My mother left me a stack of old vinyl when she died. Most of that stack was an artist who died in a car accident when I was three or four. Harry Chapin was his name. The number of songs that reside on those old records that resonate within my soul is astounding. They remind me of my mother, and place her in a good light in my mind (which is hard), but they also seem to tap into parts of me that otherwise wouldn’t be evoked.

All of them can bring me to tears, both happy and sad tears, often at the same time. Harry was a masterful storyteller. Knowing that my mother could feel and see that, makes me wish I would of spent a moment or two of my time with her talking about things that matter before she passed. Last night, I listened to a great many of those albums but the song that stuck out the most was Mr. Tanner.

Maybe it was how my mother brought me up. Always letting me know in a passive aggressive way that I’d never be good enough, or that whatever skills I had were nothing compared to everyone else. That song reminds me of something that I can’t remember but by the end gives me hope. Gives me the hope that maybe my mother was wrong about me. Like the critics are wrong about Mr. Tanner. Well not wrong, but not understanding the context of his beauty.

All of that I bring up to point out that death changes how we feel about people. It puts a microscope on them but at the same time releases us from social pressure. When she was alive I didn’t listen to Harry Chapin. It reminded me too much of late night vodka binges, divorces and bad breakups that left a child Alex angry, resentful, and generally pissed off (which still is what I am today if you haven’t noticed). After she was turned off, I think the records helped me deal with her, and understand her. I was free from my anger to know her. Free to see her as a person, not just a force of nature. To empathize about her.

Death did that.

If we lived forever would we ever free ourselves to really know anyone? If my mother and I lived two hundred years would I still of felt that anger toward her, or would I of eventually let it go and became her drinking buddy?

Lucy says that her parents are still alive but she hasn’t seen them since a few years after her big change. I bet that is the case with most vampires. Like humans they are childlike in their disassociation of bad social environments. Running away or lashing out instead of dealing with them with compassion.

In a way Isabelle is Lucy’s new mother, but that same strain of ignorance about each other seems to be in their hearts. Lucy in her presence becomes a shell, ready to be whatever Isabelle commands, but after ward there is a hint of resentment. Isabelle on the other hand is nothing like my mother. My mother was loud and passive, Isabelle is quiet and violent. My mother would threaten and be active but never do anything. Isabelle just acts when it is time to bring things into her alignment.

In the middle of my reflection Isabelle finally came to visit. Lucy was out doing her thing. Isabelle didn’t knock on the door, she just appeared beside me. Standing, she seems to never want to sit.

“The last time someone knocked on your door Alex they tried to kill you. Why would I want to frighten you?”

Good point, psychopath. Isabelle was getting thinner again. Her hat reminded me of the one Mrs Kennedy wore in Dallas, but it wasn’t pink, it was red. Death. Always death with these people, and honestly with me also.

“You’ve been gone awhile.” I stated

She just stared at me, as if waiting for me to get to the point of that obvious statement. I felt like a school child after the teacher became annoyed by her students, but all I said was one sentence. There is no denying it, Isabelle has a presence that commands rooms. I kept silent.

“I am checking in on you.” She said finally, but when I didn’t reply (mostly out of shock that she would care enough to just show up to check on me) she continued. “You said I am no where to be found. Now you can stop saying that.”

“and what else?”

“I am also here to inform you that your online presence is not growing fast enough. I find your initiative commendable, but you need to have a bigger following.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Violence and Sex, or either one, you decide”

Fucking vampires. Fucking humans for that matter. Two things that always get things going are violence or sex, but in the really real world violence is rare and I’m avoiding talking about sex because this blog is not just another vampire fan fiction about pseudo rapist and people wanting to be rescued from their mundane life. If you think I haven’t thought about writing about sex, you would be wrong.

“Any suggestions?”

“Fuck Lucy, or go to this address and interview the vampire you find there.” She hands me a piece of paper. Scrap paper from the looks of it, maybe a phone book. I didn’t realize they still made those. Then she does something even more shocking. She casually turns and walks out the front door as if she was any other person.

As I watched her walk out the door, Harry Chapin still playing in the background, I was struck by how much I miss my mother. Something I never did while she was alive.