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“Please, for the love of all things unholy, Cheryl, invite me inside the restaurant! I don’t care about all the crosses, holy water, or garlic hanging about, I brought my epipen and antihistamines. If the chef attempts on my life, so be it. But what you’re doing is actively endangering me more than he, Cheryl!”
She laughs, standing on the other side of the door threshold. This normally wouldn’t be an issue, but because the owner of the restaurant lives upstairs, this is considered their front door.
“This isn’t funny Cheryl! I don’t care how pretty Edgar makes burning alive look, I didn’t bring my umbrella!”
“I dunno, maybe we should just eat out here since you’re so insistent. You’re wearing sunscreen anyway…”
“No, SPF 100 doesn’t protect me completely, we are not eating outside. The sun is rising Cheryl. We could be inside ordering by now, there’s a reason we came here early. We have been standing here ten minutes too long. The sun is peeking around the corner. Cheryl please, my aloe plant is going to die if you do this again.”
Cheryl rolls her eyes and points to my ankle smirking, which brings to my attention the distinct smell of smoke.
I jump further into the shadow of the building, patting out the small fire at the hem of my trousers. “Cheryl, please, think about the plant. Think about Vera! You wouldn’t want Vera to die would you?”
“Fine, you can come inside, old man.” Cheryl mocks while moving aside and motioning for me to move across the threshold. “But only because I know Vera is down to two leaves.”
“Keep this up and I am going to kill you one of these days, you know!”
“Oh, I know. I’ll just make sure to swap my jewelry out for silver and clean ‘em with holy water. You really need to find another vampire buddy to go to dinner with you.” She wandered in
“I wouldn’t have this issue if your grandfather had managed to kill the last vampire that was in Venice before she bit me. Then I would only be lactose intolerant and still be able to attend church without screaming into a pillow during sermons. There’s a reason vampires don’t come to Italy, it’s why your grandfather came here to retire, Van Helsing.”
“I have to admire your determination to come to church despite all the crosses and blessings, not to mention the holy water.” She paused, thinking about something that brought a smirk to her face, “Remember when I brought a squirt gun and filled it with holy water? That was hilarious!”
“I almost died that day Cheryl, you were a terrifying twelve year old. Not to mention when you put a cross inside the pillow and replaced the handle of my umbrella with one. I’m sure Mrs. Valentino is enjoying using it, I saw her showing it off to the knitting club the other day. I really liked that umbrella too, it didn’t break under the wind and had a pleasant design as well…”
“Look on the bright side, you’ve had that thing forever and you got to go home with my umbrella instead!”
“Of course, how could I forget, the frog umbrella is in the container by the door at home. I’ve received many looks from passersby while getting groceries.”
“You’re welcome!”
The young woman, barely twenty-two now, had been playing mean spirited pranks on me since she could first talk. The first words out of her mouth were “Bless you.” Fitting for the adoptive daughter of a priest, terrible for the godfather, myself, babysitting her at the time. Did I mention I was her godfather? Right, her grandfather and I were good friends before I got bit that fateful night, and he didn’t kill me. Instead, it might be argued by other vampires that he did something a bit worse. He locked me in the cellar of the church, surrounded by holy water and crosses. He sat at the steps out of the cellar, draped in garlic and armed with holy water pistols, along with some real ones, and rolled me tomatoes to eat. It was humiliating. I did however, get plenty of vitamin C, and eventually iron pills to help with the new deficiency developed by my affliction while recovering from the transformation.
But I’m getting off into a tangent, and while thinking about all of this Cheryl and I have sat down and I didn’t even get to read the menu. I think she ordered for both of us, because a waitress just returned to the kitchen to put the menus away. I’m scared. I like garlic, but I only have so much medication in my bag. Cheryl sits across from me, green eyes upturned as she slowly eats garlic bread. My eyes are already watery from the cloves hanging on the wall behind me.
The waitress brings out a plate of steaming pasta covered in red sauce.
“Extra garlic, just like you ordered.”
In life, I loved garlic dishes. I still do. Though, vampirism does get terribly in the way, with the allergy and all. Luckily, it isn’t fatal, and with the right amount of medicine I can enjoy it almost the same as when I was alive. Almost. I thanked the waitress and gave her a tip for whatever else would occur during our stay. I’ve made it my goal this year to enjoy each and every restaurant in and around town. I’ve visited eleven so far, with Cheryl as my adventure partner, this will be the twelfth and final one on my list, conveniently in the heart of town.
“Are you ready?” Cheryl’s blond bob bounced as she readied a camera and set of silverware not actually made of silver. “Saaaay, garlic!”
“Garlic!” I could smell it wafting off the plate, mixed in with the sauce. A flash of light and the picture was complete, hastily turned into a selfie by Cheryl. She examined the photo, a growing grin covering her face.
“Alright, let’s eat!” She passed a fork to me and began to swirl pasta around her own. The plate was quite large.
