The Turning of the Season -- Ch. #160 -- PG-13
Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 7:15 pm
AN: Usual disclaimer, no infringement intended. This story is in response to Champagne Challenge #160: Turn. And thanks go to my lovely beta, Lilly.
The Turning of the Season
Becoming a vampire puts you through some very fundamental changes. And I’m not just talking about the physical stuff. Yeah, it’s rough getting used to the whole bloodsucking thing, avoiding daylight, and all the rest of it. But I’m really thinking more about the mental side. You might not notice it so much, the first few years, maybe even a decade or two, but once you’ve adjusted to taking the long view, you begin to separate from the rest of humanity. You can hear it in the way we talk to each other. Sometimes, we make reference to “the mortal ones,” and that’s not so bad. It’s when you start drawing a distinction between vampire and human that it becomes problematic.
Even so, in a lot of ways, a vampire’s mind doesn’t work all that differently than anyone else’s. Take memory, for example. Josef once commented that his memories of his early years were little hazy, and while you never know, with him, it seems believable. When I think back on my own mortal life, or even the years since I became a vampire, it’s not as though I have this unabridged movie running in my head. Just like anyone else, there are people, places, and scenes that stick out for me. I’ll be walking in the street, or hear a snatch of music, and without really meaning to, I’ll remember something. Maybe it will be important, like your first car. Or your first kiss. Most of the time it’s something trivial, something you have no idea why you’d remember. The other day, I saw a few crisp leaves, dry and curled on the pavement. We don’t really have seasons in L.A., not the way I’ve heard non-Californians talk about it, but even here in the fall, the days get shorter and some of the trees start to shed their leaves. And suddenly I was pulled back to 1952, and a conversation I had with Coraline. Sometimes in memory, though, conversations can take on whole different meanings.
Now that I think about it, this actually happened in the spring. She had agreed to marry me, and I’ve got to say, I wanted to tie that knot as soon as we could. At the time, I was worried she’d change her mind. I couldn’t stand the thought that she might get away. I guess that’s worth a laugh.
I don’t know what it’s like now, but back then, it seemed like every girl wanted to be a June bride. I didn’t keep up with bridal magazines, but a guy who plays music for a living would have to be pretty dense not to notice when all the wedding gigs were.
When I mentioned that to Coraline, she got real quiet, and I could tell something was off .
“Hey,” I said, “what’s wrong?” Yeah, I know, not the most brilliant thing I’ve ever said.
She leaned away from me. “I haven’t been a girl for a very long time.”
I could have kicked myself. I was sure she was talking about her experiences during the war. She’d never really told me much, but she’d dropped a few hints that led me to believe it’d been rough on her. I found out later that was very far from the truth, but at the time it seemed like a good guess.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, deciding to blunder on. “So, what do you think about June?”
She frowned. “It’s too soon. It takes a long time to get ready for a wedding. There’s a million things I have to do.”
I’ll admit, I wasn’t too pleased with that. I was 30, in love, and ready to settle down with the woman I loved. Now. It didn’t seem right for her to have different ideas. “Okay then, when?”
She sat back and crossed her arms, considering. I can still remember the intense look on her face. “How about New Year’s Eve?”
I moved closer, put my arms around her, my mouth close to hers. “That’s too long.”
A little smile curved her lips. “You’ll notice I’m not running away, Mick,” she said, in that low throaty voice that promised so much. “A piece of paper isn’t going to change us.”
I remember feeling confused. I didn’t have the right words to explain it to her. I wanted – I guess you’d call it—stability. Looking back, and knowing what I do about Coraline, I’m not sure why I thought she’d be the one to give that to me. But she was so beautiful, and so sexy, that she scrambled every circuit in my brain. “New Year’s Eve is just too long to wait. How about August?”
“Still too soon. November?” Her tone was lighter now. Bantering and bargaining was nothing new between us.
I smiled, myself. “October?”
She pretended to think that over, looking at the ceiling and pursing her lips. She looked adorable, and I was pretty sure she knew that. “Late October…I can work with that. A fall wedding would be nice.”
She kissed me then, and pretty soon the wedding details were about the last thing on my mind. Later, though, when I had come back to myself, and we were lying tangled together, her slim body pressed against mine, something occurred to me, and I asked her, “It can’t just be the planning. Why are you so set on waiting for fall?”
Coraline undulated, in a way that nearly made me forget the question right then. When she spoke, her voice was as teasing and promising as ever I’d heard. “Why, Mick,” she said, “fall has so much promise. Days get shorter, and nights get longer.” She trailed a hand across my chest. “And I know I’m going to want the wedding night to last as long as possible.”
Yeah, it’s funny, the conversations you remember. Sometimes they don’t mean anything. Sometimes they’re important. And sometimes they mean something you’d never have dreamed of.
I like to think Coraline didn’t plan on turning me the way she did. That maybe she always meant to tell me before she turned me. Looking back, there were hints, things I’d certainly pick up on now. But then, I was young, even if I didn’t think so, and there were things on this earth I’d never dreamed of. Memories bring up ghosts—regrets and dreams and might-have-beens. They’re unreliable, incomplete. And sometimes I think that maybe it’s better that way.
