Nanowrimo - 22

Apprehension rises out of my gut like bees swarming from a hive, but I cannot avoid this boy.

Jack tugs on my arm “Let’s just go!”

I turn to him briefly, shaking my head, and step over to intercept the boy. He notices my shadow on the concrete before him before he notices me standing there. Looking up, the sunlight makes his face squirm and he squints to make me out. “Hello” I volunteer.

Must be not even 12. He certainly hasn’t had any sort of growth spurt, yet, and he certainly doesn’t exude the milk of human kindness. He steps back, keeping his arms folded tight at his chest. “w-chu wawn, lady? You another social worker comin round here to pester me and ma momma?”

“No, I’m not a social worker at all. My name is Eleanor, and I think you will find we have quite a lot in common. What is your name?”

“I gots nothin’ in common whit chu lady! What you come draggin’ yo sorry white ass around heya fo? You is a social worker, I can tell.” And with this he tries to push past me. But, I’m a little tougher to push aside than he realized.

“You’re not like other kids, are you? They’ve always seemed to stay away from you and you don’t know why. You think maybe its something you did or how you talk, or maybe you smell, but you don’t know.” He slows down a bit. “You have violent dreams in which you are a wild animal and you often wake up to find that you’ve destroyed the room where you sleep. Torn things up. Chewed on things. You don’t eat food. It tastes like nothing. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t hungry, does it? Sometimes you crave something to eat but know it would be unacceptable” He has stopped and looks up at me, still suspicious but interested. “Your top jaw sometimes aches. You wonder what blood tastes like. You see it spattered around in a TV show and it just looks sooo delicious! Doesn’t it?”

“What chu tryin to say? How you know ‘bout all that?”

“ I went through it, too. So did Jack, here. We, all three of us, have the same nature.”

Black eyes like two beads dart back and forth from Jack to me. “Whuzzat? What nature is zat?”

“First, my question. What is your name?”

After yet more hesitation he volunteers “m’names Artie. Now wha chu talkin’ about? What my nature?”

“Artie,” how does one explain this to a 12 year old? “We’re what you would call vampires.”

“WHAT!!! NAW SUHH! You is crazy! Nuh uh!!” I guess I should have expected that explosion. “You git on outta here!” he starts to back away, as if to run away from us.

Jack steps in to intercept him “Listen to us! You know it’s true. Think about it. Think about what you find yourself craving to eat – you want blood, don’t you? Tell me I’m wrong and we’ll leave you alone, but I’m not wrong – am I?”

He stops backing away and I see the incredulous fear in his eyes melt into recognition. “You means other folks get that way?”

“Yes, lots of people actually. We two, you, many many others live off human blood. We’ve always existed. It’s just the way we’re born.”

“I was born wit dis? Like I caught it from someone in my family?”

“It’s not a disease! It’s as natural as the fact that you’re a boy.”

“You twos is vampires?” He asks incredulously.

“The proper term is ‘once born’.” I inform him.

“Once-wha? I don’t gets it. Aren’t vampires supposed to wear black and have pointy teeth? You folks look like ten miles of bad road!” And he breaks into laughter. Ok, so I didn’t clean up too good after my morning feed and the patchwork quilt coat and denims are a bit, well, Iowa. Jack just looks like a bit of a dandy.

“Well, black isn’t really my style. We only need our teeth when we, uh, feed.”

“YOU kills people?”

“When I need to drink, yes I do. We all do.”

The twist this takes in his little mind surprises even me. From a skinny, shy, distrusting kid, right before our eyes he morphs into a little megalomaniac with dreams of terrorizing the neighborhood. “Cooool! This means if anyone bug me I can just kill ‘em! I’m a have super human strenth! I’se can fight now and throw people aroun’! An if anyones bugs me I just show em the fangs! AHHHH! An I make people pay me to not kill ‘em!”

While Artie jumps around with excitement planning his oligarchy of terror over the Robert Taylor homes, Jack turns to me. “I knew we should have just left him alone. God! I hate dealing with kids.”

“I know what you mean!” I share as I grin back at him. “We have to do this, Jack.