I mirrored her action, cautiously raising the fork to my mouth before plunging it into my mouth, careful to avoid the incisors that crowded much of my mouth. The grit of the noodles, the chunk of the sauce, and the spice of the garlic melded as a beautiful flavor bouquet on my tongue. I can feel the sting in my eyes. Another bite. Tears begin to blur my vision. Another. My nose is running. Another. I can only hope it looks like I am crying out of satisfaction. Another. Snot blends with sauce, making the metal of the fork sticky. Another. No, the pasta is gone. I reach for a napkin, cleaning off my hands of any oil. My eyes of tears so I can see. I blow my nose, it was already red and irritated so it doesn’t change much. Cheryl sits across from me, having long finished her plate there is only a slight residue of the sauce remaining.
“Are you full? Need a second helping?” She points at my plate with her fork, swinging it idly like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.
“I’m quite fine, thank you.” I regain my composure and begin to stand. The world spins for a moment and I sit back down. “Perhaps we will rest for a little while.”
“Suit yourself,” she says this and brings out her phone.
I am getting old, too old. I am old but my face remains young. Or, as young as the face of a pale forty year old can look. There is only so much that vitamins, supplements, and small meals can do. I haven’t drank blood. I offered, but it was too late for Adam. He no longer wished to live, much less as one of the very beings that he hunted for so long. I serve little purpose as a godfather, only here to take the place of the grandfather no longer here. My friend, my comrade in arms. We fought together. Shot together. Studied together. Now that I have finished my business on this earth, we shall lie together.
As we wait in this restaurant, a grave is being dug and an empty coffin lies beside it. The grave is next to his. It has been many years since I last saw him. Since he left this world. It has been too long. I have been too long. Cheryl no longer has a need for a secondary guardian.
“Let us be on our way.”
Cheryl slowly follows me out of the restaurant. We bid farewell to the owner behind the counter.
The walk to the graveyard is slow and anxious. I am far too well dressed for an average day. I am dressed like a corpse. Too formal for grocery shopping but too casual for a party.
“I don’t want to see you go” cries a breaking voice.
“I have long passed my expiration date. It passed four years ago when you turned eighteen.” I took an antihistamine and opened a frog umbrella from my bag. I had forgotten I had packed it.
“Just because something expires doesn’t mean it has to go, you could be a twinkie.”
“Cheryl, twinkies are disgusting and artificial and outside of the natural cycle. I do not wish to be a frosting filled pastry of dubious making.”
She laughs. Amused shortly, but quickly somber. “What am I supposed to do without you, how will I find good food?”
“I’ve left a list of all the restaurants we visited, several recipes, and grocers who would be happy to help. I’m sorry, but I’ve made my decision.”
“I shouldn’t have let you into the restaurant…” She’s looking at the ground.
I continue walking, the rest is silent. Edging up to the hill of graves, crosses are scattered everywhere. Corpses are pinned into the ground, unable to rise. The ambient energy of the crosses makes me feel ill. I avoid bumping into them.
The group is small. Just a few from the church. Some are here to cheer at my exit. Cheryl’s father stands by, waiting for my approach.
“Hello father.”
“Hello Charles.”
“Please proceed.”
He nodded and I moved towards the casket. Bright green frog umbrella in hand. I feel a tug on my coat. It’s Cheryl. She’s crying still, eyes puffy and nose scrunched up.
She remains silent. Hand gripped firmly on pressed fabric. It slips through her grasp as I march forward towards death. Towards Adam. Towards the afterlife.
Cheryl’s father begins his speech, slow and monotonous. The crowd whispers, I hear a few goodbyes and a few giggles and see a smirk.
The coffin has a silver dagger with a cross hilt built into the lid. It is otherwise not ornate. I do not plan to spend my undeath in here after all. The knife is there for a very simple reason, to pierce my heart when the coffin and my story comes to a close.
The speech drones on. I hear crying, pleading. Cheryl always was one to never show her true feelings on something until the last minute. But this is goodbye.
Goodbye Clark, you pesky priest. The one who adopted a child who would grow to be my pride and joy.
Goodbye Ms. Valentino, your knitting club loves you dearly. I hope the umbrella treats you well but this one’s mine.
Goodbye heavily garlicked pasta. My favorite pleasure food. My kryptonite.
Goodbye Cheryl, my god daughter. My prankster. My partner. My friend. My family.
Goodbye.
The speech ends. The lid slams. The women cry, the crowd jeers, Ms. Valentino cheers. A small grunt echoes through the box. Then it is lowered, unbalanced and heavy. The clouds quickly part and so does the crowd, only four remain. The two diggers begin to shovel soil over the pine box. Only two flowers join the dirt covering the top. Two flowers, and a picture of a happy man eating pasta with his goddaughter, one of a large collection of photos, but the only copy of this one.
“Why did he have to go?”
“It was his time. Time comes for us all dear.”
“He had so much time. He wasn’t on a clock like the rest of us, he could have lived! Why didn’t he choose to live?”
