by R. J. Rogue
I flinch and think about the nightmare from last night. Their eyes, pale skin, and fangs. It was only a dream, I tell myself. Vampires aren't real.
“Could say the same for you I guess, but I have no shame in my diet,” I shrug. “Have to accept me for who I am, right?”
She's frozen and unreadable. I wait for her punchline, but she doesn’t deliver.
“Mom?” I say hoping to defrost her.
“And I most certainly do, Evan,” she finally responds. “Sorry, must be the pain medication. I'll see you when I get home, sweetie. Don't be late for school.”
“I won't be.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, mom.”
She slings her purse over her shoulder as her lunch bag hangs from the wrist. She closes the front door behind herself.
My mother makes deliveries for a blood donor company stationed just outside our city in Rome, New York. Sometimes she'd have to make emergency deliveries that almost seem routine, but I never questioned her. I learned to live with it.
I had to be about five or six years old when she had the accident. The one that left her in pain to this day. She told me it was one of the worst ice storms of the century. She was on her way back into town when she lost control of the work van and broke through a guard rail. The van rolled several times before a tree stopped her from rolling into the Mohawk River. Now, she's left with taking pain medications and a permanent scar down her right cheek as a reminder, but who would forget such a tragedy? My father was gone by then and to think how different my life would be right now if I had lost her too. I am blessed.
I’ve never had to rush to school, but this morning might be the first. Sometimes I use my mother's car, but majority of the time I ride my bike. I don't mind because Utica, New York is beautiful. Most disagree and believe there isn't much to do here. Others would say that the city is small, so what is there to enjoy? People move away, never here. Most of us attend Thomas R. Proctor or Norte Dame high school, but they are quite similar rather than polar opposites.
I believe Utica's small size masks its treasures. Our winters can be brick cold, but thanks to The Great Lakes, the lake effect snow makes skiing and snow tubing worth-while. Our summers are hot and humid, so building sand castles and the smell of barbeque are common activities. Right now, we have the best of both worlds. The end of March brings sunny days and thunderous rainy weather which helps with my writing.
I live just off the coast of the Mohawk River Valley named after the Iroquois confederacy. There are many forest green trees, bike paths, hiking trails, high hills, and the air is fresh. Sometimes it has this mixture of pine and mint I love. Behind my house, there is a sea of tall trees before you hit the water of the Mohawk River, which stretches for one-hundred fifty miles or so through Rome, Utica, Little Falls, Canajoharie, Amsterdam, and Schenectady. From my bedroom window, it looks like a rainforest, and I call it that.
I look down the slope road and decide to race the wind. The school is a short distance away and before I know it, I am looking up at the school's sign which reads, “The Reason. The Skill. The Observation. The Spirit.” Many students are conversing in the front of the school and in the parking lot. Others step off of the yellow buses that run throughout Oneida County. I chain and lock my bike on the rack, and sling one strap of my book bag over my shoulder.
“Hey, Ev!” a familiar voice calls from the buses.
My best friend, I consider him a brother, Mike Druin, steps off of his bus. Mike is a bear in size. He's not huge, but he's well-built and athletic -- more than me to say the least.
“Had fun with the hair gel? Looks all porcupine.”
He runs his fingers through his thin black strands, then shrugs.
“Shower, almost missed the bus.”
I smirk.
“You really should have gone to that party man,” he says.
I shake my head and laugh as we head up the steps and into the school.
“You know I'm not much of a party goer,” I remind him.
“But really,” says the party animal. “That was the first one of the school year and almost everyone at least goes to the first one. You could've listened to music, danced, talked to Essence— “
“What?”
“Danced?" he says with a guilty smile. "I'm just saying. You would've enjoyed it.”
"Can't say I disagree. I'd be lying if I said I didn't clock my closet a few times, but I needed to be alone.”
We pass through the slams of locker doors, the chatter of students and teachers, and the zombies who faces are buried in their phones before I reach my locker. I open it with the combination.
“What's been going on?” he asks leaning on a locker.
“Well, I'm having those nightmares again. You know? The ones I’ve had since we were kids?”
Mike has always known about my nightmares. I use to get picked on because of them, but ever since the day I met him at the swimming pool rec center as a kid, he's always had my back and defended me.
I was being picked on by a few of the other kids when I told them about my nightmares. I was trying to make friends. I didn't know anyone. When everyone was getting into the pool for a game of Marco Polo, I refused. Regardless of how shallow the water was, it looked too deep for me. I wanted to go find my mother to ask to leave, but before I could, the kids grabbed me by the arms and tried to toss me into the pool. I still hear their voices from time to time. "You're scared of water?! Haven't you ever taken a bath?! Don't be such a scaredy-cat, weirdo!"
I begged them not to toss me into the water, but they refused to listen. The tips of my toes were over the edge, almost how they were on the cliff in my nightmare last night. I yelled for help, but didn't see my mother nor lifeguard. I begged again, not to throw me into the pool, and before the heels of my feet left the ledge, Mike pushed them aside and told them to go away. They respected Mike. Even back then, Mike was a bear and since then, Mike has been my best and only friend.
