The Backwards Vampire

This morning we were at the Purim carnival at Jarrah's school with Mary and Joy when David suddenly asked "Should I give blood?"

Well, as Meg Ryan says to Tom Hanks in the second segment of Joe vs The Volcano, I had no response to that. For a second, I was genuinely confused. Then I realized we were standing in front of a big trailer with the words "MOBILE BLOOD DRIVE" on the side. So, part of the mystery was solved. Yet I was still puzzled. Why would he do such a thing during a carnival? We were in the middle of throwing darts at balloons and he suddenly thought, "You know what would be good right now? If someone opened one of my veins and sucked out a pint of my human essence. Yeah, that would hit the spot."

I have never given much thought to giving blood as a reality. Perhaps because it's not part of my reality. You see, I lived in England in 1987, and that period of time now makes me at risk to convey mad cow disease. I certainly hope I don't have mad cow disease. I mean, I feel fine. Also, I think I mostly ate beans on toast that year, since the refectory food was vile. Nevertheless, my blood is no longer wanted. My blood is damaged goods.

My next thought was, "Can you do that? I mean, you're not a citizen." David gave me one of his "What are you on about, you silly thing?" looks. But I was just wondering. Maybe they think Australia is a third-world country of some type. Who knows? But I gave him my blessing anyway, not really thinking it through.

He was off like a shot, and I'm embarrassed to say that for a little while I forgot all about him. He tends to be the strong, silent type in a crowd, and not hearing from him for half-hour stretches is not unusual. We were throwing balls at some wooden queen heads when I suddenly yelped, "Where's David?"

"Probably still giving blood," Mary grimaced. "It takes a while."

Good heavens, what had I been thinking? David is a sensitive man, a man who needs his own show on Animal Planet because he identifies with all living creatures, even sympathizing with a pickle-sized cockroach who emerged from my shampoo bottles last summer and made me scream arias for 10 minutes. ("He was just looking for water," David explained. "When it gets hot like this, they have no choice but to come inside.") Made me feel like a total heel for smashing him with a shoe while screaming "DIE! DIE! DIE!" in front of my three-year-old. Sheesh. If he wanted water, why didn't he just hold out a tiny mug?

But back to David. He's a gentle soul who wouldn't hurt a fly, and I was suddenly convinced that I'd made a terrible mistake letting him go inside that trailer, where I couldn't monitor what they were doing to him. "It's his first time?" Mary asked. "He might be feeling pretty weak after."

Oh, no. He's a frail and delicate flower as it is! I couldn't have them weakening him further. What if his blood was like Samson's hair, and he could no longer smash pillars with his bare hands afterwards? I ran up to the door, and a smiling blonde woman greeted me. "Is my husband in there? Is he okay?"

She kept smiling. I guess her job requires a lot of smiling, or more people might suddenly think better of offering their arm for piercing with a large needle. "He's in there. Doing his interview. It's going to be a while."

"What should I do?" I wailed. "Should I bring him food?"

"We'll give him cookies and juice afterward, but he could probably use a good meal right after. He's...he seems....he's..." She gazed into the middle distance with a dreamy look on her face, and I knew it. I just knew I should have been paying more attention.

"He's tender-hearted!" I screamed. "He's a bit delicate!"

Her smile became even more dreamy. She murmured: "Yes. I can tell."

AAAGGGGGHHH! I was so worried now I almost couldn't eat my hot dog smothered in ketchup, mustard, relish, onions and saurkraut. But I soldiered through. With all the commotion trying to get the girls to eat, I was actually a bit surprised when my cell phone rang.

"Hello?" I shouted. "Where are you? Can you walk? Should I come get you? Have you eaten?"

He laughed over the din of the crowd outside. "I'm fine. I had some juice. I'm walking to find you right now."

"Walking! Should you be walking? Should you be STANDING?"

He appeared smiling just a minute later, looking remarkably like himself. I stood up. "Sit down!" I shrieked. "I'll go get you some food."

"Um, I like this kind of treatment," he said. But I wasn't really listening since I was sprinting to the concession stand, where I pantingly ordered a hot dog and pepsi for my depleted love.

When I got back, he had been plied with cast-off cookies from the rest of our lunches, and was conversing just as if he hadn't been drained of vital fluids in a parking lot on a sunny day. He waved cheerfully to a gentleman at the next table, saying "He was in the bed next to me."

Oy, they were in beds? The horror, the horror. What could he have been thinking? I asked him. "I was thinking that last year that truck seemed all lonely with no one going inside, and how this year I was going inside myself. And I'd do it again! It was fine."

The man is a freakin' hero, if you ask me. But it never ceases to amaze me.