Joe Vampire

POST 12



The More You Know



I'd like to address a few common misconceptions about We the Undead, a way of unscrewing some of the nuts and bolts of vampirition now that I have more personal experience with such matters. In no particular order:

• Garlic repels them – This is only sort of true. It’s not the most pleasant smell in the world for us – kind of like sweaty crotch boiled in apple cider vinegar – but if you can get past that, there’s no reason you can’t enjoy a nice pesto once in a while.

• Crosses ward them off – For the Christian vampires, maybe. I’m Jewish, though – remotely, but still. So crosses don’t have the intended effect. A mezuzah might do some damage, or maybe a Star of David. Haven’t tried it though, and I’m not about to go looking for trouble.

• They have no reflections – Not true. I still see myself in every shiny surface, pale and gaunt, a cruel token of the fact that I’m not as I used to be. Digital photography doesn’t do me any favors, however. But that could just be poor lighting on white skin. Nothing a bit of Photoshopping can’t take care of.

• A stake through the heart will kill them – Really, wouldn’t that kill anybody? I have no heartbeat though, so there’s no telling at this point. Let's just hope I never have to find out.

This experience has been a lot like learning the ugly scoop about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Ziggy Stardust all in one truth-revealing go-around. Only in this case, I’m sort of happy to learn that whatever I’ve come to believe about the magical land of Vampiria was going to be less magical than all the fictional mumbo-jumbo had let on. I would much rather have heard that Santa and Ziggy were real and vampires were bogus, though; in that scenario, everyone makes out like a bandit and no one craves anyone else’s blood. Just cookies and super-bad haircuts. But you don’t always get to choose what ends up as fantasy and what turns out to be reality. Sometimes you have to ride the wave you land on and dodge the rocks as best you can.

For the moment, I’m just hanging ten until I hit the shore.

After talking to Don, I realized that this was going to be a long-haul sort of thing. There will be no quick fix; I’ll have to tough it out, and somehow fit it into the life I’m still determined to have. The vital statistics don’t lie: as far as my major systems are concerned, I am not entirely living anymore. That means a whole lot of things will be different for me, all of which I’m still discovering as I go. And as isolating as it feels sometimes, I am not doing this entirely alone. I’m getting by with a little help from my friends.

One friend, at least. Now that he knows what’s going on.

I had fully intended to devise a way to hide the Vampire Within by covering up the Vampire Without. Once I had a handle on what the situation would be – even if was bound to change up a little as it progressed – I could at least fall back on a standard collection of lies and excuses that I would have at the ready. Who’s good for a full day of Warped Tour? Sorry, guys… three more ultraviolet rays and this freckle will be a melanoma. Join us for happy hour at the Samurai Ham On Rye? Not after the last time, thanks – previously undiagnosed fish allergy. You’re looking a little peaked… are you okay? Iron deficiency… just need to up my spinach intake. I could totally play this off, with my workmates, my family – just about everyone.

But not with Hube.

And anyway, after everything I’d learned I knew I had to unload on someone. Aside from my sister, who would be hard-pressed not to share it with the rest of my family, he’s the only one I would go with something so enormous. Fortunately, I didn’t have to go to him.

He came to me.

He showed up one Wednesday night and walked right in, which isn't anything different for him. I thought maybe I’d missed another practice, but I saw right away he wasn’t here for music. His hair was combed, his shirt buttoned up to his chin. He looked stern and sort of preacherly, like he'd been rolling through the neighborhood passing out postcards with Biblical scriptures on them. He was even carrying a little black book. When he laid it on the table, I read the title: How to Conduct an Intervention.

Oops.

Then he began conducting. “Hey, Joseph.” He never calls me Joseph unless he has a point to make. “I think we need to have a talk.”

I started in with something sarcastic, then decided it probably wasn’t the best approach given the touchiness of the situation and changed course. “You’re right, Hube. We do.”

I don’t think he expected that. “I’ve been worried about you lately. You’ve been… different… since you got sick.” He made little air quotes when he said it. “I thought you’d be better by now, and then you blew off the doctor… do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

“Dude, it’s not what you’re thinking – believe me.”

“And what am I thinking, Joe? Hmmm?” Whoa. He was calm, superior and condescending – all at the same time. And he wasn’t cursing at all, not even PG-rated stuff. He had really rehearsed this. “What is it that I’m thinking right now?”