“Infinity is a different kind of time darling. It eats away at the mind and heart instead of the bones and lungs. It makes you watch as those around you change while you remain static. It’s not a blessing, it’s a curse.”
“He could have…He could’ve stayed with us. He could have stayed with me.” She shivered and couldn’t bring herself to look at the steadily filling hole in the ground.
“I know… I know. He didn’t want to stay. He wanted to leave.”
“If he wanted to leave he could have explored the world outside of Italy, he could have come back.”
“You and I both know that he did not make enough as an accountant to support his eating habits, rent, and a plane ticket out of here. Besides, you would never drive him to the airport if you knew he was going to be gone for any amount of time.”
“You’re right about that, he would need a taxi to leave.” She gave a small chuckle.
Suddenly, among the shoveling a muffled pounding could be heard. One of the diggers paused and began to investigate. “What the hell? The dirt’s shifting!” The pounding continued.
Cheryl ran towards the open grave, “Dig him back up! He’s still alive!” She grabbed the still stunned digger’s shovel and began to sloppily remove the dirt, tossing the flowers and photo out of the way. Eventually, she reached the pine box, nailed shut. “Someone get a crowbar, help me open this thing up!”
A few minutes pass and eventually the other digger returns with a crowbar in hand. They pry off the lid, revealing a very panicked Charles and an only slightly bloody knife.
“My goodness I thought I was going to be stuck down there forever! Clark, I thought you said you fixed the knife in place properly. I’m not dead, just slightly burnt! It barely pricked me, much less impaled me!” He sat up, using the lid to steady as he stood. “We’ll have to try again with more concrete methods. You’re no good at designing mechanisms Clark. Oh,” He paused, now aware of Cheryl standing above him from the edge of the grave.
“What were you thinking? What if you regretted it last minute and the knife had worked. What then?” She was crying again, heavy tears gliding down her cheeks like a stream over a rocky ledge. She jumped down into the grave beside him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“I wasn’t, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated those words over and over as she cried puddles of tears into the shoulder of his coat. An embrace that would not be cut short. No longer was he thinking of the great beyond. No longer was he trapped with the worms, the suffocating darkness, and heat of metal he could not bring himself to push up onto. No longer was he so sure he wanted to die. No longer did he want to leave of his own accord. He cried too.
“Thank you, good sirs.” I said to the gravediggers. They shrugged and went to rest by a tree, giving our family some time to ourselves. No longer did their shadows cover me from the sun’s rays. A light smoke rose from the back of my neck, I did not bother to care. It takes a long time to do any real damage. Clark stands above the grave, pointing to the umbrella I had taken with me into it. I bend down, picking it up, gently moving Cheryl as she continues to weep before handing it up to Clark. “You never made the knife long enough to harm me did you?”
“No, I knew my father wouldn’t want you to join him so soon. Neither does Cheryl, or I for that matter.” He waved his hand before opening the umbrella and creating shade above the grave. The conversation fell upon deaf ears as Cheryl tried to wipe her tears.
I brought out a handkerchief for her to dab at her eyes. Instead, she blew her nose and returned the handkerchief to my breast pocket. Gross, but expected. I motioned for Clark to come closer and picked up Cheryl by the waist, lifting her up and out of the grave. It took some help on my part to help get her all the way out after Clark took her in his arms. Despite being adopted, she looked the part of his daughter, sharing peridot green eyes and ash blonde hair. Next, it was my turn to leave the grave. I wasn’t a big fan of touching the dirt, a bit of a nuisance to try and pull myself up gripping to holy land. Clark reached out and aided my ascension to the surface.
“Let’s go home,” I whispered. Cheryl nodded. We began walking before Cheryl turned and ran back to the gravesite.
“Oh no no no!” She cried as we ran up behind.
“What’s wrong? Did you drop something?”
“It’s ruined!” She held up a torn photo of us at the restaurant earlier. My face was already red from the cloves hanging in the window beside me. A full plate of spaghetti between us. The polaroid was labeled ‘12! Sarah Lee May’s’ at the bottom, the number the restaurant was on our list and the name. The photo was torn and covered in dirt, stained with clay. She began to tear up again.
“It’s okay,” I said, “We can go there again. This time, your father can join us. It will be even better than before.” I rested my hand on her shoulder.
“Really?” She cocked her head to the side, a single tear running down her face. Shocked out of her sorrow. A small expecting smile on her face. “Then let’s go there right now!”
“Sure. How about we visit all twelve restaurants on our list going backwards starting at Sarah Lee May’s? This time, your father can join us as well, isn’t that right Clark?”
“Right, I wouldn't miss it for the world.” Clark did not like garlic, much less going out to eat. His eyes were pained but his mouth was pinned in a forced smile.
“It’s settled then. I’m quite peckish for dinner. Let us be off now.” I said as we all walked out of the graveyard and back towards the heart of town. Covered in dirt, smelling slightly burnt, and under a shared bright green frog umbrella.
“You may come inside,” says Cheryl, no longer worried. We all sit down, this time I order.
“One large plate of pasta please, extra garlic!”