Maria Van Buren was a woman of perpetual motion. Keep moving and you’ll stay young, she said, and indeed she appeared to be not a day over forty rather than her real age of sixty. Her auburn hair showed no signs of grey, and there was just a hint of wrinkling around her eyes and mouth, which was fine by her. She said any person her age without wrinkles hadn’t done enough living or laughing. Slim and trim as any teenager, Maria still turned heads wherever she went, and this was the case when she walked up to the table where her son and his best friend were sitting.
“Happy birthday, Martin!” she exclaimed as she set down the cake she had baked in the morning. It was in the shape of Abraham Lincoln’s head, honest Abe being a hero of her son.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “Carrot cake again, I presume?”
“As always. I figure it’s the closest you’ll get to eating vegetables.”
He smiled at his mother’s little jab. “Now you know that’s not true. I like vegetables, and fruit too. I just like other things a little more.”
“Well, I think you’ve outdone yourself, this time, Maria,” James said, giving her an admiring glance. “That is an excellent likeness of Lincoln. I think it may even be better than last years Winston Churchill. Hey, what are his eyes made of? Are those dates?”
She rested a hand on James’s shoulder. “Jumbo medjool dates, to be exact. And his mole is a raisin.”
“Very creative.”
The three sat at a table in the back of the cafe that ran along one side of Maria’s Books and More. As his mother sliced the cake, Martin asked her who the extra two chairs were for.
“Oh, Adriana was in here earlier. She asked me to save her a spot and that she needed an extra chair for your gift.” Maria looked searchingly at her son. “You didn’t tell me you were dating anybody, Martin.”
James piped up, “Martin’s got a girlfriend, Martin’s got a girlfriend!”
Ignoring him, Martin told his mother, “We aren’t dating. We just met last night.”
“Last night?” James inquired with a raised eyebrow. “Where were you last night?”
“Nowhere. I was just...out for a walk.”
As if on cue, Adriana burst through the front door. She was wearing a sequined black mini-dress, designer black high heels and carrying what appeared to be a life size, female shaped doll, wrapped from head to toe in aluminum foil. Tied to the doll’s wrist was a helium filled phallus shaped balloon with the words “Happy Birthday Big Fella” written on it.
Having almost run to their table, she plopped the doll down in the chair next to Martin, then walked around to make her greetings. “You must be James. I’m sorry I missed you earlier. It’s good to meet you.” She then leaned over and gave Maria a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Maria said, “It’s so nice to see you here, Adriana. I’m glad you could join us. Usually, it’s just the three of us at Martin’s little birthday get togethers, so it’s good to see a fresh face.”
Making her way to her chair, Adriana patted Martin on the head and said, “Hey, big guy, long time no see. Hey! Is that a Lincoln cake? That looks just like him. Can I have a slice with the mole on it?”
“Of course, honey. Help yourself to some coffee if you‘d like.”
“Oh, wait! Did I miss you guys singing ‘Happy Birthday‘? ‘Cause it’s not an official birthday unless we sing!”
James laughed out lout. “Martin hates it when we sing. We have’t done it in years.”
“All the more reason to do it today!”
So the three launched into “Happy Birthday.” They sounded loud and joyous, so much so that most of the people in the cafe joined in, as well as some customers who wandered over from the bookstore. There were cheers and shouts of “Happy birthday!” when the singing ended.
Through it all, Martin sat, silently fuming.
“Lighten up, baby,” Adriana said to him as she dug into her slice of Lincoln. “Don’t be such a gloomy Gus. Always better to have a birthday than not to have one.”
“I guess.”
Very much intrigued by Adriana, someone he never would have put together with his oldest friend, James said to her, “Martin tells us you two met last night. While he was out walking.”
“Yeah, walking through the cemetery. I was chasing squirrels and he was carrying a shovel. I think he was going to do some grave robbing, but I talked him out of it.” Looking at Maria, Adriana said, “I really think we need to get him some help.”