“The nightmares that half of the kids used to pick on you about? Yeah, hard to forget,” he says.
“Right," I say. "Well, the past few weeks, they've come back. Almost every time I shut my eyes now. And last night's felt so different than ever before. It felt...real.”
“That's the thing about nightmares, Ev. They feel real, but they aren't,” he shrugs. "Your mom knows they've come back?”
“She makes it difficult to hide. She still does the whole, ‘write it down, Evan,’ thing,” I shake my head.
“Soon she’ll have you write your biography.”
“Or my obituary when I'm on my death bed."
“Have you tried sleeping pills? Nyquil?”
“Nyquil?” I say. “You drink Nyquil to sleep?”
“Who doesn't? It works every time. I know I sleep well every night.”
"I'll pass," I close my locker. “I just hate that my mother thinks I'm as fragile as a wine glass.”
"She's being protective. I'm sure she's scared just as much as you."
I nod my head and see the faces of those people at the table again, their pale skin, sharp fangs, and red eyes.
“This is going to sound weird Mike, but do you believe in – in things like,” I pause.
"--Things like?" he asks as I try to find a way to not sound stupid.
"Vampires?"
He scoffs.
“No, do you?”
“I do," I shake my head. "I mean I don't. I mean, well I don't know to be honest. That’s what those people seem to be in my nightmares."
"That's the thing, Ev. They're nightmares."
"But they even look familiar like," I think to myself. "Like I know them from somewhere or a long time ago. All of them. It felt much more than just a nightmare it was more like,” I drift off.
"Like what?"
"Like a memory."
He shakes his head and chuckles.
“Do they try to suck your blood in any of the nightmares?”
“No actua
lly now that I think about it. And it kind of bothers me that they didn't. They just send me away as though I had done something wrong. And this little girl, she gets so upset when I leave and she wants to tell me something, but says I won’t believe her.”
“What do you think that might be?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “But all five of them, I know I’ve seen them before. I just can’t put my finger on it. One of them said, ‘someday, you’ll come home.’”
“Come home? Ev, this is crazy. Listen to yourself. You are home. Utica is your home and you may not have a big family, but you still have one. Your mom, Sarah, is your family.”
“She never answers any of my questions about my childhood besides talking about you, and she doesn’t answer anything about my father. What about aunts, uncles, cousins, et cetera? Where are they? Why doesn't she want to talk about family or anyone else related to us? Why haven't I met any of them or even heard a name? There aren’t even any baby pictures of me around the house. It’s like, my childhood never existed and that all other relatives are either dead or don't exist. I think she’s hiding something from me. Sometimes I just feel like I was dropped on her doorstep or something.”
Mike places a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this and I’m willing to help you through it all, but you can’t start second guessing where you come from because of a bunch of ridiculous nightmares.”
“What if it’s the truth?”
“What if what’s the truth?”
“What if I’m adopted?”
“Ev,” he sighs dropping his hand. “Stop. You’re not adopted, just confused. Besides, things could be worse I mean, who would you rather live with? Sarah, your mom? Or some vampires?”
He's right. I couldn't live with them. Vampires. I shouldn't consider that they are real. Then my eyes then lay upon her. Her flawless skin and curly, dark-red hair sitting on her shoulders and collarbones. Some of her hair shades one of her eyes. Her pink lips, rests on her symmetrical thin face.
I watch as she opens her locker. She takes a look into a mirror that hangs on the inside of her locker door. Her fingers stroke through her hair from root to tip. She stops and our eyes meet in her mirror. I avert and regret dazing in front of Mike.
“Essence LaRoux,” he grins.
“What about her?” I say struggling to breathe.
“You should go talk to her. She was at the party.”
“Eh, no can do. I'll pass.”
“Oh come on, Ev. Don't tell me you find her that intimidating.”
But I do, ever since grade school. She was always the girl with a head full of dark red hair. We never actually talked to each other. Perhaps I blame myself for being shy. There were times where I would watch Essence drink from the water fountain. She would push her hair back and away from her face and purse her lips to drink. When she'd finish, she'd catch her breath, fix her hair, and smile with perfect white teeth.
I also watched her during class and when called on to answer a question, I would ask to have the question repeated only to be told to focus and pay attention. On the bus rides home, she sat right behind the driver. Mike and I would sit in the back. He would talk about Bianca, but I would be in a completely different world staring at Essence who seemed to never look back or at me -- except once.
When I was being bullied in gym class, I was pushed to the floor and wouldn't dare look up at the boys and girls that laughed. But Essence never did. At least if she did laugh at me, I did not see it. When they walked away to gossip about me being weird and having no friends, I was searching for my glasses. That was the first time she spoke to me. That was also the first time she looked at me. Essence held my glasses in her hands above asking if I was okay. I found it hard to respond, but I took the glasses and ran to the bathroom. I remember placing my back against the wall and feeling angered about not being brave and not having Mike around to save me. Worst of all, Essence felt sorry for me. At least that's what I had believed.
I look at Mike and shake my head. He raises his hands surrendering.
“Fair enough, fair enough. Don't talk to her. Just saying you should try man before someone else takes that opportunity.”
