Chapter Five

I guess I should tell you about myself. I'm into zombies. That's kind of the main thing. But there's probably more to me than that.

My name is Helen. I know. Not really original. It's not that my mom is really into following trends; or anything like that. The name wasn't actually that popular when I was born.

Oh well.

I'm one of the few 16 year-olds with the name, at least. There's a ton of kids younger than me who have it.

There's six Helens in the 9th grade. In the 10th grade, I'm the only one.

Enough about my name.

What do I look like?

I'm not thin like my mom.

I'm not chubby, but I have meat on my bones. And some fat. I think my mom is annoyed about that.

I'm short like my mom.

My hair is red like my dad's.

I have a few freckles.

I have wide ugly feet and toenails that grow way too fast.

I have brown eyes.

I have style; but not one that my mom approves of. And I'm not saying I dress like a slut, or anything like that.

My mom likes conservative form fitting clothes; always in solitary colors. It's what she wears and it's what she buys for me.

I like stuff that's comfortable and colorful. I like contrasts and risks.

I rarely wear the stuff my mom gives me; and she bugs me about it. "When are you going to wear that blazer I bought you?"

A couple of years ago I tried being honest, and I GENTLY asked if I could exchange the gift. She said it was totally fine; but she had that look. My mom has this look where she's smiling, but there's all this anger underneath. She looks like she's about to boil over or explode.

I kept the clothes.

A few weeks ago I tried to talk to her about the clothes thing. She hurt my feelings with her negative attitude; so I kind of gave her the silent treatment. I didn't stop talking completely. I just kind of acted quiet and moody. She insisted I tell her what's wrong. I said that I feel she gives me this look when I wear my clothes. I feel she's criticizing me.

My mom totally lost it. She started crying which made me feel all guilty. She blabbed on and on about how she didn't know where she went wrong. She said. "Where did I go wrong? Why do you hate me so much?" Then there was something about there being no instruction books for parents. And let me tell you. That's bullshit. I've been to the bookstore. There's a whole section on parenting instructions.

I think there are more parenting books than zombie books.

Anyway, she was so overly dramatic about things. I can't say I was surprised. My mom tends to meet any of my complaints with a scene like that.

It's really not a good idea to criticize my mom. It's better to bottle things up. I need to remember that.

I'm lucky I have my grandma. She's cool. Although I figure she must have done something wrong. She's my mom's mom. Something must have happened to turn my mom into a drama queen.

I'm being too hard on my mom. She's annoying, but not awful.

She can be sweet sometimes. She's very charming. She's not just a drama queen in the negative way. She can be very funny. She's great at singing and acting. She does local theater and has been the star of several plays.

She's good at cooking, at least with dessert dishes. Her meat dishes are a bit gross. I've often been tempted to go vegetarian; sort of for animal rights, but mostly to avoid my mom's meatloaf.

My dad is okay. He can be a bit insulting at times. It's like he says things and doesn't think twice about whether it might hurt someone. He doesn't like my zombie interest. He says it's "creepy". The thing is he doesn't say it about me directly. He says it about other people, as if saying it that way doesn't count as an insult.

We watched a talk show and they had people like me on it. The people were all into the whole zombie history. I thought they were cool. My dad said they were sick and creepy. And he also said they really need to get a life.

Hello?

Does he not understand that what he says about them applies to me as well? He was either giving me an insult by proxy. Or he's not aware that I'm so into zombies. Either thing is pretty damn annoying. I'm not in the closet about my zombie interest. If he doesn't know, then the guy is pretty oblivious.

Sixteen

I survived my night alone.

I was a little hurt, not because of my parents not checking up on me at any point.  But neither did my grandma.  I was hoping she'd call and ask if I was all right….maybe offer to come pick me up.

It didn't happen. 

But I did okay on my own.  I feel so independent now.  I'm ready to face whatever the world throws at me.

I'm being sarcastic here.   Whatever.

I want to talk more about animals.

I've read a bit about America's wildlife in the pre-zombie days.  There were no wild giraffes or zebras.   There were no chimpanzees.  There were no ostriches.  If you wanted to see those animals you had to go to a zoo or circus…something like that.

For a decade or so after the zombie outbreak; there were lions and tigers roaming about.   That's scary to imagine; although people in Africa and Asia deal with it still.

Hunters put an end to that here.  But as you might have heard there's rumors that a few lions and tigers are hiding somewhere out there.  No one has been able to come up with definite evidence of sightings.   For now it's just mythology.  But hey.  At one time Big Foot was seen as being mythological.  

Fifteen

I'm home alone.

Our house hasn't been attacked by zombies yet.

