeling a little better?”
Doctor Moody Jenson walked confidently into the white walled room and stared at his clipboard. His stature possessed an air of prestige and knowledge. Of course he was knowledgeable, Margaret knew that first hand. As she sat up slowly within his presence, she found herself staring at him, lost in thought. The Dr. Jenson she knew had wanted to be a doctor since the third grade when he had broken his foot. The doctors responsible for mending his injury were, to him, angels sent from heaven; a common theme to him.
Margaret always found she rather enjoyed listening to him and, even though she wasn’t altogether sure she believed what he did, she fancied losing herself in his childhood stories where angels roamed, floating around in white dresses, playing magical horns or flutes. It was a topic that creatively inspired her and for that she had been grateful.
Margaret could not remember the first time she had met Moody Jenson. It seemed as if they had always known each other and she could only guess that they had experienced babyhood together. Knowing someone your entire life can expose differences and yet, despite their differences, Margaret felt continually grateful for Moody. Throughout her life, his presence seemed to always be in the right place at the right time. From prom disasters to personal loss and addictions, his face had become as familiar to her as a summer rainstorm.
Moody was the Best Man at Margaret’s wedding and it seemed only natural to allow him to deliver her twin children, first Joana, whom reminded the family on numerous occasions, then Roger.
On the twin’s eighth birthday, Dr. Moody Jenson stood from the dining room table, raised his glass, declared his love for the Glund family, and then announced, ‘he had been selected to be the Chief Neurologist in a neighboring city and was moving due to this opportunity to follow his passion’.
His absence was felt by Margaret; however, it wasn’t until six months after her husband’s abrupt and tragic death that she too, packed herself and her children and, in a state of delirium for familiarity, followed.

Sitting upright, Margaret placed her palm against her forehead and gushed, “Moody, where…where am I?”
“Margi, you’re ok. You’re at White’s Creek Hospital. This is gonna be cold.”
As he spoke, he fumbled for his stethoscope. After placing the ear tips in his ears, he cracked his neck and held the flat end up against her bare back. Margaret leaned forward as the cooled metal touched her skin. Her head was aching as she breathed in and out for Dr. Jenson who listened intently.
“Margi, do you…know how you…got to be here?”
Closing her eyes, Margaret’s mind flooded with the reality of where she was and why.

“…so I said to Dustin, well, I guess you can come, you know, jokingly, and he said he would see!! Isn’t that awesome, Mom?” Joana Glund, a walking contradiction, like every other 16 year old, member of J.T. Miller High School’s “Fighting Bobcat’s” volleyball team and ballet dancer extraordinaire, propped her bare baby doll feet up on the grayish black dashboard of her mother’s used 2002 Chevy Malibu and began to paint her toenails with a seashell blue nail polish she had picked up earlier that day at the dollar store. “I mean, Dustin Sickler! What a dream, seriously, Mom, you’ll see.”
“You get nail polish on my car and we’ll see who’s dreamin’.”
Margaret Glund peered calmly out the glass and lazily watched as the traffic in front of her moved in and out like waves in an ocean. She had come a long way, she had thought. Here she was, a 3 year manager of a local retail boutique, mother of recently turned 16 year old twins Joana and Roger Glund.
The last fact about her was a hard one to bear, a widow of four years, left behind by the love of her young life, Sam Glund and yet, she certainly had no reservations about attributing her growth as a person to the tragedy. Margaret smiled as she watched her little girl sitting beside her, intent in concentrating on applying nail polish in a moving vehicle. ‘It wasn’t always this easy’ she thought.
After a few lefts and rights and almost every stoplight, Margaret pulled her white, four-door, leather seats and a cup holder Malibu into the StarWhite Valley strip mall where she would be dropping her daughter off for her Saturday ballet lesson. After rounding several grassy medians that were meant to be decorative but were more of an annoying obstacle, Margaret pulled the car in front of the familiar window-walled entrance of Kit’s Dance Instruction, made sure she had correctly positioned herself between the yellow markers and slowed to a stop before turning to her daughter.
“Jo, you call me when you’re done, ok? No more of this getting a ride home and not telling anyone the ‘who, what, when, and where.’ Ok, Joana?”
Joana busily gathered her two ballet bags together and rolled her eyes at an angle her mother couldn’t see.
“Jo?”
“Yes ma’am.” She slid out of her seat and leaned back in to give her mom a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Mom. See ya tonight.”