Maria gave out a hearty laugh. “That’s funny. You’re like a breath of fresh air.”
“I know,” she said. She gave James a quick look up and down, then turned to Maria and in a low voice said, “Ooh la la, mama Maria. Hot chocolate.”
Maria gave her a bemused, quizzical look, then nodded and laughed. “Adriana, you really are a pistol.”
“More of a cigarette lighter, really.”
Martin turned to Adriana, pushed back the chair with the doll in it and, between clenched teeth, whispered, “I am going to kill you.”
“Martin,” his mother said sharply, a note of anger in her voice, “that is no way to talk to your girlfriend.”
“She is not my girlfriend!”
“It’s okay, Mama Maria, I may have been a little out of line with your boy here.” She looked at Martin. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll make it up to you big time later.”
“All right,” Maria said, “but I didn’t raise my son to be rude to women, or anybody else for that matter.”
“Sorry, Mom.” He hated disappointing her but Adriana was exasperating him.
“So how did you really meet?” James inquired again.
“I couldn’t sleep last night so I decided to go for a walk. Apparently, Martin couldn’t sleep either, we ran into each other along the way, got to talking, and here we are. It was destiny.”
Checking her watch, Adriana said, “Listen, I hate to eat Lincoln and run, but I’ve got some things so I’m gonna have to get going.” Turning to Martin, she said, “Happy birthday, honey, I’ll see you later tonight.”
He gave her a steady, stern look. “No you won’t,” he replied.
“Oh, yes, I will. Like Wilson Pickett, I’ll be there in the midnight hour.”
“Be where? Tell me, so I can be someplace else.”
She looked at James and Maria. “He’s such a kidder.” Returning her attention to Martin, she said, “In the meantime, you’ve got Dolly here to keep you company.”
“ ‘Dolly.’ That’s very clever.” He looked at the foil wrapped doll. “I see you took great care with the wrapping.”
“I knew you’d like it. The wrapping’s recyclable. You can put it on the ceiling of your room so the aliens can’t hear your thoughts. Or the government, or whoever it is you probably think is listening.”
James and Maria giggled, Adriana said her goodbyes, and in an instant she was out the door and gone. Once again, Martin wondered what the hell just happened.
“I really like her, Martin,” his mother said, “she’s a little crazy, but I think that’s good for you, to be with someone who’s so, you know...lively.”
“Yeah,” James said, “a very interesting choice for you, buddy.”
Martin suddenly felt exhausted. In a tired voice, he said, “Well, thank you, both of you. Thanks for the cake, Mom. I think I’m going to go home now.”
James looked at Maria. “He’s got to rest up for his hot date.”
“I’m ignoring you, James.”
“You can’t talk to me and ignore me at the same time.”
“Whatever.” He looked at his mother. “Do you need any help cleaning up?”
“No, honey, it’s your birthday. You don’t need to do anything. We’ll clean it up. I’ll bring the rest of the cake home later.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said as he started to walk away.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, pointing at the doll. “You’re not leaving that here.”
“Yeah, take her, Martin,” James said, his expression deadpan, “you might find her useful later if Adriana doesn’t show up.”
“Funny.” He untied the balloon and handed it to James. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.” The he picked up Dolly, carried her like a suitcase, and headed towards the door.
Outside, the late afternoon sun sent its sidelong rays down Arbor Avenue’s sidewalks. For a moment, Martin stood and watched the passersby, walking home from the train station, or stopping in shops and restaurants. Some looked at Martin with his new friend and gave him a wink and a smile. He decided it was time to move on. Turning the corner onto Evergreen Road (there was a definite arboreal theme to Arbor Woods’ street names), he passed a few more small shops then entered a residential area that looked as most of the town did. The homes were comfortable, neither small nor ostentatiously large, and yards were well tended, filled with flowers and stately, old trees. Arbor Woods really was a lovely little place.
