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Shirley is standing in the hallway in her sleeveless pink, knee-length nightgown. Her thin arms and legs look particularly spindly. She repeats herself. “John thinks he’s a vampire.” This is followed by a small moue of distaste.
I get up and go to the door, rolling my eyes. I peer around the door jamb, and there is John perched on the edge of the bed like a gargoyle or a grotesque, whatever, in his boxer shorts. He’s flexing his hands into claw-like positions on his knees and his expression is one of self-satisfied determination.
I think of Louis Jordan playing Dracula, flapping down the side of his castle to wreak havoc.
Louis Jordan as Dracula, flapping down the
side of his castle.
“Hey, John,” I say in a stern voice. “Cut this shit out and go to bed. You’re scaring Mom.”
John looks at me sadly and deflates like an old carnie balloon. It doesn’t take long for the vampire to evacuate the premises and John is left in a puddle of disappointment. He meekly climbs into bed.
Next to the wall.
The cabin soon quiets down. I tuck into the couch, making the best of its uncomfortable shape. As I slip into sleep, I think, “What if there are men in the woods who want to kill us? I’d be the first one they’d get.”
The next morning everyone is feeling the pain of the excesses of the night before.
When Shirley emerges from the bedroom, she is fully dressed for the day. She motions me over to the hallway.
“You know, last night when I went to the bathroom there was the most beautiful light coming out from behind the bathroom door. It was just gorgeous, like a kaleidoscope. I couldn’t stop looking at it.”
“Oh Mom,” I say, “that’s from the marijuana. It makes ordinary things look different.”
“NO, IT WASN’T,” she snaps. “It was beautiful, and I saw it.”
“Well, as you like.”
No better time than the present to rev up the Green Bomber and head on out of there and back to normalcy. The car has been seething for two days over its harsh treatment on the way in, but the ride down should be better than the ride up.
I hope.
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