Blood Vivicanti (9780989878579) (5 page)

Wyn helped me grow when he
broke into my shell.

Theo helped me mature when
he drew me from my broken life.

Theo led me to Mount San
Jacinto, very near Tahquitz Peak. We stood at the foot of Suicide
Rock.

Theo told me its story.
“It’s named after a Native American girl and her lover. The tribal
chief said they couldn’t marry. So they threw themselves off
together to their death.”

The story of Tristan and
Iseult seemed to be in every culture. England has Romeo and Juliet.
Japan has Orihime and Hikoboshi.

I’ve never liked stories of
star-crossed lovers. Too much teenage angst is like too much
coffee.

Theo leaped inhumanly high
into the air. He soared toward the steep face of Suicide
Rock.

The moonlight was bright
and vivid. The nighttime sky was coruscating with clear
constellations.

Theo landed against the
rock face several stories up from the ground. His fingers were like
metal spikes. They powerfully dug holes into the rock. He scaled up
the mountain like a spider.

I followed him. It was all
I could do then. As I wrote: Following the stronger personality of
others had become my habit.

It wasn’t bad then. It just
isn’t me now.

Theo and I climbed Suicide
Rock. We stood at its steepest point.

I could barely believe that
I had climbed so high.

More mountains would
follow. The mountain of my self-doubt has been the hardest pinnacle
to surmount. Daily I still work to confidently plant upon that peak
my flag of positive self-possession.

Veni, vidi,
nearly
vici.

The whole world seemed to
stretch out before us.

Moonlight bathed the desert
valley in the far distance. Human eyes wouldn’t have seen anything
without daylight. Blood Vivicanti eyes saw much.

The desert valley was a
sea of light brown sand. Tumbleweeds bounced along the roadways.
Rattlesnakes were coiled up between the rocks. Owls were perched
with wide eyes, ready to hunt. Critters were crawling everywhere.
The windfarm near Palm Springs appeared to be perfect order. White
windmills in rows like headstones were spinning madly out of
balance. The cities of the valley before us glistered with electric
lights – amber, green, and red – like gems from a treasure chest.
Clusters of neighborhoods sparkled brightest. Families through
windows gave the appearance of peace. Parents slept open mouthed.
Children were tumbled together in beds like puppies.

The world had never seemed
so magical.

Theo nudged my shoulder.
His smile was infectious.

“
You have the magic
now.”

He faced me.

“
You have no idea who you
are. You have no clue what you’re capable of now. The power surging
through your blood has elevated you beyond anything this planet has
ever seen or known or heard of. You are a creature newly born out
of creation. You’re a being of pure grace in movement and
faculty.”

No one had ever spoken to
me like that. I had caught my head by then. He was stealing my
heart.

All my life I’d lived with
the feeling that I belong somewhere else. Anywhere but where I was.
Yet right then I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Right then I was
happy. Standing beside Theo felt right, and feeling right felt
good, even though feeling right and good was felt very
strange.

What a shame I had gone so
long without feeling so right and good and strange all at
once.

Theo had a knowing smile.
“You’re about to move mountains.”

Then he turned and leaped
off the peak. It was a beautiful swan dive down into the still
ocean of the forest’s green canopy far below.

The drop was over seven
thousand feet. It left no scratch on him.

I followed. Had to. I
hadn’t learned to make my own way yet. And I wanted to follow him
too. He gave me a reason to take a leap of faith.

Unfortunately, mine wasn’t
a supple swan dive. More like a platypus flail.

It was interesting to watch
firsthand how Blood Memories work in us.

Theo had drunk the blood
of a rock climber. That was how he had climbed Suicide Rock with
such self-assured deftness. The Blood Memories of the rock climber
had increased his skill and finesse.

During that first week Theo
went off on his own.

“
He’s always doing that,”
Ms. Crystobal told me one morning as she was serving a breakfast of
eggs benedict.

Wyn was there. He sipped
his morning coffee while he read
The New
York Times
. “He’ll be back when the Blood
Memories fade.”

Wyn was right. Theo
returned after four days. He had travelled all over Southern
California. He’d climbed all sorts of mountains. But now his Blood
Memories were fading away. Forgetting them made him brooding.
Losing the skills that came with the Blood Memories made him very
sad. He would never again remember the skill of mountain climbing,
unless he drank again the rock climber’s blood.

The only memories Theo had
were his own. He could recall how happy he’d been climbing to the
top of Suicide Rock.

I’ll never forget that
night either.

Wyn’s Blood Memories lasted
a little longer. This made him very happy. My Blood Memories were
in him. They gave him my talent for remembering
everything.

Wyn read every book in his
library in three days. He didn’t sleep a wink. He moved with
superhuman speed. He remembered every word he read.

Then he spent the next day
locked in his study with only his laptop. He didn’t take a break.
He typed 250 words a minute. His laptop barely kept up.

What did he
write?

A manual on the Blood
Vivicanti. It outlines twelve psychological steps for nurturing a
race of Blood Vivicanti adolescents. The book is over 350,000
words.