Wrapped as she was in aluminum, Dolly was getting a little warm, and sweat was beginning to build where Martin’s arm touched the foil. He thought of abandoning her, maybe setting her down on the front steps of a house along the way, ringing the doorbell and making a run for it. That would involve running, however, so Martin discarded the idea. If he just left her somewhere and walked away, he was sure to be spotted, then talk would get around of how the Van Buren boy (as some old timers still referred to him) was leaving sex dolls on peoples’ porches. Not only that, but if Adriana were to find out he had disposed of her gift, Lord knows how she would react. So he forged on, Dolly firmly under arm.
Martin enjoyed his daily constitutionals about town. It gave him his only exercise, relieved him of breathing the stale air of his room all day, and allowed him to say hello to his neighbors. He especially liked greeting the neighbor ladies, although he seemed almost invisible to women now, as if even when they were talking to him, they were looking right through him.
Amelia in particular had a knack for making Martin feel next to invisible. Whenever he passed by and saw her in the front yard, he would stop to make some small talk. Invariably as they spoke she seemed to be looking not at him, but around him, as if there was someone or something much more interesting just beyond where Martin was standing. Still, he could never resist stopping when he saw her. Amelia wasn’t just beautiful, but she was a mystery. A chameleon with constantly changing hair color, from her natural blonde to brown to maroon, and occasionally changing eye color as well, Martin never quite knew what to expect when he saw her. This day her eyes were blue, with her hair a dark reddish brown and put up in a bun, making her look oddly old fashioned for a woman probably no older than thirty. Sitting on a folding chair set out on the lawn in the shade of an elm, she was holding a cold water bottle up to her forehead. The bathrobe she wore, with apparently nothing beneath, offered tantalizing glimpses of her ample bosom.
He stopped at the edge of the driveway. “Hi, Amelia.” Already, he was unsure what else to say. “Hot one today.”
“Hello, Martin. How are you?” She spoke perfect English but with an accent he couldn’t place. Her voice, the accent, he knew he had heard them somewhere else, he just didn’t know where. Maybe she spoke to him in his dreams.
“I’m okey-dokey.” He nodded in affirmation of his okey-dokeyness. He noticed that, having looked directly at him for a few seconds, Amelia’s eyes were now seeking out that more interesting person that must be standing just behind him.
There were sounds of people talking coming from the house, of furniture being moved. He attempted to elicit some information from her. “Sounds like you’re having a party or something.”
“Oh, that.” She glanced back briefly. “No, no party. Just doing some work in the house.”
“Oh.” She had lived here for over three years, during which time he had gently quizzed her on a regular basis, yet Martin still had no had no idea what she did for a living nor did he know anything about her at all, really. She was like a spy keeping secrets at all costs. Yet, something about her seemed oddly familiar to him.
“Well, I guess I’m gonna head home.” He nodded again.
Looking somewhat more focused now, Amelia looked at the package he was carrying. “Is that a sex doll, Martin?”
“I think so. I haven’t unwrapped it yet. It’s a birthday gift.”
She gave him a direct, sultry look. He thought he might melt. “I didn’t think you were the sex doll type.”
“I’m not.” He noticed that she didn’t wish him a happy birthday. He felt flushed and a little faint, and wanted nothing more than to get away from this inscrutable and totally hot woman. “Well, have a good night, Amelia.”
“I always do.”
Martin trudged up the street while mulling over the unfathomable Amelia. Head down, lost in thought, he didn’t see the pearlescent white Lexus sedan bearing down on him as he crossed Mulberry Street. The Lexus slammed to a halt, the front bumper within inches of meeting Martin’s right leg.
Martin froze in the crosswalk, not remembering how he had gotten there. He heard a woman cry out, “Are you all right, Martin?”
