blinded the camera with all that light coming off you.”
“Light?” he said. “No way. I’m a dark soul. But what I really want to know is, who are you?”
The Questions
T hat night Jared and I drove to the beach. We spread out towels and sat on the sand, looking out at the horizon as the sun fell slowly into the sea.
“What were you like when you were human?”
“A girl.”
“How old are you?”
“Never ask a lady her age. It’s rude.”
“Sorry.”
“Accepted.”
“What were your parents like?”
“Refined, intellectual, creative, a bit remote.”
“What happened to them?”
“They died. In an accident. A long time ago. Fortunately, long enough not to understand what had happened to me.”
“Do you miss being human?”
“Yes. Terribly. And yet I fear it after so long.”
“How can you live in the light?”
“That is a myth.”
“Mirrors?”
“A myth. I have a reflection. But I dislike mirrors.”
“Why?”
“The mythology is powerful. It makes me tense. I’m always surprised when I see anything there at all.”
“But do you like what you see?”
“No. It doesn’t feel like me.”
“What would?”
“I suppose a girl with duller skin and hair who looks like she is about to turn eighteen. My eyes look a hundred years old.”
“So you still eat human food?”
“I still eat the food I ate when I was like you. Blood tastes good, or it did, but is not the only way to survive.”
“Crosses?”
“They give me a queer feeling, but they can’t hurt me. I think some of them are pretty. I’d like to wear one as a necklace—a big one, ornate—but that seems like taunting fate.”
“Stakes?”
“I don’t know. I am not brave enough to find out.”
“Who made you?”
“William.”
“Why did he do it?”
“He loved me. As much as one of us can love, but maybe that isn’t the right word for it.”
“Did you love him?”
“I believed I did. I needed him, I thought. I was grief-stricken.”
“Why?”
“I had lost my twin brother.”
Jared hesitated, then covered my hand with his. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
I lowered my head. Why did I still feel it after so long? Suddenly I felt it more than I had since it had happened. Jared’s voice was lower when he spoke again.
“What was his name?”
“Charles.”
“What was he like?”
“Like me before I was changed, but sweeter and taller, with black hair.”
“How did he die?”
“Rheumatic fever.”
“What did you do?”
“I wept. I wept until I was as dry as an old woman. Then I let William Eliot find me.”
“Eliot? Mr. Eliot?”
“Yes. You are a quick study.”
“That’s why he’s here? For you?”
“I don’t know why he is here.”
“That’s why you left school?”
“Yes.”
“Will he change me?”
“Don’t even speak of it. Stay away from him, Jared.”
“I can’t. I’m in his English class.”
“Stay away!”
“You didn’t.”
“I do now. And I was vulnerable because of my…”
He moved his hand away. “What? Your grief? Unlike me, that is! What about my grief? What about Emily?”
“It is not the solution, believe me. Then you have to live without her forever. It’s much worse.”
“But do you feel loss the same way? After the change, did you feel loss the same?”
“Oh, no, darling boy. I felt loss more than everbefore. I feel an eternity of loss from which I cannot escape or relieve with tears, because we cannot cry.”
“But you’re crying now. Your face is wet.”
I put my fingers to my cheeks. He was right. They were damp with tears. I had not cried since my change. How could this be?
The sun had disappeared by now. Even the glow along the horizon was gone. For the first time in almost a century, I regretted, with a bittersweet melancholy, the loss of the day. I knew, at that moment, how much I must be transforming. Not only was I weeping, but I felt a stirring in my throat and chest and deep in my belly.
“Light?” he said. “No way. I’m a dark soul. But what I really want to know is, who are you?”
The Questions
T hat night Jared and I drove to the beach. We spread out towels and sat on the sand, looking out at the horizon as the sun fell slowly into the sea.
“What were you like when you were human?”
“A girl.”
“How old are you?”
“Never ask a lady her age. It’s rude.”
“Sorry.”
“Accepted.”
“What were your parents like?”
“Refined, intellectual, creative, a bit remote.”
“What happened to them?”
“They died. In an accident. A long time ago. Fortunately, long enough not to understand what had happened to me.”
“Do you miss being human?”
“Yes. Terribly. And yet I fear it after so long.”
“How can you live in the light?”
“That is a myth.”
“Mirrors?”
“A myth. I have a reflection. But I dislike mirrors.”
“Why?”
“The mythology is powerful. It makes me tense. I’m always surprised when I see anything there at all.”
“But do you like what you see?”
“No. It doesn’t feel like me.”
“What would?”
“I suppose a girl with duller skin and hair who looks like she is about to turn eighteen. My eyes look a hundred years old.”
“So you still eat human food?”
“I still eat the food I ate when I was like you. Blood tastes good, or it did, but is not the only way to survive.”
“Crosses?”
“They give me a queer feeling, but they can’t hurt me. I think some of them are pretty. I’d like to wear one as a necklace—a big one, ornate—but that seems like taunting fate.”
“Stakes?”
“I don’t know. I am not brave enough to find out.”
“Who made you?”
“William.”
“Why did he do it?”
“He loved me. As much as one of us can love, but maybe that isn’t the right word for it.”
“Did you love him?”
“I believed I did. I needed him, I thought. I was grief-stricken.”
“Why?”
“I had lost my twin brother.”
Jared hesitated, then covered my hand with his. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
I lowered my head. Why did I still feel it after so long? Suddenly I felt it more than I had since it had happened. Jared’s voice was lower when he spoke again.
“What was his name?”
“Charles.”
“What was he like?”
“Like me before I was changed, but sweeter and taller, with black hair.”
“How did he die?”
“Rheumatic fever.”
“What did you do?”
“I wept. I wept until I was as dry as an old woman. Then I let William Eliot find me.”
“Eliot? Mr. Eliot?”
“Yes. You are a quick study.”
“That’s why he’s here? For you?”
“I don’t know why he is here.”
“That’s why you left school?”
“Yes.”
“Will he change me?”
“Don’t even speak of it. Stay away from him, Jared.”
“I can’t. I’m in his English class.”
“Stay away!”
“You didn’t.”
“I do now. And I was vulnerable because of my…”
He moved his hand away. “What? Your grief? Unlike me, that is! What about my grief? What about Emily?”
“It is not the solution, believe me. Then you have to live without her forever. It’s much worse.”
“But do you feel loss the same way? After the change, did you feel loss the same?”
“Oh, no, darling boy. I felt loss more than everbefore. I feel an eternity of loss from which I cannot escape or relieve with tears, because we cannot cry.”
“But you’re crying now. Your face is wet.”
I put my fingers to my cheeks. He was right. They were damp with tears. I had not cried since my change. How could this be?
The sun had disappeared by now. Even the glow along the horizon was gone. For the first time in almost a century, I regretted, with a bittersweet melancholy, the loss of the day. I knew, at that moment, how much I must be transforming. Not only was I weeping, but I felt a stirring in my throat and chest and deep in my belly.
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