“I had a few errands to run after dropping her off.” Margaret, although feeling a desperate sense of urgency, controlled herself, thought for a moment, and then spoke again. “I got onto the highway, heading back towards McGonnel’s grocery store. I knew it was quicker than going the back way; you know full well Sam would have argued the rest of the way to the contrary. I don’t remember having any time to react. One moment I was singing out loud, which…you know how that always turns out…and then next…a deafeningly loud crack in my left ear. After that…” Margaret stopped. She could feel her lungs pinching at her chest and winced as she took in another deep breath. Dr. Jenson looked at her for a moment then picked up where her silence had left off.
“You don’t remember anything after you were hit?”
“I..I” Margaret paused. She wanted to tell him as she thought desperately about the past few days. Her mind blurry and unfocused she simply stated, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“What wouldn’t I understand, Margi?”
She let out a breath of surrender, saying, “Nothing…I…can I have a glass of water?”
“Sure. Nurse Harlow, will you please get Mrs. Glund a glass of water?” Dr. Jenson calmly asked and continued his observation. “Can you to follow my finger with your eyes?”
As Dr. Jenson continued testing her senses by tapping her in several places she was positive she didn’t want to be tapped and listening to her rapid heartbeat, he spoke softly as he told her everything he knew, concerning her case. Margi found his doctor-ness quite appealing most of the time. She had known he was a tell-it-like-it-is kind of guy and appreciated his candor.
“So, this is what I know. Uh, a male, teenage owner of a pickup truck fell asleep at the wheel. Police estimate he was going at approximately 75 miles per hour when he crossed over the three lanes of the southbound traffic he was in and angled into the northbound traffic you were in. Both your vehicle and his, careened off the road and down an embankment. You don’t recall any of this?”
“Unfortunately, no. Like I said, I heard the crack and I…I really don’t…”
Dr. Jenson continued, “You must’ve hit your head pretty hard when the cars impacted.”
Margaret paused. Clear as day, she envisioned herself lying on her back next to her smoking car. “Wait, wait, wait. I…I remember…I heard voices and I felt myself drifting in…” Closing her eyes, Margaret recalled those final moments.

“OH MY GOD!, WE NEED HELP OVER HERE!!!! MA’AM? CAN YOU HEAR ME?! Johnny, I’m not getting any response! Hurry up with that defib…”

“…and out of consciousness. My head throbbed so much…I thought it would explode off my shoulders…and…the left side of my face, it felt hardened, like someone had poured glue there and left it to dry. I think I tried to speak but my lips wouldn’t, couldn’t, move. The harder I tried the more pain shot through me… That’s when it began.”
Margaret felt her heart quicken its pace as she recalled the last few minutes of her life on Earth, as she had previously known it. Gaining excitement, she opened her eyes and continued.
“That’s when…I suddenly… I felt like…like I was flying…on my back, breeze blowing through my hair, light shining through my closed eyelids and then…everything went dark, pitch black again. I held my breath because I suddenly felt like I was under water…” Margaret smiled which contradicted the fact that tears were streaming down her face. Dr. Jenson, once again, placed his hand upon hers and squeezed.
“I know this is hard for you to remember, but it’s…Is that all you remember?”
Once again Margaret found herself torn. She wanted nothing more than to be able to tell him, to explain to him the journey she had experienced. But she knew that this would mean telling him everything, starting from the beginning, explaining every supernatural event. She took in a deep breath and sighed. Choosing her words carefully, Margaret asked,
“When can I leave, Moody? I would like to see my children.”
“Margi, it’s gonna take a couple of days. You were in a coma for…a very long time. There are still tests that need to be done and…”
“What do you mean a very long time? How long have I been…gone?”
“A little over 2 years, Margi.”
Margaret gasped. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and her hands began to shake.
“What?!”
“Margaret, you’ve been in a coma for two years.”
“No! No, it’s only been a couple days! You must be wrong!”
“I wish I were.” As he spoke he pointed to the worn television screen perched on a shelf at the foot of her bed. The bluish hue stared back at her in large printed words

Today is:
Monday, January 4th, 2009

“Oh my God.” She whispered and leaned back against the bed staring blankly towards the corner of the room.
“Margi, you’ve been in a coma for two years. Do you understand what that means? A lot has changed.”
Silence filled the air for a brief moment and Margaret jumped when Moody broke through the lull to stand and pour her a glass of water from the pitcher Nurse Harlow had placed on her bedside table.
“Did you know, Margi,” he spoke as he poured the clear liquid into a cup and handed it to Margaret,” that a couple years ago I obtained a doctorate in psychology?”
As thoughts raced and circled through her head, Margaret could only blankly answer, “You did?”
“Yeah. After…” Moody cautiously said the name, “…Sam died, I became obsessed with the human psyche; yours to be precise. It laid a foundation for what was to come, I guess.” Moody stared at Margaret and smiled but continued as soon as he noticed her eyes still searching for understanding.
“When I moved here I begged to be assigned here, the coma ward. At first I was a little distraught at the lack of ongoing excitement of human psychosis and thought maybe I had followed the wrong passion. Luckily, my obsession turned into…something else. What I do know is that this direction changed my life. Interestingly enough, I did my thesis on the coma and it’s relation to the human brain cells back in college. I guess that’s why I was drawn to this place.”
“Quite interesting: a coma. Kinda like snowflakes, not one is alike. I have this theory, however, probably due to the fact that more times than not I’ve witnessed coma patients who wake up and are suddenly rejuvenated with this burst of spirituality and faith, that there’s another side to life that maybe can be crossed by those who are in comas.”
Margaret breathed in heavily, knowing exactly what Dr. Jenson spoke of. For a brief moment she thought maybe telling him what had happened would not sound so crazy, but what if he didn’t believe her? Suddenly, a wave of paranoia swept over her. What if Moody was not who he seemed? She had been tempted by eloquent words before. Would admitting to what she had experienced somehow cause undo panic?
Moody coolly asked, “Margi, do you remember my stories, when we were kids, of angels and the afterlife?”
“Yes.” She said coyly.
“Then…can you tell me…who is Malahi?”
“What?!”
Moody leaned in closer to Margaret, smiling like a little boy, as if about to be told the most secretive secret around. Her thoughts swirled and circled in her head. Could she tell him, should she tell him?
“I…I. You wouldn’t understand. You’d probably think I was crazy.”
Moody cleared his throat and replied, "Margi, I watched you put on 47 prom dresses in the span of 10 minutes when you were 17, me thinking you’re crazy is way past prime.”
He laughed at his own joke and Margaret thought the emotion a bit strange for Moody Jenson
He then continued, “Try me…"
She sighed, heavily, still not sure of his reaction to what she was about to tell him. Stories were one thing…this reality could have her committed. She closed her eyes and emitted a silent prayer; an action that both scared and excited her. With this motion, Margaret noticed her heart begin to slow and the feeling of paranoia vanish. As if touched by a miracle, Margaret knew, somehow, that it was ok to confide in her oldest friend.
"Ok…well, like I said, I don’t remember much of the accident but what happened afterwards…I do remember. The accident was only the beginning…"
Moody pulled in, close to Margaret’s side. "The beginning of what?" he smiled reassuringly.