He walked over to the driver, saw that it was a neighbor who lived across the street from his home, Catherine Clover. Martin always thought she had a lovely name and that she was a lovely woman. Just seeing her here, even though she had almost just run him over, sent him into a reverie. He imagined a summer day and a wide, open field covered in a blanket of soft, warm clover, where they would roll around in each other’s arms, making love until nightfall.
“Martin? Martin, are you okay?”
He snapped out of his reverie. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“That’s okay, Martin. Tell you the truth, I was nodding off a little bit. Good thing I noticed you though.”
“Yeah, good thing.” Damnit, she could have done my dirty work for me, and saved me the trouble of killing myself, he thought.
“I just had such a hard day at work,” she continued, “and then I had to drive Nash to the airport. He’s working on a new project out east, so he’ll be gone for a week.”
Nash, her perfect husband, Martin thought, how I hate him. An architect, Nash Clover was tall and handsome, with a full head of hair, greying in a distinguished manner at the temples of course, and the glasses he started wearing when he turned fifty only seemed to make him even more attractive to women. Well educated, an interesting conversationalist, he could expound on Hegelian philosophy just as easily as he could explain the infield fly rule. He knew which wines to serve with what foods, and he knew how to install a water heater. Martin thought he hated Nash Clover, but in reality he envied him and his beautiful wife. Why can’t I be the guy that women like her at least consent to have an affair with, he thought, I mean, for crying out loud, I live right across the street, how difficult would it be?
“Martin! Are you sure you’re all right? You seem a little more distracted than usual.”
He came back to reality again. “I’m fine. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.” He thought, what did she mean, more distracted than usual? Am I always like this around her?
“Is that a sex doll? I didn’t think you were the type.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess it is. I just got it. It was a birthday gift. Someone’s idea of a joke.”
“Is it your birthday today, Martin?” She said his name often whenever they spoke. He liked that, it made him feel good about himself. She reached out and patted him on his stomach. “Well, happy birthday, Martin. We’d better get out of the intersection now. I’ll see you. Take care.” He watched as she turned the corner, and drove away.
Within minutes he had made it to his house. With Dolly in one hand, he fumbled for his keys with the other. Finally managing to unlock the door, he entered the house, then bounded up the stairs. In his room he rested Dolly up against the wall. Deciding that she needed to breathe, he unwrapped her. Shorter than Martin, she had flaming red hair that matched the color of her lips, blue eyes and wore a black nighty. Martin didn’t check to see if she was anatomically correct. Not only did he did not want to know, he believed it would be improper to feel her up as they had just met.
“There, is that better?” he asked her as he balled up the aluminum foil and tossed it in a corner. “Hmm, silent type, eh? That’s fine. I’m not much for chit chat either.”
The afternoon had faded to evening; without a light on the room grew dim. Martin looked around, had no great urge to read, watch television, eat or talk to Dolly, so he flopped down on his bed, feet dangling off the edge. Not having slept a wink the strange night before, he quickly fell asleep.
He soon entered a dreamworld, a dark night with rapidly moving clouds that momentarily obscured a bright full moon before they blew past. The landscape was flat, the earth hard, cracked, grassless. The only markings to be seen were numerous tall black trees, dead as any person buried in a cemetery, their limbs devoid of leaves and curving like tentacles. Martin looked down and could see his feet moving, running over the barren land. Coming to a stop, he would look up and see nothing but dead trees and dark clouds. He moved on, desperate to get away, to reach a world of color and life. Stopping once more, anxious about never seeing life again, he turned full circle, staring in horrific wonderment at the four corners of the world. The same trees surrounded him under the same dark clouds. Everything remained the same. All that running and he was in the same spot. Martin remained motionless while tree limbs swayed in a wind he couldn’t feel. Slowly the limbs contorted themselves, pointed at Martin, reached out as if to grab him. Yet he remained still. There was no point to running if he never left the place he started from.
