Category: Fiction Factor

The rooftop of a 26-story building in the middle of the city center seemed as good a place as any for Maynard Summers to take a trip down memory lane. Standing on the edge of that rooftop – his dark, slim figure illuminated by a harvest moon – provided a dramatic flair to the nostalgia.

His father died of a heart attack when Maynard was in his mid-30s. It was the end of a buddy relationship he didn’t realize was so close until his dad was no longer there. As the years went by, the bittersweet memories had morphed into emptiness.

His mother passed away just two years after his dad, killed in a freak accident that involved being impaled by a garden gnome.

Maynard was often racked with guilt because, while he missed his mom, dying at the hands of an ornamental creature with a pointy hat was still kinda funny.

He had to stifle giggles at her funeral and even when he thought about it years later, he found himself trying not to laugh.

Maynard had one older brother who lived in Houston, but the two didn’t talk and hadn’t spoken in years.

Rodney Summers had become a mover and shaker in the aerospace industry and didn’t have time for his “common” relatives. He was too busy making the millions of dollars needed for the surgeries required to make him look like a younger, plastic version of himself.

And Maynard had no idea where his sister, Jada, was or what she did these days.

The last time he saw her she had moved in with a biker who insisted on being called “Road Warrior”; they were going to tour the country in hopes of catching all the Deathly Gratitude shows.

Deathly Gratitude was a Grateful Dead tribute band, and little sis wasn’t so much a Deadhead as she was a person who merely liked the concept of being one.

Maynard didn’t often look back at what was, but when he did, he’d think fondly of the days when his family would load up in their gray Ford Country Squire and go on vacation.

There was that time they went to Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina. The Johnnie Mercers Fishing Pier was still a big deal, and he remembered Jada recoiling when his dad baited her hook with a live earthworm that squirmed wildly – especially after being impaled.

He and Rodney got a big laugh out of her horror.

Then there was the trip to New Jersey that turned into a day spent with Lucy the Elephant, a celebrated roadside attraction. The building shaped like a pachyderm might not have been one of the eight wonders of the world, but it provided a world of wonder for three kids who posed in front of it while mom took a picture with her brand new Polaroid Instamatic.

All that seemed like a lifetime ago.

The family vacations ended, the siblings ultimately went their separate ways, and that was that.

Maynard occasionally entertained the notion of reconnecting with Rodney and Jada. Doing so would be easy enough.

Rodney’s company had a website, and his picture was splashed all over it. All the contact information was readily available and Maynard could be there in no time.

And Deathly Gratitude was always lining up gigs at bars and carnivals, mostly in the Midwest. A quick internet search would reveal their next stop, which meant Jada and Road Warrior would most likely be stopped there, too.

Maynard, Raymond and Jada – together again.

But really, what was the point? They were all so different, and other than playing the greatest hits – those familiar yet always changing tales of growing up in the Summers household – there wouldn’t be anything of substance to talk about.

Jada cared nothing about business, and Rodney certainly had no interest in being regaled with how many times she’s heard Truckin’.

As for Maynard, they always thought he was different.

They didn’t know the half of it.

If they saw him now, they’d be absolutely shocked by his appearance. He hadn’t aged at all since being turned by a French Quarter vampire during a 1987 trip to New Orleans, and now all his days were nights.

But that was his life now – one gained by death, oddly enough. Yet even though he could conceivably live forever, he refused to take anything for granted.

He had his own tribe now – well, nest – and while vampire interests varied, they never varied too much.

For that, he was grateful.

So, maybe it was best to keep the past buried. Besides, on this night, the air was crisp, his urge was strong, and the moon was beautiful … especially from his rooftop vantage point.

He decided he’d soak it all in a bit longer before flying off to feed.

Henry’s crush on Martha had been building for weeks, but he just couldn’t quite work up the courage to talk to her. He’d see her in the hallways and cafeteria almost every weekday, but instead of starting a conversation with her, the best he could do was give her a smile and half-hearted wave.

Henry’s best friend, Roderick, was getting tired of his buddy’s hesitation – especially since Martha was all Henry ever seemed to talk about these days.

“Go on, Henry … you can’t wait forever. Just go over there and strike up a conversation with her,” Roderick said while the two picked at their lunch. “She’s all by herself right now … ain’t like you’d be interrupting anything or anybody. I bet she’d love the company. I bet she’d love your company.”

Henry disagreed.

“I wouldn’t know what to say. Any time I get near her I get nervous. My hands get sweaty and my stomach gets all jumpy. I just freeze. And if I go over there and make a fool of myself, then I could never come back to the cafeteria ever again. I’d just have to starve, because if she saw me, she’d say to herself, ‘There’s that sweaty, jumpy idiot Henry.’ I need to wait until the time is just right. Of course, the time will probably never be right, so why don’t we just forget it and eat our lunch.”

Roderick huffed.