Is it any good?

I confess I haven’t read
it.

But it is more popular
than
The Joy of Sex
and the Harry Potter series.

Booksellers put it in the
fiction section.

That disappointed Wyn. He
always considered his book to be “the greatest work next to
Nietzsche’s
Zarathustra
.”

The publisher titled
it
Life’s Okay!
They put on the jacket cover the image of a boy and a girl
walking hand-in-hand through a field of summertime
violets.

Wyn had based the book on
my own personal experiences. He had titled it very
differently:

The Platypus
Theory

Wyn was also very sad when
my Blood Memories faded from him. He had truly enjoyed having a
photographic memory for a week. He can still remember reading books
on poetry, on cooking, on fitness, on science and psychology and
astrophysics. But he can’t remember anything about them. Not even
the titles.

Sometimes I catch him
looking at me, not leering, just gazing nostalgically. The way a
father might gaze at his daughter on her wedding day. Indeed, Wyn’s
been a gentleman. He’s never asked me again to drink my blood. He’s
never again expressed the hope of eating my Blood
Memories.

I would let him. He need
only ask. Gifts are meant to be shared.

Once the week passed, it
was time for us three Blood Vivicanti to feed again.

“
One person, one pint,” Wyn
told Theo and me before he left.

Wyn would hunt
alone.

Theo offered to show me the
ropes. He planned to drink the blood of a good cook. He’d always
wanted to be skilled at cooking. The chef’s Blood Memories would
give him the skill to whip-up savory meals for the next four or
five days.

Who was I going to drink
from?

No clue.

It was the first time I
had to feed off a person – I had to hunt – I had to pierce
someone’s neck with my tongue – I had to drink blood – and I had to
eat memories.

It felt a little too
intimate for an introvert. I wondered if I could stay home that
week.

Theo laughed at me, though
not unkindly.

I hemmed and hawed all
day.

Theo was patient, but
finally he took me by the hand.

“
It’s getting late,” he
said. “We must go now.”

He guided me from the
mansion. I liked being guided.

Theo took me to the center
of Idyllville.

Village stores encircled
the square. Most shops sold kitschy items like coonskin caps or
sparkly stones or a miniature model of Idyllville in a snow globe.
Cool Beans Coffee House was there. A restaurant called The Gnome’s
Gastro was there. Tourists were everywhere.

Theo and I moved fast. We
leaped up on the roof of a shop. We perched like hungry hawks. No
one saw us.

Many tourists had gathered
in the village square. It was evening. The stores would close soon.
The square would empty soon after that.

Theo pointed to a teenage
girl. She was walking alone. She was carrying a violin case. She
was from the Academy. She was my china doll.

“
My Madeleine,” I said
softly as I exhaled.

Theo wanted me to pierce
my china doll’s neck with my tongue, he wanted me to drink her
blood, he wanted me to eat her memories. And that’s not a problem
these days. But he wanted Madeleine to be my first piercing. And my
first piercing was very difficult. The first always is. I was
utterly terrified of the great thunderclap of deeper
intimacy.

I didn’t think I could
pierce my china doll. I wasn’t sure if I wanted her memories in
me.

Sticking out my tongue, I
could barely see the tip. I tapped it, but couldn’t feel my
stinger.

Theo put his hand on my
back. The touch felt good. “The Probiscus will come out when you’re
ready,” he said. “It just happens. You can’t control
it.”

He was drawn to the
gravity of my china doll, just like everyone else. But he also
thought she was as beautiful as a broken teacup. My china doll’s
brokenness wasn’t beautiful. The potential to be repaired, that was
gorgeous to him.

He thought that my china
doll would be perfect for me. Maybe he thought that I was a broken
teacup, too.

I was beginning to realize
that I was hungry – very, very hungry. My body had begun to crave
the taste of blood. Restlessness was growing in me. My hands and
legs had started to shake. My bones seemed to be trembling. Behind
my chest and in my stomach was a humming sensation. I could not
tell where the hunger of my wants ended or where the appetite of my
needs began.

Theo crouched behind me. He
pointed over my shoulder. He smelled good.

My china doll was walking
out of the village square. She was wearing ear buds. Music from a
portable media player was blaring in her ears. She had a look that
told others to leave her alone.

I ran after her. The
feeling was a little too familiar.

Leaping from the roof
unseen was easy.

I streamed fluidly through
the hurrying crowd of tourists.

My step was light and
softer than the wind rustling the leaves. No one saw me. None heard
me. I didn’t want them to.

I wished I’d had that power
in school.

I let my china doll lead
me. It was another familiar feeling. I didn’t like it any more. So
I ran ahead of her. She didn’t see me until I let her.

I stood around the corner
of a shop on the edge of the square. I waved at her.

She saw me yet didn’t come
toward me.

“
Where’ve you been?” she
asked. She didn’t really want to know. She said it to reply to my
wave. Her tone was impatient.

I wondered what I’d done
wrong. I was always wondering that around her.

Maybe that’s why she sought
out someone else who might fill up the crack in her cup.