Just as the first of his dreamworld trees began to grasp him, Martin’s eyes popped open. His body was in the same place on the bed, his feet still dangling. He hadn’t moved a muscle while asleep. It was the dead of night now, dark outside and in his room. For a moment, Martin lay still, looking blankly at the ceiling. Without making an effort to conjure up any new suicidal schemes, an idea suddenly came to him. Blood pressure medication was the way to go. If he took just enough to slow his heartbeat down to nothing while not taking enough to make him sick to his stomach, he would die a painless death. No blood and brain spatter to hose off a tombstone, no mess to clean up other than his corpse. If he went back to the cemetery, perhaps some groundskeeper would come upon his dead body and just chuck it in a dumpster. Martin wasn’t looking for any grand ceremony after his death, no wakes or memorials. Who would want to remember him anyway? The dumpster scenario was highly unlikely, but a boy could dream, couldn’t he? Still, he thought the cemetery was the best place to be for his suicide.
As he had the night before, he gathered some items in a back pack. Another half dozen Little Johnnie’s Mini-Choco Cakes, a bottle filled with capsules meant to regulate his blood pressure, and a bottle of cold water from the mini-fridge in his room to wash down the capsules. He never could take pills without liquids. They just got stuck in his throat. Choking to death just didn’t seem like a great way to die.
Martin felt ravenously hungry. There was no reason his death couldn’t wait until he had something to eat. He spotted an unopened bag of Famous Fred’s Chocolate Chunk Cookies. Thinking that would make a fine last meal, he finished off the bag in fifteen minutes while watching the opening monologue of a late night talk show host. It didn’t change Martin’s desire to die. Slipping the back pack over his shoulders, he tiptoed out of his room, down the stairs and out the front door.
The night was warm, but the humidity of the day was gone, making the walk to the cemetery very pleasant. Arbor Woods was quiet, no cars on the streets, no people on the sidewalks, lights off in most houses. Martin arrived at the cemetery in what seemed record time, let himself in through the unlocked front gate and made his way to the same tombstone he had sat by just twenty-four hours earlier. Greeting the Johnson family marker with a polite “Hello again,” he eased the pack from his back, unzipped it to retrieve a choco-cake, and began to munch on his snack.
“Really Martin? Again with the cemetery?”
Surprised, shocked even, to hear a voice, any voice, much less her voice, he whirled around, dropping a half eaten choco-cake in the process. Before him stood Adriana Swanson. Dressed in a black leather motorcycle jacket over a thin, torn white t-shirt, scruffy denim pants with holes at the knees and black high heels with skulls painted on them, she was both alluring and frightening to Martin.
“What...what...” was all Martin could muster.
“Stop stammering. Again, you come here to the cemetery to die. First of all, a cemetery is a place people go when they’re already dead. They don’t usually go there to perform the act of dying. I really don’t think you’re clear on the concept of what a cemetery is for.”
“How did you know why I was here? Or even that I was here at all?”
Unusual for her, Adriana pondered her answer. She decided on a partial truth. “Sometimes I can hear people’s thoughts, especially if they’re in distress.”
“Oh, so now you have super powers, like Superman, or something.”
“I don’t think Superman can hear people’s thoughts. I’m not allergic to Kryptonite either. But that’s all besides the point. The point is, you’re here trying to off yourself again and I don’t understand why.” She paused a moment. “And you smell like chocolate.You always smell like chocolate. I like that. It stirs urgings in me.”
Hearing that, Martin was frightened even more.
What must his blood tasted like? Adriana wondered. I’ll bet it’s sweet. Really, I need to focus here.
“I see you’re eating those little cakes again,” she said. “How many of those have you had tonight?”
Martin lowered his head, the expression of a guilty little boy being questioned by a parent on his face. “Just one. Half of one really. You scared the bejesus out of me, so I dropped it.”
“I’ll bet you had something to eat before you came here, didn’t you? I know you.”
“You’ve only known me for a day.”
