In the Southwestern U.S. and Mexico, we celebrate Dia de Muertos, the Day of the Dead (November 1). I like to build a shrine as I think about the beloved ones who are gone now. In this shrine-building, I was bringing to mind Ben Boynton–my dad–and David Graeper, excellent being and father of my son, Greg. I also wished happy afterlife to Russell Bradley, father of my husband, Jon Bradley and other excellent friends and life companions on the Other Side. Such good therapy for the heart–shrine-building.
And the Vampire Grandmas taught me how to do it! You can do it too. Ruth Leslie would say, “Go ahead; get busy.”
Before the vampire grandmas dumped the driver and gagged the Global Loan and Online Bank manager, the ride had been dull. The limo had been stuck in traffic on Route 25 out of Asheville at five pm. But when it crossed into Transylvania County, mountains and rhododendron green surrounded them. By midnight, the black Cadillac turned and began its assent, bouncing over Dogtired Rd, a shoulderless dirt trail, twisty as a copperhead, lit with full moon light, up the mountain to their secret lair.
The Clinic was tucked away, alright. I had a hell of a time finding it. When I walked in, the receptionist checked my fingerprints against the ones I’d sent and looked deeply into my eyes. Then she nodded and gave me a heavy menu covered in embossed leather, the treatments and prices written in an ornate Gothic font. Another woman waited on a plush ottoman, reclining amid its thick woven cushions, half asleep. “I’m here for a booster,” she sighed. Then the “doctor” entered through a beaded curtain. Her name—Ima Goulay—was embroidered in gold on her long, white lab coat. “Our goal is to take you out of your species,” Dr. Goulay said. “It’s a terrible species. Right?” I nodded.