The Turning of the Season
Becoming a vampire puts you through some very fundamental changes. And I’m not just talking about the physical stuff. Yeah, it’s rough getting used to the whole bloodsucking thing, avoiding daylight, and all the rest of it. But I’m really thinking more about the mental side. You might not notice it so much, the first few years, maybe even a decade or two, but once you’ve adjusted to taking the long view, you begin to separate from the rest of humanity. You can hear it in the way we talk to each other. Sometimes, we make reference to “the mortal ones,” and that’s not so bad. It’s when you start drawing a distinction between vampire and human that it becomes problematic.
Even so, in a lot of ways, a vampire’s mind doesn’t work all that differently than anyone else’s. Take memory, for example. Josef once commented that his memories of his early years were little hazy, and while you never know, with him, it seems believable. When I think back on my own mortal life, or even the years since I became a vampire, it’s not as though I have this unabridged movie running in my head. Just like anyone else, there are people, places, and scenes that stick out for me. I’ll be walking in the street, or hear a snatch of music, and without really meaning to, I’ll remember something. Maybe it will be important, like your first car. Or your first kiss. Most of the time it’s something trivial, something you have no idea why you’d remember. The other day, I saw a few crisp leaves, dry and curled on the pavement. We don’t really have seasons in L.A., not the way I’ve heard non-Californians talk about it, but even here in the fall, the days get shorter and some of the trees start to shed their leaves. And suddenly I was pulled back to 1952, and a conversation I had with Coraline. Sometimes in memory, though, conversations can take on whole different meanings.
Now that I think about it, this actually happened in the spring. She had agreed to marry me, and I’ve got to say, I wanted to tie that knot as soon as we could. At the time, I was worried she’d change her mind. I couldn’t stand the thought that she might get away. I guess that’s worth a laugh.
I don’t know what it’s like now, but back then, it seemed like every girl wanted to be a June bride. I didn’t keep up with bridal magazines, but a guy who plays music for a living would have to be pretty dense not to notice when all the wedding gigs were.
When I mentioned that to Coraline, she got real quiet, and I could tell something was off .
“Hey,” I said, “what’s wrong?” Yeah, I know, not the most brilliant thing I’ve ever said.
She leaned away from me. “I haven’t been a girl for a very long time.”
I could have kicked myself. I was sure she was talking about her experiences during the war. She’d never really told me much, but she’d dropped a few hints that led me to believe it’d been rough on her. I found out later that was very far from the truth, but at the time it seemed like a good guess.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, deciding to blunder on. “So, what do you think about June?”
She frowned. “It’s too soon. It takes a long time to get ready for a wedding. There’s a million things I have to do.”
I’ll admit, I wasn’t too pleased with that. I was 30, in love, and ready to settle down with the woman I loved. Now. It didn’t seem right for her to have different ideas. “Okay then, when?”
She sat back and crossed her arms, considering. I can still remember the intense look on her face. “How about New Year’s Eve?”
I moved closer, put my arms around her, my mouth close to hers. “That’s too long.”
A little smile curved her lips. “You’ll notice I’m not running away, Mick,” she said, in that low throaty voice that promised so much. “A piece of paper isn’t going to change us.”
I remember feeling confused. I didn’t have the right words to explain it to her. I wanted – I guess you’d call it—stability. Looking back, and knowing what I do about Coraline, I’m not sure why I thought she’d be the one to give that to me. But she was so beautiful, and so sexy, that she scrambled every circuit in my brain. “New Year’s Eve is just too long to wait. How about August?”
“Still too soon. November?” Her tone was lighter now. Bantering and bargaining was nothing new between us.
I smiled, myself. “October?”
She pretended to think that over, looking at the ceiling and pursing her lips. She looked adorable, and I was pretty sure she knew that. “Late October…I can work with that. A fall wedding would be nice.”
She kissed me then, and pretty soon the wedding details were about the last thing on my mind. Later, though, when I had come back to myself, and we were lying tangled together, her slim body pressed against mine, something occurred to me, and I asked her, “It can’t just be the planning. Why are you so set on waiting for fall?”
Coraline undulated, in a way that nearly made me forget the question right then. When she spoke, her voice was as teasing and promising as ever I’d heard. “Why, Mick,” she said, “fall has so much promise. Days get shorter, and nights get longer.” She trailed a hand across my chest. “And I know I’m going to want the wedding night to last as long as possible.”
Yeah, it’s funny, the conversations you remember. Sometimes they don’t mean anything. Sometimes they’re important. And sometimes they mean something you’d never have dreamed of.
I like to think Coraline didn’t plan on turning me the way she did. That maybe she always meant to tell me before she turned me. Looking back, there were hints, things I’d certainly pick up on now. But then, I was young, even if I didn’t think so, and there were things on this earth I’d never dreamed of. Memories bring up ghosts—regrets and dreams and might-have-beens. They’re unreliable, incomplete. And sometimes I think that maybe it’s better that way.