Alicia and Sally

In July, I first found out that Sally Jennings was dying of cancer. Being a teacher has some benefits, one of which is that you have a great deal of liberty in July, so I went online and booked myself on the first flight from New York to West Palm Beach where Sally and her husband had retired some years ago. On the way, I tried to rehearse what I would say to the various other friends and relations of Sally who would probably be congregating to watch her die, but then I realized that most likely, they would be people who didn't know me. After all, I hadn't spoken much to Sally in person for years. ,Of course there had been her wedding. Then, when she wrote that book, My LIfe as a College Vampslayer, I had attended one of her signings for old time's sake, and when her husband had finally passed away ten years ago, I had flown down to Florida to offer my condolences. But that was it. After a while, visiting with Sally got kind of sad, because she stopped being the vivacious blonde girl who had been my college roommate and changed first into a middle-aged mother, and then an elderly grandma.On a more practical note, I always imagined that Sally wouldn't want to explain to the people who knew her why her old friend from college still had the body of a nineteen-year-old.

When I got to the hospital, I was reminded of the fact that I really hate being inside of hospitals. Or rather, I love being inside hospitals for the the same reason that I loved it when my Mom took me shopping at the bakery or the toy store when I was a little girl. Just as those stores were always filled with goodies that I wanted, hospitals are often filled with blood, either for transfusions or testing or whatever.You can smell it in the air. Moreover, just as I knew that my Mom probably wouldn't buy me most of the things that I wanted in the store, I know that I can't have any of the blood that makes hospitals such delicious places to visit, so I hate being inside hospitals.

At first,I wondered if there would actually be any reporters hanging around Sally's suite. After all, My Life as a College Vampslayer had been a New York Times bestseller, but I guess she had been out of the public eye long enough for the media to not be too interested. The only person waiting outside Sally's suite when I got there was a girl who looked about the same age that I looked--which meant that she was probably about seventy years younger then me. She was a pretty young thing with blonde tresses and a piercing in her nose which looked cute rather then slutty. Really, the sort of girl that I would have made friends with when I really was the same age as her. She was sitting in a chair with a stack of photo albums that she was paging through sadly.

"Excuse me," I said quietly. "Is this Sally Jennings' room?"

"That's right," she said in an as well as can be expected voice. "I'm her granddaughter, Janice." She looked at me curiously. "Who are you?"

I held out my hand. "I'm Alicia Doyle. Your grandmother and I are. . .old friends." Even that was pushing it because I don't really look old enough to be anyone's "old friend." I decided to change the subject. "What's in the albums?"

That must have been a pleasant topic, because it made her smile in spite of herself. "When she. . .well. . .you know. . .I'm going to make a collage of photos from her life to show at the funeral."

"Oh that's sweet," I said.

I looked at the album she was holding open. "These are from her wedding," said Janice.

"I remember. . .er. . .I see." Those photos brought back memories all right. I could see Sally looking radiant in her white dress, which in a way seemed a little inappropriate, because white was supposed to be a symbol of the bride's purity.

But when I turned the page in that album, I choked because the next page had a vivid portrait of the maid-of-honor looking rather lovely, if I do say so myself, but I was nervous because Janice looked at the photo. Then, she looked at me. Then she looked at the photo again.

"Well," I said anxious to get away. "Would now be a good time to go in and talk to her?"

"I think so," nodded Janice.

I quickly stepped into the room and saw Sally lying in bed. It looked so sad, but she immediately brightened when she saw me. "Is that you, Alicia?"

"It is," I said.

"I'm so glad you came." She paused. "Would anyone believe that you and I are the same age?"

"Actually, I'm one year older."

"Well, you sure how to make a dying woman feel good." She was smiling and I could almost see the girl from so long ago. "You know what," she went on, "why don't you not talk anymore? Just give me a hug."

I smiled and walked over to her bed. Unfortunately, hugging her proved a little difficult, but I put my arm around her and kissed her on the cheek."

"Thank you," she said. "So what are you doing now, anyway? Still teaching?"

"Yes," I said. "And, believe it or not, I still love it. Most of the kids like me because I'm the 'cool' pretty teacher. Of course, some of them think that means that they can take advantage, but that's a mistake. Since I've been around just as long as any of the old battleaxes, I know just as many tricks. Plus a few that the old battleaxes don't know about."

"What do you mean?" asked Sally.

I shifted uncomfortably, "Well, every once in a while I get a student who's so unruly that I have to give him a very special detention."

"Very special?"

"Yes, well, during the detention I give him a very gentle nip on the neck."

"What?"

"Don't excite yourself," I said. "I never drink enough blood to kill them. Just enough to transform an unruly bully into a docile child who will do whatever Miss Doyle commands. And," I quickly added, "I've only done this one or two times in all the years I've been teaching."

Sally laughed. "I'm sure you wouldn't do that unless it was absolutely necessary." She sighed. "You never bit me," she said in a more somber tone of voice. "If you had, I wouldn't be lying here now."

