Unafraid

by Michael Griffo

  In spite of his certainty he once again found himself trying to hide his disappointment as he stared at Ciaran’s gift. “Um, thanks,” Michael mumbled. “I guess I can always use some more notebooks.”

  Ciaran wasn’t upset by Michael’s reaction; in fact, he had anticipated Michael wouldn’t be excited at first. “No, open them up.”

  Michael opened up the notebook on top of the pile to find that it was already written in. He flipped through the pages and found that the handwriting continued on every page. The whole book was filled with scribbling, numbers, and diagrams. “Oh they’re used notebooks,” Michael revealed, somewhat sarcastically. “Well, you know, you can never have enough of those.”

  Obviously Michael wasn’t getting the true nature of Ciaran’s gift, so Ciaran had to explain. “They’re my notebooks from advanced geometry and chemistry last year.” Although Ciaran was going to be a junior like the other boys, he had been taking additional accelerated science and math classes for the past two years, so he was a year ahead of them in certain subjects. “I thought you could benefit from my, um, expertise,” Ciaran said, somewhat sheepishly.

  Despite his initial skepticism, it turned out to be another great gift. “This is absolutely incredible, Ciaran!” Michael shouted. “You know how I hate chem labs.”

  Equally surprised and impressed by his brother’s generosity, Ronan couldn’t find the words to respond. Saoirse didn’t have that problem. “Isn’t that called cheating?” she asked.

  Before Ciaran could rationalize the ethics of his gift, Fritz jumped to his friend’s defense. “It’s what mates do for each other, Seersh,” Fritz explained. “And I’ve been teaching Ciaran how to be a right proper mate.”

  “Well, you’ve done good, Fritz,” Ronan declared, finally finding his voice.

  “So based on these first two gifts,” Michael started, “I guess this means that I have bad hair and I’m stupid.”

  “Quite,” Ciaran replied dryly.

  How wonderful to be insulted by your friends on your birthday, Michael thought.

  The boys jabbered on for a few more minutes, the conversation flowing from how thoughtful Michael thought the gifts were to how Fritz’s sense of humor was rubbing off on Ciaran to how Ronan might want to take a peek at those notebooks as well since he disliked chemistry almost as much as Michael did. The chattering continued until Saoirse couldn’t take it any longer.

  “Oh put a bung in it boys, will ya!” she cried. “It’s time for me to give Michael my gift.”

  Effectively silenced, the boys willingly gave the spotlight over to Saoirse, knowing full well that it was useless trying to prevent the handoff once she had decided she was entitled to it. “I really hope you like it,” she said, suddenly shy.

  “If it’s half as beautiful as this wrapping paper, I know I will,” Michael said, taking the gift from her anxious hands. Even if the gift hadn’t been wrapped so artistically, he still would have made a big deal out of it; he had become aware since her arrival that Ronan’s sister had a little bit of a crush on him. “It’s really gorgeous, Saoirse, I mean Seersh,” Michael said. “Did you do it yourself?”

  Self-conscious from Michael’s praise, Saoirse hoped the boys didn’t notice that her cheeks were growing a darker shade of pink. “Well, yeah, I did,” she admitted. “I thought you’d, um, like the colors.”

  Fritz didn’t understand the appropriateness of the wrapping paper’s design, but to the other four the symbolism was obvious—it was an abstract depiction of the ocean. The paper’s design was a series of horizontal lines in deepening shades of blue from pale to navy. Saoirse had wrapped the package with a delicate white lace ribbon and topped it off with a huge, red bow. Fritz thought he understood the significance of the colors and although he was wrong, his assumption actually made sense.

  “What’s all the fuss about?” Fritz asked. “It’s the colors of the American flag.”

  Not wanting to divulge the real meaning behind the gift wrap, Michael spoke for the group when he said, “Oh my God, Fritz, it is!”

  “What else could it be?” he asked rhetorically. “Now will you open the damn thing so we can see what she bought for ya!”

