Michael Griffo - Unafraid

“What’s all the fuss about?” Fritz asked. “It’s the colors of the American flag.”

Not wanting to divulge the real meaning behind the gift wrap, Michael spoke for the group when he said, “Oh my God, Fritz, it is!”

“What else could it be?” he asked rhetorically. “Now will you open the damn thing so we can see what she bought for ya!”

Michael pulled the bow off first and playfully stuck it on Ronan’s head; he good-naturedly left it there. This time when Michael saw his gift he wasn’t disappointed. “They’re perfect, Seersh!” Leaning over, he gave his unofficial sister-in-law a hug that made her blush a bit more and then held up his gifts so the others could see. In one hand, a book of British slang, in the other, a framed picture of Saoirse and him taken under the brass apple tree sculpture the last time they had gone into Eden. It had only just started and already it was turning out to be a perfect birthday.

Grabbing the photo, Fritz compared it to his comic book. “I think I made you look more lifelike.”

Yanking the picture back, Michael laughed. “Fritz, this is a photo; yours is a drawing.”

“I know,” Fritz replied, undeterred. “And I still think mine looks better.”

“And I still can’t believe a camera can capture your reflection.”

Well, it had been a perfect birthday. Saoirse didn’t immediately fathom the impact of her comment until she looked around the room. Fritz looked downright perplexed, Ciaran’s jaw had dropped as if someone had just told him his lab had burnt to the ground, and Michael’s and Ronan’s eyes bulged so wide it looked like they might escape their sockets. Once she realized her gaffe, she opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t compound the situation. Michael felt the same way, so when he spoke he did it without sound.

“This is because a vampire traditionally doesn’t have a reflection,” Michael said to Ronan telepathically. “Or appear in photos, right?”

“Yes,” Ronan replied, silently. “Or have a sister with a big mouth!”

Inevitably, Fritz asked the question they all knew he would. “What the bloody hell is she talking about?”

Knowing that no one wanted to respond, Ronan, as the oldest, took it upon himself to take control of the situation. “Should we tell him?”

Three heads snapped in Ronan’s direction, Michael, Ciaran, and Saoirse, but each remained silent and each had the same thought: Ronan couldn’t possibly be suggesting that they let Fritz in on the fact that two out of the five people in the room were inhuman and one was the offspring of two vampires.

“Rooooooonan,” Michael said, stretching out his boyfriend’s name so it took him about ten seconds to say it.

“Well, brother,” Ciaran said, “you are the oldest and therefore the wisest.”

“Um, yes, brother, if you really think it’s wise,” Saoirse said, then added in a whisper, “You don’t really think it’s wise, do you?”

Ronan lay back on the mattress and swung his legs up and over Saoirse’s head. He started to pace the room, but the others couldn’t tell if he was doing so because he was nervous or because he was setting the stage to share their extraordinary secret. “I think it’s time,” Ronan announced. “I was just telling Michael this morning that there shouldn’t be any more secrets.”

Bug-eyed, Saoirse turned to Michael. “Did he say that, Michael? Did Ronan tell you that this morning?”

“Well, uh, yeah,” Michael confirmed. “He actually did.”

Tired of the suspense, Fritz wanted an answer. “C’mon, mate, just spill it!”

Michael saw Saoirse reach over and grab Ciaran’s hand, and he was jealous that he had no one to hold on to. He couldn’t believe Ronan was going to do this; he couldn’t believe Ronan was going to tell Fritz that they were both vampires. It was insane, it was unthinkable, and yet Michael couldn’t think of any way to stop him that wouldn’t make the situation more tense or Fritz more suspicious.

“The reason Saoirse is surprised that Michael has a reflection,” Ronan started, pausing for effect when he saw his boyfriend and his siblings hold their breath, “is because she thinks he’s some sort of god and not human like the rest of us.”

As Ronan’s words sunk in, they all exhaled in relief. All except Saoirse.

“I never said he was a god!” the girl screamed, her face reddened not by embarrassment this time, but by anger. “I said he’s really, really cute and all, but don’t make me sound like I’m round the bend!”

Now that the crisis had been averted, Michael thought it was time to have some fun. “You really, really think I’m really, really cute?”

“Oh blimey, Michael!” Saoirse exclaimed, jumping off the bed. “You know you’re cute, everybody says so, even Fritz.”

Once again Fritz proved that he wasn’t threatened by the fact that Michael and Ronan were gay or by the concept itself and was man enough to admit that he could notice if a guy was really, really cute.

Sort of. “I don’t think I used those exact words, Seersh,” Fritz said. “But I did mention to Phaedra once that you were a fine looking chap.”

“Thanks, Fritz,” Michael said, proudly accepting the compliment. “Right back at ya.”

“And lucky too ’cause girls can be certifiably crackers!” Fritz added. “For a second, I thought you were going to say she didn’t think you would have a reflection ’cause you’re a bunch of bloody vampires!”

They were all so stunned by Fritz’s comment that at first they didn’t realize they were laughing. Of course they were laughing more out of shock and the absurdity of the situation than because they thought the joke was particularly funny. Fritz, however, thought his comment was hilarious.

“Bollocks! I should’ve made you a vampire, Michael, instead of a zombie!” he exclaimed. “I could’ve called it ‘Bloody Nebraska’!”

Desperate to steer the conversation away from anything that had to do with vampires, Ciaran noticed one more gift that hadn’t been opened. It was on top of some books on the side of the desk and wrapped very simply in what looked like a brown paper bag. When he picked it up he saw that that’s exactly what it was, and he knew immediately whom it must be from. “Michael, I think this is from Ronan.”

Holding the gift, Michael looked over at Ronan and wore an expression as if to ask if it were okay to open his gift in public. “Go ahead, love,” he said, “otherwise I think the audience may revolt.”

He noticed that Ronan hadn’t written “To Michael” on the paper, but “Forever Beautiful, Forever Mine.” He hoped the gift was like the packaging—simple and sentimental.

It was.

“I love it, Ronan, thank you,” Michael said as he showed everyone that Ronan had given him a copy of Oscar Wilde’s play An Ideal Husband. The others might have thought it was just another book for Michael to read, but he understood the significance that Mr. Wilde’s works had in their relationship.

When they had first met Ronan had compared Michael to the titular character in Dorian Gray, then last semester Ronan had bought Michael a collection of short stories that included “The Young King,” which Ronan said reminded him of Michael. Now, he had a new title to add to his growing library.

As expected, Saoirse started to giggle when she saw the name of the play, and not so expectedly Ciaran joined her. “Have we all noticed that I’m the only one who’s acting like an adult and not snickering?” Fritz asked.

“Yes, Fritz, we have noticed,” Ronan replied, slapping his sister in the head and his brother on the arm.