Finally, I catch Artie’s attention. “Look, Artie, man you gotta calm down. It’s not like that. It’s not like the movies at all – those are just stories people have been pulling out of folk tales for centuries. It’s just entertainment, not real. And most of that is just about repressed sexuality, anyways. And it is certainly not something you want to have attention called to. ”

He looks so disappointed. “You means I won’t be able to kill people I hates?”

“You will only kill to preserve yourself. The same way mortals eat. No one kills chickens for pleasure. Even normal people kill to eat.”

“Won’ I git super human strenth?”

Jack steps forward. “You can be strong but you’re going to spend a lot of time being hyper sensitive and grandiose.”

“Whazzat mean?”

“It means you have a lot to learn, young man.” I volunteer

“It means you can’t stay here, not for long. You need to be around your own kind, at least for a while.” Jack continues. And then Jack makes the kid an offer, which surprises me. “You must come with us. Now. Now that you know what you are things are only going to go badly for you here.” And he extends a hand for Artie to take.

But Artie slaps the hand away. “I ain’t goin wit no white folks. Can’t just up an leave momma like that! Nuh uh! I’m a stayin here! Make people afraid of ME! I’m a be rich and famous!”

“Look, I know that’s not going to work. We’re not going to force you. But if you change your mind, here’s my cell phone number.” And Jack hands the boy a slip of paper. “C’mon mum, lets get out of here.”

He grabs my elbow and aims us back toward the elevated train. We get on heading back downtown. “Someday, just someday, I’d like to go somewhere and not step into a hornets nest of trouble!” he whinges just after we find seats on the train.

I lean over, rubbing his shoulders “that’s part of reinvention, isn’t it? The alternative is death, remember? Or worse, Iowa.”

We find a decent hotel near downtown where I hole up in the bathroom, taking a long bath and shower, for about 2 hours. Embarrassed about my country-wear, Jack insists that we go shopping. Fashion and I have never gotten along too well. I like some of the new things but simply find the old more comforting. The absence of pinching tight undergarments cinching me into place still feels odd. After our spree is over, we’re passing through a drug store, bags in tow, to get some makeup for me when Jack nudges me and chuckles.

“Heya mum, it looks like your stunt made the papers!”

Sure enough, across the front a paper at the checkout the title “Vampires attack small town in Iowa!” is sprawled.

“Ah, the Weekly World News, now I’ve made the big time! I’m famous!”

The next morning Jack is trying to show me how to put all the make up onto my face when his cell phone goes off. After listening to the caller for a second he hands it over to me.

On the other end of the line, it’s Artie Jones. “M-miss Eleanor? Dis Artie, you remember me?” He’s sobbing.

“Yes I remember, of course. What is it? Did something happen?”

“I-I killed my momma! I didn’t know what I was doing, couldn’t stop myself. When I wuz done I realize I done killed momma! What I gonna do!”

Shit.

“Artie, calm down. Listen to me. Do you have a safe place? Do you have a place where you can go and no one finds you?”

“yes, I does. It’s under the overpass.”

“We’ll meet you there. Don’t worry, we’ll find you.”

I’m sure Chicago is a lovely city, but I continually manage to arrange these tours of its unsavory underbelly. Under the overpass leads us straight through a no-man’s land filled with the roar of cars. Artie crouches at the edge, looking so small I could miss him if I weren’t careful.

When he sees us he comes running up to me, then proceeds to start screaming and hitting me with his flailing arms. “It’s you fault! You fault I kill my momma! You hadn’t a come around with your ideas she’d be alive now! You fault!”

“Stop it!” I grab his shoulders. For the time being, I’m still stronger than he is. “We gave you the opportunity to come with us and we TOLD you that you had best leave. You made the choice not to listen! YOU did that Artie!” The struggling rage relents into shame and grief. I pull him close and hug him to me while he sobs. “Oh young man, if only the nature and the strength came with super intelligence, but it don’t. We never get past making mistakes, we just live long enough to work it out. I did something horrible, too. It’s okay. It’s okay.”