“We’re not gonna forget it, Henry. Right now is the right time … the time will never be righter than this. And I don’t know what you’re so worried about. I’ve seen the way she looks back at you when you smile at her. And when you wave at her, she waves back, don’t she? She ain’t flipped you the bird once. Ain’t thrown a single roll at you. Plus, there’s a million things to talk about … start with the weather and then go from there. Make fun of the food. Tell her how much you like her paintings in art class. Tell her she has pretty green eyes.”

“I’m not gonna talk to her about the dang weather,” Henry said. “What’s there to say? ‘Hey, Martha, it sure has been hot lately, ain’t it? Well … bye.’ And when we’re in art class I’m looking at her, not her paintings. And her eyes are blue, not green. They are blue, aren’t they? Shoot … now I’m not sure. Anyway, I get all tongue-tied just thinking about her. It’s easy for you … you’re a smooth talker. I’m not. I get too nervous.”

Roderick smiled.

“That’s funny. Roxy used to tell me that all the time, only she said I was a slick talker, not a smooth talker. Same thing, I reckon. And I ain’t gonna deny it, either. But that was the great thing about me and her … we’d start talking about anything and it’d go on for hours. And I bet that’s what’ll happen with you and Martha. Before you know it, you won’t have time to have lunch with me anymore because you’ll be all cozied-up to your new girlfriend.”

Henry shifted in his wheelchair.

“I like having lunch with you, Roderick,” Henry said. “You were the first person who was nice to me when I got moved to assisted living, and we’ve been friends ever since. Besides, I need you to push me.”

Roderick laughed.

“OK, then, you old fart. I’m about to push you over there where Martha is, and you best start talking. Like I keep saying … you can’t wait forever.”  

Ferdinand jumped effortlessly onto the bed and surveyed the situation, the tabby’s ginger and white tail gently sweeping back and forth as he eyed his humans. The long-haired one was rolled over on its ride side with sheets pulled up to cover everything but its face.

The short-haired one was on its back – covers twisted around its knees and mouth agape – emitting strange, rhythmic noises.

The cat walked over both people – gently – getting no response from the long-hair but prompting the short-hair to grunt, snort, and gracelessly shift.

Ferdinand crept toward the footboard and peered at the door leading out of the bedroom.

“It’s OK, Tinker … come on up.”

The small moggy, still a bit unsteady after just seven weeks walking the planet, wobbled forward.

“Too high,” he squeaked. “It too high.”

Ferdinand jumped down and nuzzled the kitten.

“That’s why you have claws, little dude,” said the older feline, who had lived in the same house with the humans for almost nine years. “You have to latch onto the side of the bed and climb up. That’s how I learned way back when the humans picked me up from the Giant Cage.”

Tinker stood on his hind legs and placed his front paws on the bed’s comforter.

“Now,” Ferdinand said, “just let your claws out. And then dig in. Once you do that, you just keep moving your paws up, up, up, and next thing you know, you’ll be on the bed. It’s as easy as that.”

Tinker was able to attach himself to the fabric but once hooked, he simply hung there, staring at Ferdinand.

“I scared.”

Ferdinand jumped back on the bed, his head directly above Tinker.

“Nothing to be scared of. Even if you fall, it won’t matter. Know why? Because you’re a cat. We jump, and sometimes we miss. When we miss, we fall. And when we fall, we get back up and jump again.”

Tinker put one paw in front of the other and slowly worked his way up the comforter – his fluffy, chocolate-colored tail curling with each movement. Finally, he hoisted himself on the top of the bed next to Ferdinand.

“It big,” said the kitten. “It big and soft.”

“It is,” Ferdinand said. “And they get on it every night. They talk, and then they nip each other on the face, and then they get quiet … like we get quiet throughout the day.”

“They rest?”

“They do. And we let them rest for a while because they need it.”

Tinker slowly walked between long-hair and short hair, taking quick sniffs. He then rolled up into a ball near their heads.

“Be ready, Tinker,” Ferdinand whispered. “If long-hair wakes up, it’ll grab you and bite you on the head. If short-hair wakes up, it’ll start rubbing you there. Not sure what it is about them, but they seem drawn to our heads. Watch this …”

Ferdinand made a quick jump and landed on short-hair’s chest, causing the human to open its eyes. He then tapped short hair on the face, causing it to mumble and start scratching Ferdinand’s chin. The scratching was brief as the human closed its eyes and fell back asleep.

“It sweet,” Tinker said, looking up at big brother.

“It is,” Ferdinand said with a purr. “It likes to bite our heads and rub our heads, and it also gives us food and cleans our bathroom and lets us stay inside where the water monsters from the sky can’t hurt us. Short-hair and long hair have been very good pets for as long as I’ve had them.”

Tinker rolled over on his back.

“Ferdinand,” he asked, “they stay with us forever?”

Ferdinand stretched and yawned.

“Forever and ever. They’d be helpless without us.”