Without even trying, I picked up his thoughts. Since we're pretty much on the same wavelength anyway, I figured it would be easy. And it was, almost like Radio Hube had switched itself on in my brain. It was even easier than it had been with the nurse. I read it all to him, word for word: You weren’t sick; you started hitting the smack and now you’re trying to hide the fact that you’ve become addicted. “Hitting the smack, Hube? Is that from your book? Come on… you know me better than that.” His mouth dropped. Holy f*ck… you just read my mind! “I know… yours and everyone else’s. It’s freaking me out big-time, and I really need your help with what’s causing it. But it has nothing to do with drugs.” This is some sort of trick… something you learned on You Tube. “Not a You Tube trick, buddy – something else. Something way worse.” I don’t believe this. “I don’t believe it either, but it’s true." He fell totally silent, except for a few incredulous squeaks. We had just held a two-way conversation with me doing all the talking, yet he still couldn't get what was happening.

I would have to prove it to him on his own terms.

"Okay," I told him, "let's try this another way. Think of something totally random – anything, whatever comes into your head – and I’ll tell you what it is. Okay? Anything – no holds barred.” He eyed me warily. "Whenever you're ready." Then it came. “Dodgeball. Paper clip. Chicken leg. Pamela Anderson’s left nipple. Dodgeball again.”

Hit, hit, hit, hit. And hit.

Hube was not prepared for something like this. Honestly, who would be? He sank onto the couch. “I thought you needed an intervention, not an exorcism.”

“It’s not like that, Hube,” I assured him.

He didn’t believe me. I don’t think he knew what to believe, actually. “What’s it like then? Tell me, Joe, what is it like? You’re pale as hell; you don’t seem to eat anymore. You won’t go outside; you hide out in your house all the time. You’re gone from work for nine goddamn days and I can’t get you to pick up the f*cking phone! Were you sick, dude, or were you strung out, or were you possessed by the devil? And what are you right now? ‘Cause I’m watching my best friend go through some pretty dark shit here, and I feel like there’s nothing I can do to get him out of it.” He was crying. “So what the f*ck?”

Yikes. I was so busy worrying about what had happened that I hadn't stopped to realize I wasn’t the only one who was being affected by it.

The human part of me that was still in there felt like a total shit.

I flopped down next to him on the couch. “First up: I’m not on anything, Hube – I swear to you, I’m not. I know how well junkies can pull off a lie, but I would never lie to you about something like that. Plus, you know how I feel about putting foreign substances in my body, right? Germs and everything?” He accepted that. "And as tempting as I'm sure it would be for any demon to get all up on my sweet ass, I’m not possessed, either.” That made him laugh a little. “But close.”

That didn’t.

I spent the next two hours explaining to him what had happened at Pomme, and my conversation with Don, and everything that had gone on between the two, right up until the minute he walked in the door. He was dumbstruck, which made me sort of glad for the mindreading thing. Is this even possible? “I wouldn’t have thought it was, until all the fun-filled features started showing up. The doctor visit was enlightening, though. Hard to deny a missing heartbeat.”

Hube was quiet for a while. I just let him absorb it all. “Sorry I accused you of being on drugs, dude. That wasn’t cool.”

I waved it off. “Forget it. You were trying to help me out. How were you supposed to know I was a vampire and not a crackhead? I made it kind of difficult to tell the difference.” The tension was fading. “Sorry for waiting so long to tell you. It hasn't been easy to find the right way to say it. Bet you wish I really had been on drugs after finding all this out, huh?”

He chuckled weakly. “Nah… we’ll figure it out,” he said, not sounding terribly confident about it. I, on the other hand, couldn't have been more relieved to have spilled it all to someone – to Hube, especially. I kind of felt like I had a partner in vampirism now.

“Thanks anyway for the intervention. Aren’t there supposed to be a few more people at these things?” He told me he’d called my parents, but tonight was a new episode of Breaking Bad, and they wondered if this couldn’t be done next week instead. My sister was out of town; my brother didn’t pick up the phone. “That sounds about right.”

Hube looked sort of embarrassed. “But I didn’t want to wait any longer. So you just get me… an intervention of one.” I slugged his shoulder.

As it turns out, one was all I needed.