Garlic! (Vampires beware)

GARLIC

Chapter 1

Tommy winced at the mirror. Everything above his shirt collar was pocked with ugly red zits with yellowish-white centers. He touched the one on the tip of his nose and flinched. Placing a finger on each side of it, he took a deep breath and squished. His eyes squeezed shut, forcing out a few tears. Chunky white liquid splashed against the mirror. Tommy sighed with the release of the pressure. One down, too many to go. The aroma of garlic tickled his nose. He took a huge sniff.

“Tommy!”

Tommy’s hands dropped to his side. “Coming, Mother.”

He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and dabbed at his tears. Using the same wad, he wiped the mirror, leaving behind white streaks. He almost didn’t see the chunks of white on the sink. After wiping those, too, he threw the soggy paper in the toilet.

“Tommy! I’m waiting!”

Tommy flushed the toilet, hoping his mother would hear and think he had a good reason to keep her waiting. He turned on the cold water and slowly counted to ten – long enough for him to have washed his hands. He took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. She was going to kill him.

He opened the bedroom door a crack. “Yes, Mother?”

The canopy bed netting framed her face. Her long black hair hung down to the floor like some static electricity machine was under her head. He glanced at his watch. It was early for her to be hanging upside down.

She reached out to beckon him in, but her cape slid down and covered her arm. “Oh blast!” She shoved the cape back up and held it close to her side. The movement started her body swaying. “Get in here, my boy.”

He turned around and backed into the room, shutting the door with great care. He was at the end of his delaying tactics. He took a breath and faced her.

“Oh my!” Her hands flew to her mouth. Her cape slid down again and covered her head. She flailed her arms and whipped it off, almost swinging off the canopy bar in the process. She reached up, gripped the bar and swung to the ground. “You’ve been eating your father’s cooking!”

Tommy nodded. There was no use denying it.

She threw her arms into the air. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

“But I like Dad’s cooking.”

“You can’t like it, Tommy, you’re allergic to it.”

Her logic defied reason.

Tommy shuffled his feet. “Dad’s a good cook.”

“He’s Italian. That means garlic, son, tons of it.”

Tommy smiled, then wiped the smile from his face. He loved garlic, but it didn’t love him. One of his hands crept up towards his face and the chunks of garlic embedded in his zits.

His mother sat on the bed. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I never should’ve married him.”

“What?” Tommy’s mouth fell open. “But… But…”

She reached for his hand. “Oh, I know, dear. I got this wonderful son in the bargain. But look at the position you’re in. Half in this world and half in that. Eating what you’re not supposed to.”

“It tastes good.”

“Taste?” She dropped his hand. “And what’s wrong with the taste of fresh blood?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Tommy?”

“All right. It’s bland. It needs seasoning.”

“Seasoning?” His mother gripped the center of her shirt, right over her heart. “How could you say that?”

“I’ve tried, Mother. It isn’t that great.” Tommy looked down. If only his Dad could spice it up, but then they’d be back to the garlic issue. “Maybe I’ll grow out of it. Other kids my age get these.” He pointed at his face.

She shook her head, opened the nightstand drawer and took out a mirror. “Come here.”

He shuffled a step closer.

“Here.” She patted the bed next to her.

He frowned and perched on the edge of the bed.

She leaned next to him and held out the mirror. “What do you see?”

“Us.”

“Hm. You see us?”

“No.” He sighed. “I see our clothes.”

“And?”

“And my zits.” Tommy stood up and crossed his arms.

His mother put the mirror away. “Exactly. You can’t fly around undetected with that face.”

“So, I’ll walk.”

“Walk? How are you going to suck blood in this form?” She shook her head. “You have to fly, Tommy.”

Tommy tapped on the bed post with his foot. “I don’t make a good bat, anyway.”

“You’re a lovely bat. Did your father say something bad about your bat form?”

“No, Mother. I just know. I’m a bat dweeb.”

“A what?”

“It’s slang,” he said. “I thought it was from your time.”

“My time didn’t include human slang, Tommy. Maybe you need to switch schools.”

“I like my school.”

She nodded. “I know you do, dear, but you’re only getting human culture and education.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Yes. That’s it.” She rummaged in the nightstand drawer and brought out a pad and pen. “Total immersion in vampire culture. It’s time for you to learn who you really are.” She eyed him and his zits. “And they don’t serve anything with garlic.”