else. Something way worse.” I don’t believe this. “I don’t believe it either, but it’s true." He fell totally silent, except for a few incredulous squeaks. We had just held a two-way conversation with me doing all the talking, yet he still couldn't get what was happening.
I would have to prove it to him on his own terms.
"Okay," I told him, "let's try this another way. Think of something totally random – anything, whatever comes into your head – and I’ll tell you what it is. Okay? Anything – no holds barred.” He eyed me warily. "Whenever you're ready." Then it came. “Dodgeball. Paper clip. Chicken leg. Pamela Anderson’s left nipple. Dodgeball again.”
Hit, hit, hit, hit. And hit.
Hube was not prepared for something like this. Honestly, who would be? He sank onto the couch. “I thought you needed an intervention, not an exorcism.”
“It’s not like that, Hube,” I assured him.
He didn’t believe me. I don’t think he knew what to believe, actually. “What’s it like then? Tell me, Joe, what is it like? You’re pale as hell; you don’t seem to eat anymore. You won’t go outside; you hide out in your house all the time. You’re gone from work for nine goddamn days and I can’t get you to pick up the fucking phone! Were you sick, dude, or were you strung out, or were you possessed by the devil? And what are you right now? ‘Cause I’m watching my best friend go through some pretty dark shit here, and I feel like there’s nothing I can do to get him out of it.” He was crying. “So what the fuck?”
Yikes. I was so busy worrying about what had happened that I hadn't stopped to realize I wasn’t the only one who was being affected by it.
The human part of me that was still in there felt like a total shit.
I flopped down next to him on the couch. “First up: I’m not on anything, Hube – I swear to you, I’m not. I know how well junkies can pull off a lie, but I would never lie to you about something like that. Plus, you know how I feel about putting foreign substances in my body, right? Germs and everything?” He accepted that. "And as tempting as I'm sure it would be for any demon to get all up on my sweet ass, I’m not possessed, either.” That made him laugh a little. “But close.”
That didn’t.
I spent the next two hours explaining to him what had happened at Pomme, and my conversation with Don, and everything that had gone on between the two, right up until the minute he walked in the door. He was dumbstruck, which made me sort of glad for the mindreading thing. Is this even possible? “I wouldn’t have thought it was, until all the fun-filled features started showing up. The doctor visit was enlightening, though. Hard to deny a missing heartbeat.”
Hube was quiet for a while. I just let him absorb it all. “Sorry I accused you of being on drugs, dude. That wasn’t cool.”
I waved it off. “Forget it. You were trying to help me out. How were you supposed to know I was a vampire and not a crackhead? I made it kind of difficult to tell the difference.” The tension was fading. “Sorry for waiting so long to tell you. It hasn't been easy to find the right way to say it. Bet you wish I really had been on drugs after finding all this out, huh?”
He chuckled weakly. “Nah… we’ll figure it out,” he said, not sounding terribly confident about it. I, on the other hand, couldn't have been more relieved to have spilled it all to someone – to Hube, especially. I kind of felt like I had a partner in vampirism now.
“Thanks anyway for the intervention. Aren’t there supposed to be a few more people at these things?” He told me he’d called my parents, but tonight was a new episode of Breaking Bad, and they wondered if this couldn’t be done next week instead. My sister was out of town; my brother didn’t pick up the phone. “That sounds about right.”
Hube looked sort of embarrassed. “But I didn’t want to wait any longer. So you just get me… an intervention of one.” I slugged his shoulder.
As it turns out, one was all I needed.
POST 13
The Man with Two Brains (And No Girlfriend)
Since spilling my guts to Hube, it’s become quite a bit easier to deal with