“Doesn’t matter, I know you. So what did you eat?”
“I had a bag of Famous Fred’s cookies.”
“A whole bag?”
Martin looked sheepish.“Yeah.”
“The chocolate chunk ones?”
“Yeah.”
“I love those. I could eat a bag of those by myself, easily. Still, if you’re going to kill yourself by swallowing pills, it’s probably best done on an empty stomach. Food just gets in the way, keeps the drug from getting into your system easily. Suicide. That’s another concept you don’t seem to grasp. First, you try to blow your brains out with a cigarette lighter and now you want to gobble pills after a full meal, such as it was.”
He looked aghast at her. “How did you know I was going to take pills?”
Adriana got a slightly smug look on her face. “I told you, I can hear thoughts sometimes. People in distress are easier to hear, clearer for some reason.”
Martin pointed a finger at her. “I think you’re nuts. You’re like a witch or something.”
“You said ‘witch’ right? Like there’s really such a thing as witches. That’s silly.” Adriana caught a burst of chocolate aroma from Martin. Chocolate did all sorts of things to her. It made her horny, it relaxed her, it stimulated her hunger, for both food and blood. Specifically, human blood. Adriana did not want to transform Martin, so she tried to control her senses.
“You strike me as a pretty smart guy, Martin. Granted some aspects of your life may, how can I put this delicately, suck. Still, death has a lot of finality to it. You can’t change your mind after the fact.”
“True enough. I just have a lot of trouble seeing anything positive sometimes. Things can seem so bleak.” He paused for a moment. “Why am I telling you this? Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you in my life?”
“Oh, all of a sudden you’re full of life! See, that’s what you needed, a kick in the pantaloons! You just need to see the wonder of life again. I think you’ve forgotten how amazing life can be. You just need to seek out a little adventure once in a while. Then you’ll have reasons to keep on living. Sitting cooped up in your room all the time, you lose sight of what’s important.”
“Who says I stay cooped up in my room all the time?”
“Oh, please, remember, I know you.” The chocolate aroma wafted over to Adriana again. It made her swoon. Her knees got weak. She felt giddy and giggled for no apparent reason that Martin could discern.
She walked up to him and put her hands on his chest. Normally, Martin disliked being touched by a stranger, and Adriana was nothing if not strange to him, but her hands felt so warm, almost hot. Strangely, her touch put him at ease.
“Martin, I think everything is going to be okay. I think I can help you find the beauty of life again.”
She was close to him now. She had the scent of wildflowers about her. He was chocolate and sweetness and salt and her senses were becoming overwhelmed.
She looked in Martin’s eyes with an expression of love and reassurance.
She held out her arms. “Big hug!” she said to him.
“Uh, okay.”
She wrapped her arms around him, drew him in close, rested her cheek against his, breathed in deeply. Thoughts swirled in her head, jumbled and crashed, leaving no sign of reasoning in the wreckage. The hug continued, seemingly without end. Normally, Martin would have been uncomfortable but her body felt good next to his. The crush of her breasts against his chest, the heat of her body, it was all intoxicating to him.
Martin began to get nervous. His head filled with questions. What do I do now? Should I try to kiss her? What kind of kiss? On the cheek, like a friend, or on the mouth like a lover? Do I end the hug and we walk away? What kind of relationship is this? What kind of relationship will it become? Does stopping me from committing suicide count as a date? Is sex in a cemetery inappropriate?
All of Martin’s questions became moot when Adriana sank her fangs into his jugular. At first he tried to push her away, but she was inhumanly strong, and her hold on him did not loosen. Within seconds, he was unable to summon his muscles to movement. He was no longer in control of his body. The pain his neck felt where it was pierced had disappeared. Physically numb, his brain began to cloud over. What the hell is happening, he wondered, am I going to die here? Now, unreasonably for a suicidal man, he feared death more than he feared the continuance of life. I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all, was his final thought, just before he lost consciousness.