  Michael pulled the bow off first and playfully stuck it on Ronan’s head; he good-naturedly left it there. This time when Michael saw his gift he wasn’t disappointed. “They’re perfect, Seersh!” Leaning over, he gave his unofficial sister-in-law a hug that made her blush a bit more and then held up his gifts so the others could see. In one hand, a book of British slang, in the other, a framed picture of Saoirse and him taken under the brass apple tree sculpture the last time they had gone into Eden. It had only just started and already it was turning out to be a perfect birthday.

  Grabbing the photo, Fritz compared it to his comic book. “I think I made you look more lifelike.”

  Yanking the picture back, Michael laughed. “Fritz, this is a photo; yours is a drawing.”

  “I know,” Fritz replied, undeterred. “And I still think mine looks better.”

  “And I still can’t believe a camera can capture your reflection.”

  Well, it had been a perfect birthday. Saoirse didn’t immediately fathom the impact of her comment until she looked around the room. Fritz looked downright perplexed, Ciaran’s jaw had dropped as if someone had just told him his lab had burnt to the ground, and Michael’s and Ronan’s eyes bulged so wide it looked like they might escape their sockets. Once she realized her gaffe, she opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t compound the situation. Michael felt the same way, so when he spoke he did it without sound.

  “This is because a vampire traditionally doesn’t have a reflection,” Michael said to Ronan telepathically. “Or appear in photos, right?”

  “Yes,” Ronan replied, silently. “Or have a sister with a big mouth!”

  Inevitably, Fritz asked the question they all knew he would. “What the bloody hell is she talking about?”

  Knowing that no one wanted to respond, Ronan, as the oldest, took it upon himself to take control of the situation. “Should we tell him?”

  Three heads snapped in Ronan’s direction, Michael, Ciaran, and Saoirse, but each remained silent and each had the same thought: Ronan couldn’t possibly be suggesting that they let Fritz in on the fact that two out of the five people in the room were inhuman and one was the offspring of two vampires.

  “Rooooooonan,” Michael said, stretching out his boyfriend’s name so it took him about ten seconds to say it.

  “Well, brother,” Ciaran said, “you are the oldest and therefore the wisest.”

  “Um, yes, brother, if you really think it’s wise,” Saoirse said, then added in a whisper, “You don’t really think it’s wise, do you?”

  Ronan lay back on the mattress and swung his legs up and over Saoirse’s head. He started to pace the room, but the others couldn’t tell if he was doing so because he was nervous or because he was setting the stage to share their extraordinary secret. “I think it’s time,” Ronan announced. “I was just telling Michael this morning that there shouldn’t be any more secrets.”

  Bug-eyed, Saoirse turned to Michael. “Did he say that, Michael? Did Ronan tell you that this morning?”

  “Well, uh, yeah,” Michael confirmed. “He actually did.”

  Tired of the suspense, Fritz wanted an answer. “C’mon, mate, just spill it!”

  Michael saw Saoirse reach over and grab Ciaran’s hand, and he was jealous that he had no one to hold on to. He couldn’t believe Ronan was going to do this; he couldn’t believe Ronan was going to tell Fritz that they were both vampires. It was insane, it was unthinkable, and yet Michael couldn’t think of any way to stop him that wouldn’t make the situation more tense or Fritz more suspicious.

  “The reason Saoirse is surprised that Michael has a reflection,” Ronan started, pausing for effect when he saw his boyfriend and his siblings hold their breath, “is because she thinks he’s some sort of god and n
ot human like the rest of us.”

  As Ronan’s words sunk in, they all exhaled in relief. All except Saoirse.

  “I never said he was a god!” the girl screamed, her face reddened not by embarrassment this time, but by anger. “I said he’s really, really cute and all, but don’t make me sound like I’m round the bend!”

  Now that the crisis had been averted, Michael thought it was time to have some fun. “You really, really think I’m really, really cute?”

  “Oh blimey, Michael!” Saoirse exclaimed, jumping off the bed. “You know you’re cute, everybody says so, even Fritz.”

  Once again Fritz proved that he wasn’t threatened by the fact that Michael and Ronan were gay or by the concept itself and was man enough to admit that he could notice if a guy was really, really cute. Sort of. “I don’t think I used those exact words, Seersh,” Fritz said. “But I did mention to Phaedra once that you were a fine looking chap.”

