Jessica and I are snowed in, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix, sitting on the lime-green sofa and laying bets on whether there really will be six more weeks of winter, when she says, “Remind me who the acquainted one is.”
“The who?” I ask.
She points to the laptop and Buffy, and I say, “Oh, the anointed one. He’s supposed to lead the vampires.”
“And he is the appointed one?” she asks. “The boy with dark hair.”
“The anointed one,” I say. “Yes. Anointed means blessed but since they’re vampires they mean it in an unholy way.”
“Who does the appointing?” Clearly she thinks appointed is a better word than anointed, and I like it myself.
“I don’t know,” I say. “That part’s always vague. There’s like a prophecy or something. People telling each other stories and waiting for someone to lead them out of darkness. Or into it, as the case may be.”
She tilts her head, looks at me. “You would never wait for anyone.”
“Which explains why I spend so much of my life saying, ‘How did I get here?'”
She tucks her legs under her and says, “I have never heard you say that.”
“It’s a conversation I have in my head.”
“Oh, in your head,” she says. She has always thought I spent too much time there. “But now you have me,” she adds, as if that has solved everything.
I have always called her my Buddha baby. I lean over and kiss her soft cheek. “I didn’t know I was waiting for you till you got here.”
Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter! I give random stuff away—and I tell more stories. Just wander over to my homepage.