What’s your image of a vampire? I suppose we have different images of vampires, depending on which movies we’ve watched or books we’ve read. Twilight? Classic Dracula? Modern Dracula?
I’ve once dated a vampire. Okay, his image was more like the Edward Cullen type. Romantic, masculine, cheesy.
I say he was like a vampire because he sucked the life out of me. No, don’t think it too far. Okay–to make it sound better, he took my breath away.
He was like a vampire because we only saw each other during the night and parted ways at dawn. He was almost a stranger. We only went out twice. But during those nights, he made feel comfortable, awesome, beautiful.
We sat on the grass and talked while glancing up the night sky or watching the pond. We talked about a lot of things and it felt as comfortable as writing stuff on my diary.
I let him kiss me–that took my breath away.
He was like a vampire because, just as how a real vampire’s business with you is done once he’s sucked the blood out of your neck, I did not see him anymore after that night.
I don’t feel sorry.
The few nights I spent with him was a memorable experience. He was like a vampire because he got me spellbound by his eyes, by his presence and by his kiss–something that doesn’t always happen with strangers.
Christie was a small girl–a modest 5-footer who had deceivingly slender legs that people thought she was taller. As she turned into a “real lady” at 18, she received the two best gifts: a puppy and her ticket to her very first date.
She was excited for her own puppy, but she was even more excited for her first date. She had never gone out with a boy. Her parents, especially her father, had been strict, but her obedience was rewarded with her parents’ trust and confidence that she can manage herself now that she was a mature lady.
She didn’t really have a date ready and waiting. She was yet to find one but that was okay. Because anytime she decided to date a boy–excuse me, a man–she didn’t need to worry about getting permission anymore.
She did have a crush. Standing at 175cm, Kevin was the tall guy she had always wanted. That she had to raise her head a couple of degrees just to meet his eyes everytime she closely talked with him was what she enjoyed the most. She could fully see her reflection in the brown of his round Chinese eyes. She met his eyes and felt his breath against her forehead whenever he talked, and she adored that about him.
They were in the same college and, being grade consious freshmen, they often caught each other at the library cramming on research papers. They sometimes took breaks together and pondered over final exams and reports.
At some point, she secretly assumed he liked him, too, when he asked for her number.
For three months, she waited for a call that never came. She wondered why he asked for her number in the first place. She never asked. They continued to see each other at the library, sometimes at some fast food.
She was still hopeful that Kevin was going to be her first date. Her only dream date.
She had left it without farewell, without assurance of when she’d be coming back or if she’d be back for it at all–but it had always loved her. It had always waited for her. Noah, a stout beagle, still gave her the same kind of cheek-licking and hip-waggling affection whenever she returned.
Noah didn’t easily forget her and move on. It never would.
Christie threw her beagle’s torn up toy bone, and it landed just a little beyond the lawn of the small neighborhood park. Her eyes were locked on Noah as he ran towards the pavement but she had become aware of a blurry image on the other side of the road. It seemed like lovers in courtship, their shoulders coyly brushing, hands anxiously swaying in hopes of finding each other.
One blink switched her focus from the vaulting beagle to the couple. The boy seemed familiar to Christie.
One blink and it all became clear. The soft contours of the boy’s nose and chin, same banged hairstyle which concealed a big forehead, athletic chest and shoulders.
In fact, he was very familiar–even more familiar than the hungry howl of her only dog of nine years or the stink of her after-jog perspiration. Simply because she had been with him so much longer than a couple of days.
Seven years and ten weeks, to be exact.
The young apple blossoms hesitate to bloom as they pretend heedless to the luring whispers of the early morning breeze. Mark has been watching, listening to the soft but tuneful blow of the wind.
Anna hesitates to walk towards the apple tree where a young man has been standing upright, his head cocked. She feels the wind dance beneath her billowing skirt. Her chest rises, pushing against her fitted blouse. Her feet starts to jolt forward.
Mark turns his head and catches late the sight of Anna running toward him. One quick second, she’s running, and the next she’s jumping on him. Mark has caught her legs that are now clutched on his hips. The air dances into scattered waves, blowing the apple blossoms into full bloom and whooshing Anna’s hair on Mark’s face.
It is plainly painted with cream. Its bristled roughness and sharp edges show an appearance of toughness yet its slenderness gives away its vulnerability. The surface, lined with vertical bristles, is like a vast highway with heavy traffic of parallel vehicles. The handle, like a stout and narrow bronze goblet, is cold to the touch.
I see a boy. A tall one. He’s standing upright and in the background is a symmetrical, cone-shaped mountain. The sky is bright and almost a perfect blue except for a few passing feathery clouds. Strangely, at his foot is a small hill of what seem like crumpled sheets of paper. I begin to step out of the door and hear the crisp sound of the grass beneath my feet. The roar of a vehicle from a distance has seemed to cue the bird above my head to cheep and chirp. I try to catch sight of the vehicle but find an empty sandy road. I gaze back at the crumpled sheets at the boy’s feet. I make out a huge “50%” text printed in red on a glossy paper.
The field is an expansive pasture of short but fearlessly sharp yellow-green grass. The heat of the sun is mild but as I walk around, I feel the rays of sunlight gently prick the back of my neck—so gentle that it’s tickling. I try to look straight at the sun but it’s too conscious—or cautious—to let me glance at its glow. Every time I turn my eyes on it, the sun immediately shoots diamonds of piercing rays directly to my eyes. And I immediately, involuntarily, turn away. I seek the shade of a huge mango tree at the side of the road. It’s a small road. Some vehicles pass occasionally. I cling onto the robust trunk of the tree and look around. No houses. No other people except for—
I look behind me and the boy that was standing blankly outside the door is now here. He slides his hand around my waist and I don’t struggle in any way against it. I turn to face him and now I feel his breath against my forehead. I breathe in his breath which smells like warm steel.
“Where do you want to go next?” He asks me.
“I don’t care as long as you carry me,” I tease.
He lightly pinches my nose and giggles. Now, he’s full of life. Then, he squats and takes my arms onto his shoulders and almost instinctively, I jump and hang onto his back like a baby koala. He starts to run and the wind blows excitedly on my face.