That was a less comfortable thought. "Did you want me to?" She didn't answer. "Actually, I still could." I didn't mention that I hate the taste of old people's blood. It's like soap.

This made her smile again. "Oh please. And I could spend eternity with this ugly old body? Who wants that? If you had made that offer, thirty or even twenty years ago. It would have been different."

That made me feel bad. "I'm sorry."

The apology seemed to give her new resolve. "Don't be sorry. I had a great marriage, three kids, and four grandchildren. Not to mention I published a bestseller. My life has been wonderful. I don't need it to go on anymore."

I took her hand lovingly. "I'm glad," I said.

When I walked out of the room, Janice was getting ready to leave. "Can I give you a ride?"

"Well, I'm staying at the Day's Inn."

"I know where that is. My house is practically on the way."

I accepted, not so much because I wanted a ride, but because she kind of looked like she needed a friend.

As we drove back, she had a kind of distant look in her eyes. "Seeing someone like that. Makes you think, you know. I mean, I'm only eighteen, but one day I'll probably be an old lady and a grandmother, and I'll probably die like that. Do you ever think about things like that?"

Actually, I didn't, but I decided not to say so. I just nodded.

"Oh. There's my apartment. Want to come in and have a drink. I can take you back to your motel after."

"Sure. That'd be great."

A few minutes later, we were seated in her apartment sipping tall glasses of pink lemonade. Not as good as children's blood, but definitely a relief. Being at home seemed to make Janice more cheerful, as if her grandmother's death was not quite so immediate.

"So," she said, "I see you've got a tattoo."

"Oh yeah," I said somewhat embarrassed. Normally, I wear tops that hide my tattoo, partly because I don't think it looks professional for a teacher and partly because as a vampire I avoid exposing any part of my body to sunlight, but this was Florida in July. I would have sweated to death if I hadn't been wearing a tank top. "Anyway, I got that when I was young and I did some crazy things--" I stopped there, because, for all she knew, I was still young.

“I really want to get a tattoo,” said Janice, “but my family keeps telling me not to.”

“Ah,” I said with a smile, “been there and done that.”

“Can I have a look at yours?”

“Sure,” I said as I peeled back my shirt.

“Hmm,” said Janice, “a hungry wolf.” Something about the way she said it made me nervous. “You know, a few years ago when I announced that I wanted a tattoo, it became a sort of topic of gossip in the extended family. I even remember my Uncle Ted making jokes about it.”

“Uncle Ted?”

“My grandfather’s brother.”

Oh Yeah. Ted had been the best man at Sally’s wedding. Definitely the family comedian.

“Anyway,” Janice continued, “Uncle Ted laughed and said that I would look like that crazy girl who was maid-of-honor at my grandparents’ wedding. That’s where I first heard the story about how everyone decided that the maid-of-honor couldn’t show too much skin at the wedding because my great-grandparents found the tattoo offensive.”

Oh man. Why did she have to bring up that crazy little memory? Uncle Ted may have thought it was hilarious, but it was embarrassing for everyone else.

“Another thing,” said Janice, “I’m pretty sure Uncle Ted told me it was a tattoo of a wolf.”

Uh-oh. I think I saw where she was going now. Of course, I could still deny everything. Lots of people probably had tattoos of wolves on their shoulders. But I didn’t think I could get away with it. I decided to be a little bolder. “Janice, do you think I look like that maid-of-honor?”

“I noticed,” she said narrowing her eyes.

“Yeah. I hate that,” I said trying to improvise. “Everyone’s always talking about how I look just like my mother. It makes me want to throw up.”

“Your mother?”

“Sure, that’s how I met your grandmother. She was maid-of-honor in your grandparents’ wedding and after I was born, my mother would take me to get togethers with your grandma. I really liked your grandmother a lot and we became close.”

Janice didn’t look convinced. “And the tattoo?”

“Well, I got this tattoo because I wanted to be just like my mother.”

“First, you say that you hate looking like your mother and then you say you got a tattoo to be more like her.”

I laughed nervously. “Mother-daughter relationships can be very complicated things sometimes.” But she was right. My mother had not had any tattoos, but if she had, I would have felt like some kind of freak getting one just like hers. I don’t know about boys, but when a girl gets a tattoo, she is not in a frame of mind where she wants to resemble her mother.

I sighed. “Janice, you sound like you don’t believe me. For your own good, I’m going to beg you to try and believe me.”

Janice shook her head slowly. “I can’t try to believe something. And you shouldn’t beg me to do that.”

She was right again. “All right,” I admitted, “but then I have some very interesting news for you. I say ‘interesting’ because it may be good or it may be bad.”

“Go on.”

I stood up and put my hand on her neck. “Well, remember before how you said that you were thinking about growing old, becoming a grandmother yourself, and dying.”

Janice frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“None of that’s ever going to happen to you, now.”

Then I bit her on the neck.