Uncle Vampire by Cynthia D. Grant

storms.
    â€œMmm,” Honey said, “the chicken looks fabulous.”
    What a trooper she is! That kid’s got spunk! Sharks are circling the life raft and she’s looking on the bright side, which happens to be the sun reflecting off their teeth.
    â€œIt smells delicious, Uncle Toddy.” She held out her plate.
    I asked Richie how things were going at school.
    He snorted and rolled his eyes.
    Meanwhile, Papa was playing with the TV set. “Goddamn thing, it’s only three years old. You pay a lot of money and what do you get? Junk.”
    Uncle Toddy said, “Didn’t you get the extended warranty?”
    Papa loomed up beside the table like a whale. There he blows. “That’s the thing that really pisses me off! You’re standing there, ready to buy the damn thing, and the salesman says, ‘Do you want the extended warranty?’ And of course that’s fifty bucks extra. But he knows and you know that the thing’s going to break down. That’s the only guarantee you’re going to get. It’s going to break down, as soon as you get home, if you don’t pay the fifty bucks extra. I mean what’s happening to this country? What’s happened to our pride? Let’s just come right out and admit it: The whole damn thing is going down the tubes!”
    When the TV is working, there’s little conversation. If you start to talk, Papa says: “Wait, I want to hear this.”
    We didn’t always have the TV on during dinner. It began four, maybe five years ago, during some kind of international crisis, a war or hostages or something. Papa was furious and had to watch every minute. He kind of liked it; it took his mind off his problems. And then it got to be a habit, with various newscasters our nightly dinner guests.
    â€œBill,” Uncle Toddy drawled, “your dinner’s getting frozen.”
    â€œIn a minute,” Papa called from the den. We could hear him yanking open the file cabinet drawers. Later, Honey would go in there and clean up his mess. Look, Papa: The elves were here again!
    â€œHoney,” Mama said, “Bradley called this afternoon. I forgot to tell you. He wants you to call him tonight.”
    â€œOkay, Mama.” She was wolfing down her dinner as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. Maybe she hadn’t. She’s looking shabby lately. Her lips are dry and cracked.
    I looked around the table and really saw my family. When the TV’s on, we hide in the noise. The silence shone on us like a spotlight, stripping us of our shadows.
    Mama was beautiful but dry and brittle, like a flower pressed in a book long ago.
    My brother was the color of the milk he wasn’t drinking. His skin was waxy. He was picking the skin off his chicken.
    Uncle Toddy was a beacon of health. His body was tough and slender. He’s been lifting weights; he’s been working out. At night his barbells thump the floor.
    Honey’s neck had been chewed like the bones on her plate. Her blouse clearly framed the hickeys, red mouths crying out. But nobody said: By the way, have you been dating a werewolf lately ? Mama asked Honey about a basketball game. Honey poured on the pep: That game was so great! Richie’s eyes rolled until his sockets were white, as if he were blind, which is what he wishes.
    I saw everything clearly, an eye in the sky, as objective as God, and as far away.
    My father gave up on finding the warranty, or forgot what he was looking for, and came back to the table. He seemed to notice the bruises on Honey’s neck, and I thought: This is it!
    But he sat down and ate his dinner. If Honey came to the table with an axe in her head, would he say, “Hon, your part is crooked”?
    Looking around the table I almost laughed. You laugh or you cry until your guts pour out and you’re inside out and the pain of it kills you. What a family! We’re afraid that if we open our mouths the truth will jump out