  “Thanks, Fritz,” Michael said, proudly accepting the compliment. “Right back at ya.”

  “And lucky too ’cause girls can be certifiably crackers!” Fritz added. “For a second, I thought you were going to say she didn’t think you would have a reflection ’cause you’re a bunch of bloody vampires!”

  They were all so stunned by Fritz’s comment that at first they didn’t realize they were laughing. Of course they were laughing more out of shock and the absurdity of the situation than because they thought the joke was particularly funny. Fritz, however, thought his comment was hilarious. “Bollocks! I should’ve made you a vampire, Michael, instead of a zombie!” he exclaimed. “I could’ve called it ‘Bloody Nebraska’!”

  Desperate to steer the conversation away from anything that had to do with vampires, Ciaran noticed one more gift that hadn’t been opened. It was on top of some books on the side of the desk and wrapped very simply in what looked like a brown paper bag. When he picked it up he saw that that’s exactly what it was, and he knew immediately whom it must be from. “Michael, I think this is from Ronan.”

  Holding the gift, Michael looked over at Ronan and wore an expression as if to ask if it were okay to open his gift in public. “Go ahead, love,” he said, “otherwise I think the audience may revolt.”

  He noticed that Ronan hadn’t written “To Michael” on the paper, but “Forever Beautiful, Forever Mine.” He hoped the gift was like the packaging—simple and sentimental.

  It was.

  “I love it, Ronan, thank you,” Michael said as he showed everyone that Ronan had given him a copy of Oscar Wilde’s play An Ideal Husband. The others might have thought it was just another book for Michael to read, but he understood the significance that Mr. Wilde’s works had in their relationship. When they had first met Ronan had compared Michael to the titular character in Dorian Gray, then last semester Ronan had bought Michael a collection of short stories that included “The Young King,” which Ronan said reminded him of Michael. Now, he had a new title to add to his growing library.

  As expected, Saoirse started to giggle when she saw the name of the play, and not so expectedly Ciaran joined her. “Have we all noticed that I’m the only one who’s acting like an adult and not snickering?” Fritz asked.

  “Yes, Fritz, we have noticed,” Ronan replied, slapping his sister in the head and his brother on the arm.

  Getting up from the bed, Fritz had one more declaration. “I think Nebraska would make a right fine husband and if I’m not invited to the wedding, I’ll knock both your bloody heads in.”

  “Fritz,” Michael announced, “it wouldn’t be a party without you.”

  The moment after their impromptu guests had left, Michael thought Ronan would continue their conversation about honesty and reveal to him the remaining secret, or God forbid, secrets that he was still concealing from him. But the gift giving had yet to cease. “I have something else for you,” Ronan said.

  Now Michael really felt uncomfortable. Not only had he forgotten Ronan’s birthday completely, but now Ronan was showering him with gifts. “You’ve already given me so much.”

  Ronan kissed Michael softly on his cheek. “And I’ll never stop.”

  He shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ring. It was silver with a thin blue band around it that looked like the waves in the broach Edwige always wore. “It’s the symbol of Atlantis,” Ronan explained. “Never-ending water.” Slowly, Ronan slipped it on Michael’s finger, and Michael felt a flurry of emotions rise from his stomach and swirl around his chest. It was such a beautiful ring, such a heartfelt gesture. Michael had no idea that it was also a family heirloom.

  “My father left it for me,” Ronan explained, “along with a note that said, ‘You’ll know what to do with it when the time is right, when you become a man.’ Well, the right time is now.”

  Speechless, Michael stared at the ring and then at Ronan; he just didn’t know how to respond. As he started to cry he simply said, “Thank you.”

  “There’s something else I need to tell you,” Ronan began.

  “No,” Michael said. He couldn’t take any more; he was too filled with emotion. He didn’t want to listen to anything, he didn’t want to hear about any more secrets, all he wanted to hear was the sound of Ronan kissing him, the sounds of the two of them making love. But just as they embraced, the door flung open.

  “Ronan! Just how long did you think you were going to be able to hide this secret?!”

  Neither boy knew what Saoirse was talking about. “Yeah right,” she said, not believing their baffled expressions. “Well, follow me and I’ll show you.”

