The Choice ( a serial work of fiction)

I am sitting on the grey wooden stairs of the sagging ashen apartment building where I have lived for several years with my uncle and the latest of my aunts. I know the routine , if he leaves , so will I - I have lived with him since my father was murdered . My mother took me to her parents house, where she lived with me until I was almost a year. My grandparents are nice enough people- but too old to deal with a child. Especially one that my grandfather called "active and inquisitive"- which translates into always on the go and into everything. My father was my uncle's older and only brother. They both were in love with my mother. Though not my father by act, my uncle is my father by default in that he is the only parent that I have known. I would not change it- I know who my parents were . I have a good sense of who I am.

I am waiting on the steps for my uncle to come home. The street around me is full of life - two homeless men systematically disassemble a bus shelter including the payphone inside and walk away with it . No one stops them. I am heated in the noon sun, and the humidity clings to me . A vendor sets up to my right , and the smell of sausage and hot dogs is enticing. He is an older man, of about, fifty, I guess. Tommy James and the Shondells fills my world-he is better than the oldies station. I brush myself of as I stand, walk over and get a ginger ale and a hot link, careful not to drip the sweet smokey bbq sauce on me. I love the flood of hot grease from the link and sauce in my mouth. Across the street, artists have set up for the day. There is one on the corner wearing a brightly striped faux top hat-he is demonstrating a new kind of bubble wand that he wants passing parents to buy their whining children as they drag them past him. His wand fills the air with about a gazillion bubbles. Bright scarves adorn the tentlet next to him. I know her. I have one of her sculptures- a goddess viewing a crystal ball. It was a present from my uncle two years ago. I keep it in my bedroom . The ball has fallen off - and I need to find it- I have not taken the time yet. Its on my list of things to do.

I return to the stairs . The used bookstore across the street has put out the bin of dollar books. Sometimes , he has some really good things. I once found a biography of George Sands there. They donot teach George Sands in public schools. Too scandalous, too outrageous- too many questions would be asked. We read in our house. Not only my uncle and I but the children, his or not of my various aunts by marriage. Can one really be an only child when one has so many siblings? I have eight that I have met. My favorite story is that of the little princes in the Tower of England whose uncle had them murdered. My uncle would not murder me - I know this. My uncle is good for reading Peter Pan when I had measles,tucking me into warm clean beds, and making sure that I had lunch money for school. People say that we donot argue but I know that is not true. He is infuriating when we argue because he doesn't just shout , he reasons. and expects the same. I don't think that he has ever exactly told me that I am wrong- just that I had not considered all of the aspects of my decision. Its important to look at a thing to be decided from multiple angles. He tells me that even though we sometimes disagree, that he will always be there for me. That when I am a grownup lady, I will remember with fondness what the old man who raised me said. Hopefully it will stand me in good stead. I hate it when he says this- its too impermanent.

Its two and the ridiculous cooing woman in her large red hat and obscenely large red poppied dress and her Maltese with that silly bow in its hair are out for a walk. Baby baby oogie wooky snookums drop like cookie crumbs -The white silky longhaired dog seems to be laughing at her .I think that it knows what power it has over this allegedly superior life form.

"Do you want the rest of that?" asks my cousin, Adrian pointing to the now lukewarm gingerale. I shake my head. " Can I have it?'
"If you like" I reply then nest my chin into my balled up hand and lean my elbows onto my knees.
He gulps it down, belches loudly and shoots for the trash bin .
"Missed it", I laugh "Have to play for the Warriors because the Celtics won't have you if you shoot like that."
Adrian is half my age. His mother/ my aunt by marriage has offered to let me stay if I want. She told me that she and my uncle had discussed this. Neither would put a child in Foster- bad place that. I try to imagine what life would be like with just Maria and her son.

Four o' clock, a red car screetches around the far corner at the end of the block , followed by a dark dirty colored car- Maria yells for Adrian to bring up the mail, unaware of any of this. He is too short . I stand and retrieve it for him. He bounds yelling "Got it " to his mother. The driver of the red car parks it on the sidewalk in front of the drugstore on the corner. The driver of the second car quickly catches him, there is a popping of bullets and the first man lies on the hot cement inches from a crowded bus stop. The dark car speeds off into the day- it has no plates. The screaming of ambulance, firetrucks and police follow minutes later- the witnesses have taken their bus by now and are no longer available. They won't ask me- I am too far away.

Six o'clock , I see the vendors pack up. People crowd off the buses bearing treasures of take out bags and beer. Maria's meatloaf smells wonderful from above. I know that I am safe with Maria.
She is not intimidated by the fact that I have been with my uncle forever - longer than her marriage certainly. She swats and hugs me just like her own. I am not competition- just an older kid. She calls for me to come and wash up- dinner is ready. I love the vintage white and pink table cloth that wa her mother's . Its real linen. The dishes are also old- but unchipped and uncrazed. I scrub the dishes while she watches the news. Adrian heads for his room to do homework.

Eight o'clock . I shower and change into clean blouse and jeans. Grabbing a cup of pomigranite tea, from the kitchen I descend the wooden stairs that slightly spiral to the front door. Maria snores softly in her overstuffed chair, adding soft music to my ears. I sit on the porch steps once more.

I think of the changes that have occurred in the last few weeks. Of how our lives have changed, dramatically at first, then returned to the more usual. Of the night, that my uncle came home covered in blood. It scared me-for he was so very pale. He went to the hospital - and was sent home in the morning. Maria knew more than the doctors. She kept their room dark- very dark. She is a brave woman . She later moved to her sewing room and slept on the little cot there. Adrian saw none of this. I saw it all.

The funeral was hard-there were so many phoneys in attendance. Not speaking ill of the dead- they would have taken his last shirt and the coins off of his eyes had they had the opportunity.
I have grown to hate the smell of flowers for they remind me of that hypocrisy. It rained the day that we buried my uncles's casket. The sky was crying. Our lives changed during those days. Maria took care that Adrian never saw his father after the funeral. My uncle began to prepare to leave. For now he and I were safe. Which left the question of Me. Both of them told me that it was my choice.

Ten o'clock. My uncle sat beside me on the steps . He looked better than he had in weeks. I had always loved his dark intense gaze. I could feel his eyes on me in the dark. I looked at him. Vampire or not- he was who he had always been . I would continue as a child of light for awhile longer and he would hire some one to front for us as he posed as an absent parent away on business. We would make darker decisions later together as we had made all the others.

"I am going with you." . Together we went for my already packed suitcases, woke Maria to say good bye, and gave her a phone number. I left a note for Adrian saying goodbye and that I had gone to live with my cousin Mary in another state. Maria walked us down the stairs, hugged me once . " Be a good girl. You made the decision that I thought that you would." She smiled at my uncle . waved once and closed the door behind us.