Baby Noah Love

Our main purpose for visiting MS was to see this little one who graced the world with his presence on July 7th, 2008.

This little guy was a miracle in so many ways. The main being we never thought Gi would ever procreate but as I stared into those baby's blue eyes I couldn't help but be ecstatic that she had. My son was never more glad to have a new cousin as well (he's been begging for a sibling since he could talk).

I held little Noah as much as I could while we were there and reminisced about my own and how tiny he was at one time as well. But alas, as all things do, he is growing up to be a handsome boy and as we drove back to Austin, I was grateful for the ability to hand the little tike back to his momma. As much as I'd love to have another squirt, I feel I've done the "having" a kid and I'm now fully prepared to adopt...a 6 year old.

Mississippi

This past week and a half my family ventured to Brookhaven, MS to visit KRis's side of the family. I don't drive well at night so I usually drive the first half (I've fallen asleep at the wheel quite a few times) and Kris takes over the second.

We pulled into the sleepy countryside around 2 in the morning and as we made our way across the LA/MS border, rain began to pitter patter on the windsheild. Not having heard that sound in awhile in Austin, I shot up from my uncomfortable sleeping position to gawk at the precipitation that fell outside. It was as if I'd never seen rain before.

When we arrived at Kris's mother's house I was not fully coherent and headed straight for bedroom to sleep off a 10 hour drive. As daylight peeked through the greyed sky, and after a hefty sleep session, we decided to go visit family. As we drove through the wall of pine trees I noted the bright green hue of the grass surrounding the countryside. Considering the grass at my house in Austin looks like horse feed, it was a welcomed sight. I rolled down the windows, every so often, to inhale the country air that mixed pine and rain together to create a wonderful MS potpourri.

We were coming upon our destination when I slammed on the brakes and literally pushed my husband out of the car and in pursuit of the camera to take a picture of the road we were driving along.

The picturesque scene from above took my breath away. The light rain dripped from the leaf tips and the air hung heavy with moisture. Birds graced the sky above with both their presence and their songs.

I love that my husband takes good pictures.

Other People's Trash...

My husband has become addicted to Craigslist, especially the Free section. This obsession finally paid off as last week he discovered someone giving away free limestone. He took the trek out to the country to go see what this free limestone looked like and what-do-ya-know, it turns out to be perfect for the project we have planned for it.

The only kicker was the parts involving the physical labor of transporting 3 1/2 tons of heavy limestone.

Yeah, you're right we sweat....and this was only the first half of our treasured find.

Discovery

A friend I work with told me that her husband knows snakes and **viola** the snake mystery was solved.

It's rat snake.

I put it in a plastic bag (yeah, I touched it) and offered it to her to take home to her husband. I thought it would be a nice present but it ended up in my office today. I may still sell it on Craigslist.

I was surely relieved to know that it wasn't stright up poisonous but was told I do need to be cautious.

This brings me to a whole nuther (yeah I used "nuther") thing to ponder. Rat snakes come out to eat...rats. Yeah! All I can say is let's hope he ate the one and only rat there was.

There be snakes a lurkin'

We're in the process of cleaning out the garage, posting things on Craigslist and such. In the process of rearranging, we created this pile of crap to get rid of then, walked away from the project for the week.

Last night I was standing in the garage, assessing what needed to be done next when I saw this snake skin. I thought it was a joke from my loving husband so as he walked up behind me I asked "Did you put that snake skin there?" he coyly laughed and said "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Then he coolly said, "Not to scare you or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's a Rattlesnake skin...or moccasin."

My question to you is:

Can you tell what kind of snake this is from it's previous skin? I would like to know what to keep an eye out for while cleaning.

Question #2: How much do you think I could get for it on Craigslist?