Uncle Vampire (10 page)

When my parents called to tell me they'd meet my train, I hid in the bathroom again.

“You have to talk to them sometime,” Maggie said. “They're beginning to wonder if you're really here.”

“Maggie, you don't know what it's like there,” I said. “Things have gotten a lot worse since you left.”

“What do you mean?” She was curled up on the sofa, a quilt over her legs. Logs snapped and crackled in the fireplace.

“Maggie, did you ever notice anything strange about Uncle Toddy?”

“Strange? Like what? Like he can't hold a job? Like, he never brings his girlfriends home? Like, no matter how old he gets, he still looks young? Little things like that?”

“Well, kind of. Not exactly. It's just that, this is kind of hard to explain. You know how Mama always seems depressed?”

“Really? Yes, now that you mention it.”

“I'm serious, Maggie. You can't talk to her anymore. She doesn't want to be upset. And Papa's just as bad.”

Maggie nodded her head. “You can't talk to Papa. He doesn't know how to listen. Before you even stop talking, he's disagreeing. That's always driven me insane.”

“Well, see, they're pretty worked up lately because Richie's going down the drain. I mean, I didn't want to bring this up before, because we were having such a nice Christmas. But I'm scared, Maggie. I'm really worried. He's changed. He's really skinny.”

“You don't look so hot yourself. Will you calm down? You're practically hyperventilating.”

I was pacing around the room. “I don't know what to do. Honey always says to make the best of everything. But how do you make the best of someone drinking your blood?”

“Whoa, slow down. You lost me there. What are you talking about? Will you please sit down?”

“I can't, I'm too nervous. You'll think I'm crazy.” I knelt on the floor beside the sofa and let my hair fall forward to cover my face.

“I'd never think you're crazy. No matter how nutty you are,” Maggie said. “I'm joking! Don't look at me like that. I was kidding. Carrie, listen to me. No matter what's wrong, you can tell me.”

“Are you sure you won't think I'm crazy?”

“I promise. Carrie, I'm your sister. I love you. I'll help you.” She gently stroked my hair. “You don't have to be scared. No one's ever going to hurt you again. In fact, I've been thinking. I wanted to surprise you. Carrie, I want you to live with me. You can share my room until we get our own place.”

I lifted my face, my heart soaring. “What about Michael?”

“We've already discussed this. He knows how hard it's been for you lately. He thinks you should stay with us. We'll get a big place, or a house with a guest cottage, so you can be close but we'll have our own space. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful!” I hugged her. “Oh, Maggie, I love you. I don't want to butt in on you and Michael. I just want to be close to you. That would be perfect! But what about the folks? They'll never let me stay. They'll say I'm too young to move out here.”

“Don't worry, I've already talked to them about it. At first Papa was pretty upset. And Mama cried. Well, she always cries. But then they said—” Maggie paused and frowned. “Carrie, what's that man saying?”

“What man?”

“That man who's talking to you.”

I look up to where she's pointing. Mr. Jepson, my science teacher, is standing beside my desk. He's very angry.

Everyone in class is staring at us. He's waving my science folder in my face. He's waving away Maggie.

He says: “What's the matter with you, Carolyn? This folder is empty. You told me you'd complete the missing assignments over Christmas vacation.”

I say, “I'm sorry, Mr. Jepson. I went away.”

13

If the TV had been working, maybe nothing would have happened. Little things can make a big difference. Life is full of close calls where you almost got killed but you left the house one minute later so the car that would've hit you missed you instead. Or the shots fired at random chose another innocent victim.

The TV wasn't working, and the house was too quiet. We were trapped at the dinner table like shipwreck survivors, clinging to a raft while the sun burned our bones.

Papa tried to make the TV work, but it was finished.

Uncle Toddy said, “It's been acting flaky.”

Papa kept twirling knobs and pushing buttons. “Maybe there's a problem with the remote,” he said, prying open the wand. The batteries fell out.

Mama said, “Bill, come eat your dinner.”

“Do you mind? I want to see the news. I've got news for you, people: There's a world out there.”

