- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Commercial & Creative Writing
Death of the Vampire -Two
June 05, 1954
Had lunch with mother today. I was already seated, when she arrived. I did this on purpose. If I am paying for a show, I am damn well going to watch it from the beginning. I sipped my Merlot, as I watched her make her grand entrance. She adjusted her face, perfecting the "concerned mother" mask, as she opened the door. When our eyes met, she smiled at me. The scorn hidden beneath the friendly gesture whispered secrets only I could hear.
After she sat, she reached for my hand "How are you, DARLING?" Before I could answer, she looked at my drink with disapproval "should you be drinking that dear? Does it not mix poorly with your medication?"
I smiled – I too can put on a mask – Plus, the joke was on her- I stopped taking my medication weeks ago "I am fine mother, one drink is not going to do any harm. "
She didn't have a chance to answer because the waiter, who had an impeccable sense of timing, took that opportunity to approach the table. A small glimpse of anger, then she took a moment to adjust her mask, and smiled politely at the waiter "We will both have a Cezar salad, and water to drink. That will be all."
I looked down in sorrow at my half empty glass of wine. How I wished I could implore him to just to bring me the bottle. I think he understood the tension in the air because he departed just as quickly as he had appeared – Oh How I envied him.
"We need to talk," she said. I nodded watching her heart beat in her Carotid Artery.
"you are Ruining your life. You have turned down multiple Job offers, at decent colleges, so that you can live out this silly fantasy of becoming a writer."
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, the beat sped up as her anger flared, turning her angry words, into a symphony of hate.
"After your father died, I worked myself half to death, so that you and your brother had a chance at life, I gave up my Life for yours, and this is how you are going to repay me?"
I Picked up my glass with the intention of gulping down the rest of the sweet calming liquid. As I did, I envisioned my hands wrapped around my mother's throat. Squeezing until the constant thumping stopped. The show was over, and the fat lady was about to sing.
Suddenly, my attention was drawn back to the table. The noise around me rose and fell, and the smell of food was mingled with the smell of iron. I noticed a look of unabashed horror come across my mother's face and realized my hand was starting to throb. I must have squeezed my wineglass too hard, as I raised it to my lips because suddenly there were shards of glass everywhere.
I looked at my fingers in awe, as the blood poured out, mixing with the wine on the table. I wondered what it tasted like. I bet mother knew.
I slowly raised my fingers to my lips, but before I could discover the secret, the waiter arrived, with a napkin to wrap around my hand. Lunch was over. A trip to the hospital and some stitches were in order. A small price to pay to get away from my mother's constant disapproval.
Oh well, nothing some fresh air won't fix. I have Nazi blood running through me. A little cut is not going to stop me.