That would be heart breaking, and I can feel my stomach tying into a knot just thinking about it. Feeling this way about her is ridiculous, but then again she isn't just your average girl, at least to me she isn't. I watch her more often than I should, and she moves different from everyone else. My feelings for her are knitted deep inside my veins, her name stitched across my heart, and as extreme as it may sound, if such a procedure is possible, I'd secretly have it surgically performed. Why am I so attracted to someone I barely know or talk to?
Just another part of me I don’t understand. My feelings are like instinct, undeniable, indefinable, and unconditional. But how far would I get with a girl like her? I can picture myself saying, "Hey, want to look at my finger paintings and read my short stories?" Yeah, right. I'm just an ordinary guy with the gift of being ordinary. Simple as that.
“One of these days I'll try to talk to her in class or something,” I say trying to sound confident and convincing.
“Who knows? Maybe you can make her the addicted one.”
I laugh hysterically in my mind. Like that’s possible. The first bell rings and a locker slams nearby and books hit the floor. It’s Cedric, the bullied, dark haired, mysterious, Adam’s family relative. Well, not really, but he would blend in with them. He has always been bullied like myself which is the reason I only know his first name and probably the reason he too doesn't have any friends. Lucky for me, I have Mike.
“Idiot!” yells one of the students stepping over Cedric as he stares at them through his hair. He begins to pick up his books then our eyes meet. He glares at me like a predator sizing up its prey before attacking. He shakes his head then brushes the black hair from his face. Bianca walks by and exchanges a look with Cedric. He mumbles something under his breath and Bianca scoffs, but I miss what is said. As she passes my locker, I glance at Mike who of course is admiring her with drool. I tap his cheek with my hand.
“Is your jaw broken?” I ask trying not to laugh. He shakes his head.
“No, I’m not how you are with Essence.
“Yeah, okay. Your eyes disagree with your mouth.”
Bianca has been Mike's crush almost as long as Essence has been mine. Years. Her long blonde hair dances atop her head with each step she takes. She smiles at us, but almost immediately averts her eyes and picks up her pace. Cedric is gone. Slipping away must come easy for him.
“You saw that?!” Mike asks with a cheesy smile. And he says he's not how I am with Essence.
“Yeah,” I say. "Now it's my turn to say, ‘go talk to her.’”
“I will. You'll see. One of us has to make our move. How much longer will we procrastinate?" The second school bell rings. "And it ends today. We don't live forever. Only once.”
Chapter Three: Hiccups
The smell of the locker room is repulsive. Sweaty gym shorts, socks, and sneakers cover the floor. I rush into my gym clothes and hurry out. Some students shoot around the basketball and some talk and giggle on the sidelines and bleachers of the gym. Mike comes out of the locker room and meets me at the three-point line.
“There she is,” he says. Bianca sits on the bleachers talking with her friends.
“You're going to go over there?” I ask.
“Not with all her friends over there, kiddin' me?”
“Where's all that confidence now?” I ask smirking.
“Just waiting for the right time. You're talking to a pro here. Besides, I think she’s diggin’ me.”
I try to hold back my smile. Failure. My laugh escapes.
“What makes you so sure if you've never spoken to her?”
“At the party,” he begins. “It seemed like everywhere I went, she was following. Staring at me. She’s obviously interested."
“Go on,” I say holding
another laugh.
“And I did talk to her. When I was getting something to drink she comes over and asks me to pour some punch in her cup.” He pauses and stares at me. Did I miss something?
“That means she wants me!” he says almost too loud catching the attention of nearby classmates.
“Or she just wanted some punch," I say feeling embarrassed by Mike's obnoxity.
“You're just jealous that I have a little lead on Bianca,” he smirks.
“Hey, Mike,” calls one of our classmates. “We need an extra player.”
He passes Mike the ball. Mike looks over at Bianca who watches him from the bleachers. She smiles which I’m sure is enough to do more than boost Mike’s ego. He turns to the hoop, shoots, and sinks a three-pointer. He looks back at Bianca and smiles as she returns one.
“Show off,” I say shaking my head with a smirk.
“Yeah well, it's a start.” He pats my shoulder and joins the other students in playing basketball.
I look over to Bianca, and she looks at me as though she wants to say something. She waves shyly, and I wave back. We've never spoke in the past, but there have been times we had the opportunity for conversation and it just never happened. It always seems as though something is bothering her. I could ask, but I wouldn't know how or where to start. There have been times where she would walk up to me and instead of saying anything, she would walk away with this embarrassed expression. I've also caught her watching me plenty of times at school. I wonder how long she would keep this up before actually saying something to me or maybe like everyone else, she thinks I'm weird.
I go into the hallway for a quick drink at the water fountain before class starts. I gulp to my fullness then hear someone coming. I turn and cause a collision.
“Watch it!” Cedric yells stumbling back.
“Sorry, my mistake.”
“You're right, it was your mistake,” he says. “Now what do you plan on doing about it?”
“What do you mean?” I squint my eyes in confusion.
“Well you bumped into me.”
“I know and I said that I was sorry.”