Papa had had too many drinks before dinner. He crouched down and examined the back of the set.

“Don't mess around with that,” Uncle Toddy said. “It says right on it—”

“—to call a technician. Yes, I can read.” Papa lost his balance and landed on his butt, and Richie laughed. Papa snarled: “You think that's funny?” Richie said: “I'm laughing with you, not at you.” Papa said, “I'm not laughing!”

Honey sensed the life raft drifting into dangerous waters.

“Papa, there's news on the radio,” she said. “I'll go get mine. You can use it.”

“That's swell,” Papa said, “but the picture is terrible.”

She shriveled like a whipped dog. Don't hurt me.

“She was just trying to help!” Richie threw down his fork.

“Relax, everybody.” Uncle Toddy's voice was smooth. “I slave all day over a hot microwave. The least you people can do is have the decency to eat this delicious dinner. Come sit down, Bill.”

“Go ahead. I'll be right there.”

Mama sighed. And because the TV set wasn't filling the room with sports scores or weather reports, her sigh exploded in the silence.

I realized I'd heard that sigh all my life, as constant and familiar as my own breathing. It is the wind in the tree outside my bedroom window. A wind full of rain and storms.

“Mmm,” Honey said, “the chicken looks fabulous.”

What a trooper she is! That kid's got spunk! Sharks are circling the life raft and she's looking on the bright side, which happens to be the sun reflecting off their teeth.

“It smells delicious, Uncle Toddy.” She held out her plate.

I asked Richie how things were going at school.

He snorted and rolled his eyes.

Meanwhile, Papa was playing with the TV set. “Goddamn thing, it's only three years old. You pay a lot of money and what do you get? Junk.”

Uncle Toddy said, “Didn't you get the extended warranty?”

Papa loomed up beside the table like a whale. There he blows. “That's the thing that really pisses me off! You're standing there, ready to buy the damn thing, and the salesman says, ‘Do you want the extended warranty?' And of course that's fifty bucks extra. But
he
knows and
you
know that the thing's going to break down. That's the only guarantee you're going to get. It's going to break down, as soon as you get home, if you don't pay the fifty bucks extra. I mean what's happening to this country? What's happened to our pride? Let's just come right out and admit it: The whole damn thing is going down the tubes!”

When the TV is working, there's little conversation. If you start to talk, Papa says: “Wait, I want to hear this.”

We didn't always have the TV on during dinner. It began four, maybe five years ago, during some kind of international crisis, a war or hostages or something. Papa was furious and had to watch every minute. He kind of liked it; it took his mind off his problems. And then it got to be a habit, with various newscasters our nightly dinner guests.

“Bill,” Uncle Toddy drawled, “your dinner's getting frozen.”

“In a minute,” Papa called from the den. We could hear him yanking open the file cabinet drawers. Later, Honey would go in there and clean up his mess. Look, Papa: The elves were here again!

“Honey,” Mama said, “Bradley called this afternoon. I forgot to tell you. He wants you to call him tonight.”

“Okay, Mama.” She was wolfing down her dinner as if she hadn't eaten for a week. Maybe she hadn't. She's looking shabby lately. Her lips are dry and cracked.

I looked around the table and really saw my family. When the TV's on, we hide in the noise. The silence shone on us like a spotlight, stripping us of our shadows.

Mama was beautiful but dry and brittle, like a flower pressed in a book long ago.

My brother was the color of the milk he wasn't drinking. His skin was waxy. He was picking the skin off his chicken.

Uncle Toddy was a beacon of health. His body was tough and slender. He's been lifting weights; he's been working out. At night his barbells thump the floor.

Honey's neck had been chewed like the bones on her plate. Her blouse clearly framed the hickeys, red mouths crying out. But nobody said:
By the way, have you been dating a werewolf lately
? Mama asked Honey about a basketball game. Honey poured on the pep: That game was so great! Richie's eyes rolled until his sockets were white, as if he were blind, which is what he wishes.

I saw everything clearly, an eye in the sky, as objective as God, and as far away.

