Dakotah: Interlude: A Vampire in Wal*Mart

This was written in January 2005 and follows directly after Sierra's story.  Poor Kotie. 

Things change when you’ve been dead a couple hundred years. I discovered that again just this evening. You see, I’ve been dating a woman 270-something years younger than me (give or take a couple decades), and tonight she’s told me that the impossible has happened.

We’re going to have a baby.

Now, I don’t know how this happened. Well, I know the theory of how and the science behind it but what I don’t understand is the how of it. After all, I’m dead, aren’t I? I guess I’m more alive than I previously thought.

Not even our resident vamp doc quite understands it all. Although, I think he’s holding out on us.

Which is why I’m here. In Wal*Mart. Searching for baby clothes, cribs, and all that goes with having an infant in your home. Unfortunately, there isn’t much open at this time of night. Even in Las Vegas, your options are limited at 2:30 in the morning.

I’m a lucky vampire. I have a beautiful redheaded witch who loves me and doesn’t mind a boyfriend who has a tendency to be a pain in the neck. She takes care of my day-to-day operations and ensures that no one opens the blinds in my bedroom at lunchtime. Despite the fact that she’s been tempted to do exactly that on occasions, she cares enough to resist the urge and I’m thankful. She’s self-supporting and owns her own business. A very modern witch. What more could a bloodsucker want?

But this. What do I do with this? A baby? Seriously. I haven’t been a father since I was turned three hundred and some years ago. My son was only a toddler then. Now he and his mother are nothing more than dust. Every last parenting skill I might have ever had is dust along with them.

Sweet Sierra. She’s too good to me. In an effort to ease my anxiety, she has purchased nearly every book she can find on fathering and parenting. And even one or two on being an older father. I doubt that I’m what they had in mind when they wrote those. Not that I can really comprehend much of what was inside those books. During the short period of time I was a father, my duty was to keep my family from being murdered and hopefully bring some money in. Everything else was up to my wife.

I am so not prepared for this.

So here I still am, at Wal*Mart, at 2:45 on a Wednesday morning. Pink or blue? Yellow or green? How am I supposed to know? My son wore black, white and grey. Not much else was allowed for young men back then. They aren’t kidding when they say things were better in the good ole days.

I’m in over my head, I think. When I get home I’m going to leave my credit card for Sierra and let her do the shopping. After all, what’s the rush? There’s still 30 weeks to go until D-Day.

And there’s no doubt she’ll know better than I do.