  Downstairs they were as shocked as everyone else to see a car parked on the lawn in front of St. Florian’s with a huge, black bow on its roof, but shocked for different reasons. Ronan because he genuinely didn’t know who would leave such a gift and Michael because he couldn’t believe Ronan would buy him a car on top of all the other presents he had given him. “Oh my God, Ronan!” Michael squealed. “I love it!”

  In complete amazement, Michael walked around the red Mercedes Benz SUV. He had wanted a car ever since he passed his driver’s test and got his license, but he never thought Ronan would be the one to fulfill his wish. He was right. “Sorry, love,” Ronan said. “It’s not from me.”

  “You’re just being coy, mate,” Fritz said, “ ’Cause you wanted it to be a private surprise.”

  Even Ciaran thought Ronan was lying. “How did you ever convince Mum to spend so much money on someone other than herself?”

  Michael noticed that a card was tucked under the windshield wiper. He ripped open the envelope, read the handwritten message inside the card, and every beautiful birthday memory was wiped away, every happy moment that he had just shared with Ronan and his friends was erased. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. “To my son. Ad infinitum! Happy Birthday. Love, Dad.” Michael spat out the words as if they were poison, and in his mind he was transported far from Double A to a padded room where he saw his father kill his mother, brutally and cleverly so that everyone would believe the body left behind was a suicide. The same father who now sent his love attached to a bright red car. He tore the card in two, flung the pieces into the air, and stormed upstairs with Ronan close behind him.

  “Why the hell would he do such a thing?” Fritz asked.

  Picking up the pieces of the torn card and placing them together so she could read the note herself, Saoirse remarked, “He’s got some issues with his dad.”

  “So bloody what! The bloke gave him a Benz! In red! It doesn’t even come in red, it had to be specially ordered!”

  Ciaran understood Fritz’s confusion, but he also understood Michael’s pain at receiving a gift from his father, whom he had completely written off. He knew that he couldn’t share their history with Fritz so he tried to channel his friend’s energy and make light of the situation. “Look at it this way, Fritz,” Ciaran said. “Since Michael doesn’t want it, maybe he’ll let you drive it.”

  That was all Fritz
needed to hear to make him forget about Michael’s fury and abrupt departure.

  Unfortunately, Michael couldn’t forget. He couldn’t forget witnessing his parents at their defining moments: his father committing an act of unconscionable violence and his mother begging God to save her son seconds before she died. Sitting on his bed next to Ronan in thick silence, it was with an unwanted sense of maturity that he realized no matter how hard he tried to move forward he could never fully escape his past.

  chapter 3

  Summer was no longer the same.

  Deep within The Forest, Michael sat on the bank of a stream that led somewhere, nowhere, and watched the water glide over his submerged feet. Even though it was July the water felt cool, and Michael wasn’t sure if it was because the thick shade blocked out much of the sun’s rays, because the weather in this part of the world didn’t get too hot, or because as a vampire, temperature, like age, was an irrelevant concept. Watching the water trip over and through his toes, he had to admit it: he was confused. And it was all because of that stupid car.

  Well, the car wasn’t stupid—it was pretty amazing actually. It was everything Michael had ever hoped for. It was like somebody reached into his brain, picked out the car of his dreams and made it materialize. But why did that somebody have to be his father?

  It couldn’t have been a gift from Ronan? Or Edwige? Or even his grandfather? No, it had to come from the one person he wanted nothing to do with, the one person he wanted out of his life for good. “Oh my God!” Michael groaned out loud. “What if that’ll never happen?”

  Collapsing backward onto the dirt, Michael looked up at the pieces of sky he could see through the lush foliage and called out to the universe, “Thanks a lot, guys!” For the first time it hit him, no matter how long he lived, no matter how many birthdays he celebrated—100, 200, 362!—he would always be his father’s son instead of his own man. Most children outlive their parents, escape them, but not Michael, no, he was lucky enough to have been given the gift of immortality, but guess what? So was his father! For as long as Michael walked the earth, somewhere on the planet his father would be walking as well. “That totally sucks,” Michael moaned.