My father gave up on finding the warranty, or forgot what he was looking for, and came back to the table. He seemed to notice the bruises on Honey's neck, and I thought: This is it!

But he sat down and ate his dinner. If Honey came to the table with an axe in her head, would he say, “Hon, your part is crooked”?

Looking around the table I almost laughed. You laugh or you cry until your guts pour out and you're inside out and the pain of it kills you. What a family! We're afraid that if we open our mouths the truth will jump out and ignite the air and the house will burst into flames. Instead, it smolders.

I wondered about those bruises on Honey's neck. There were two possibilities: Bradley Curtis or Uncle Vampire. If Uncle Toddy had attacked her, Honey's scream would have awakened me. Unless I was too exhausted. I can't stay awake every minute of my life.

“And there's cobbler for dessert,” my uncle announced.

My mother looked at him as if he'd burst into song. It took a minute for her brain to decode the message. She lives in her head, not in this house.

Then she perked up and described her day, in detail. We were with her as she curled and mascaraed each lash; as she toured the produce aisle at the supermarket and personally selected each banana.

Papa tossed Uncle Toddy the brochure for the cruise. “You see this? It shows the ship and the island.”

Uncle Toddy examined the colorful pamphlet. It was full of photographs of people swimming, fishing, waterskiing, smiling.

“They say the food on these cruises is unbelievable,” Uncle Toddy said. “You better figure on gaining five pounds.”

“It better be good, at these prices,” Papa said.

Honey looked at the brochure too, but Richie didn't take it.

Papa was talking about the trip. I was having trouble listening. Something about the words frightened me away.

“—for a week, but I figured it would take her that long to relax.”

“Stay as long as you like,” Uncle Toddy said.

“How long are you going to be gone?” I asked.

“Two weeks,” Papa said. “Weren't you listening?”

“Two weeks?”

“Don't worry,” Uncle Toddy said. “We'll be fine.”

I started to speak, but Honey cut me off and blabbed some more about the fabulous dinner. Uncle Toddy ate up every word.

He will drink my blood, drink every drop. It is never enough, he is always thirsty. When they return from their trip, it will be too late to save me. I'll be nothing but bones and hair.

After dessert Honey went into the den and picked up the files lying on the floor. Uncle Toddy said he'd see about the TV set tomorrow.

“It might be cheaper to get a new one,” he said.

“Whatever,” Papa said, reading the newspaper.

I did the dishes. Then I went upstairs to the bathroom and locked the door. The white tile was so bright it burned my eyes. A shining clean mirror covered one wall. I turned on the radio Richie keeps in there. Wherever he is, he has to have noise. Silence can be scary; you can hear your heart beating, you can hear what your mind is thinking. You think about stuff that makes you sad, like hungry dogs lost on city streets, and kids who get abused and they're crying and crying. There's no use thinking about things you can't fix, so it's better not to have those pictures in your mind. I pray to God. I say, Dear God, why do you let this bad stuff happen? Grammy says it's not His fault; that the devil is strong because lots of people give him their power. They choose evil over good, and wrong over right. But little children get hurt, and they never had a choice. They come into this world and get hit in the face, and it makes me sick. It makes me wish I wasn't alive. Especially when I'm down. So if you put on the radio sometimes it helps drown out the sad thoughts in your mind.

I opened the medicine cabinet and took out the scissors. My bangs needed trimming. I snipped and snipped. The next thing I knew, I had cut off half my hair. A golden flag was lying on the floor. The girl in the mirror smiled calmly at me. The hair on one side of her head was long; on the other side, it was stubble.

Once that was done I had to keep cutting, because you can't go around split down the middle. The hair slid from the scissors and fell to the floor. My white scalp gleamed through the bristles.

The radio cheered me up. The deejay chattered. The stuff he said was supposed to be funny. Listening, I thought: I take life too seriously. Everything changes. Hair grows back. I kept snipping and snipping. My hair was so thick. It hadn't been cut since I was little. I felt light and free. My head turned easily from side to side. Framed in the mirror I saw someone new, a solitary seed breaking through the ground.