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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

Spring brought to me a sense of renewal. I saw the grass turn green, the leaves sprout on the trees. I walked along the streets at twilight, both morning and evening, and, inspired by it all, wished for a life in the daylight—to come into the sunshine and laugh in the warmth of it.

But I slept through the day instead. And from sundown to sunup, I let the darkness enter my mind. I was continually busy, puzzling over my strangeness, aching over my loneliness, wanting so much, but afraid. I searched for friendship, camaraderie. I found, instead, only victims.

My health began to fail. I was afraid I would not survive the nights and the toll they were taking on my body. I barely recognized myself in the mirror any­more. I needed to make some changes.

The first thing I did was to leave the answering service. Permanently. I didn’t need the job. It was too . . . too . . . confining. Leaving felt like a great relief. I could now do exactly as I pleased, with no time constraints, no guilt. I could spend my time as I pleased. I could live on my savings and the account in Pennsylvania for a long, long time.

But that first night, instead of sleeping and begin­ning to re­arrange my odd schedule to coincide more with normal waking hours, I was up with Spartacus, the cat that had adopted me when I was so eager for adulthood and responsibility, petting her as she gave birth to a litter of four kittens, two yellow-­striped toms, one calico, and one tiger female just like her mother. I held the newborn babies in my hand, still wet from their birthing juices, and I petted them and talked to them, smelling them, and feeling them. They were so pure, the little ones. They had never eaten, they had never meowed, they had never really even thought. How clean. How nice. How tasty. I licked one’s face, tasting its wetness—salty, like tears—tasting its life. Then I put it in the box with its family.

But then there was also Her, and at first I was afraid of Her reaction to my leaving the answering service. I was afraid that She would no longer find me humorous, or exciting, or attractive, when in fact, those fears lived only in my mind. Her affection was uninterrupted and con­sistent.

My petty insecurities, my fears and wishes for a different life, in fact, paled before the immensity of Her affection, Her consistency, Her solidly based strength.