I did wonder for a moment because I heard banging on the living room windows.  I had my suspicions about what was doing that; otherwise I might have locked myself in the bathroom or something.

It was a chimpanzee.  There's one that prowls around the neighborhood sometimes.  I gave him a bin of blueberries.   My dad bought them a few days ago; said they were for me.   Why would he say that?  I don't like blueberries.  They remind me of deer poop.

My mom doesn't like me feeding the chimpanzees.  She says it could run into the house and destroy…EVERYTHING.   She says they're violent and mean.   In some cases she may have a point.    Several months ago, a girl my age became very friendly with a wild chimp.   It was all sweet…major inter-species bonding.    Then one day the chimp got mad, jumped on her, and broke her neck.

So outside handing out food; I'm not going to do any major chimp-human bonding.

I did think it was sweet though when I looked out the window.  The chimp stopped eating the blueberries for a moment and signed "Thank you."

I said "No problems.  My dad bought those for me.   I don't like blueberries". 

I said all that in spoken English.   My ASL isn't that advanced.

Did the chimp understand what I was saying?

Probably not.

Besides....I don't even think he could hear me much through the window. 

Chapter Six

I'm thinking I should tell you about my dad's family. I already told you about my mom's.

It's not the happiest of stories.

My paternal grandmother (Emma) was eight when the zombie outbreak happened. She was the only surviving member of her family. Her mother turned her dad and brothers into zombies. They tried to get her to join the club as well; but she was able to outrun them.

She met up with a survivor camp and never fit in very well. She was always an outcast. I'm not sure why.

Then things got worse when she was trying to shoot a zombie approaching a member of the group. She missed and shot the member of the survival group, instead of the zombie. Before she could shoot again, the zombie took a nibble.

The problem was this person in the group and Grandma Emma didn't get along. They were kind of adversaries. People thought she had done the whole thing on purpose. Sometimes (and I feel awful saying this) I think they might have been right.

But who knows.

I don't.

Anyway, Grandma Emma left the group after that. She was on her own. Then she got raped by another group…gang raped to be more precise. My dad came from that. So my heritage on that side is a bit hazy.

Grandma Emma….I feel bad for her. On the other hand, she's so difficult to be around. She's very abrasive. She never smiles. She looks bored when I talk to her.

I rarely talk to her anymore.

I try to avoid her.

I feel bad though since she's had such a hard life.

She didn't tell me about it. Neither did my dad. I learned it from my aunt, who was born ten years after my dad, not from a rape. My grandma had a happy five years. She finally found someone to love her…besides her five-year-old son. She got herself a woman. They got married. They adopted a baby. Then her wife died in a plane crash.

In a way I think that's worse than all the childhood zombie stuff.

Yeah. Grandma Emma is a bitter bitch. But can you blame her?

I don't. Yet I do try to avoid her.

Fourteen

I'm sure you've heard the news, but I'll repeat it anyway.

There was a MAJOR zombie outbreak this week; the biggest one in decades.

It happened in a small town in Australia.  

The article I read said the police had to shoot sixty-five zombies.

Now the town is under quarantine.  

Who knows if anyone escaped.

Tomorrow is the night I'm going to be alone.

I hope my parents feel very guilty if I'm attacked by a zombie.

No, actually they'd probably be relieved. 

They could get rid of me without getting into any trouble from the police.

Hopefully, I'd bite them before they start their carefree Helen-free life.  

Twelve

My dad is taking my mom to a hotel on Saturday night.   It's to celebrate her play.   The last performance is on Thursday.

My mom doesn't seem that excited about the whole thing.   Instead of saying thank you, she said she'd be celebrating on Friday with the other actors and crew.

My dad said he wanted to do something special…just the two of them.

I'm staying by myself.

My mom and dad decided I'm old enough to do that.

Yeah.  I am.   I'm sixteen.   I can spend a night alone.

But I don't' really want to.

I want to stay with my grandparents.   I like staying with them.

I felt too childish though to request that. 

Eleven

I have cousins who lives in town.   Emily, Bob, and Wally.    They're all younger than me, but I get along with them pretty well.    I see them about once a month.

Emily is fourteen, Bob is eleven, and Wally is seven.  

My aunt and uncle did well with their RePop requirements; and rumor has it they might try for more. Then they'll get the Green Card Plus.  You get all kinds of cool benefits with that.

Aunt Jan and Uncle George are very different from my parents.  They're so enthusiastic about their children.   Their walls are covered with my cousin's drawings.   If they make some silly clay thing at school; it's prominently displayed in their living room.

I wouldn't be completely surprised if they record my cousins' farts for prosperity.

It can be annoying.

However I'd rather have them than my own parents.

My parents are never excited about anything I do.

They've never hung up my drawings on the wall.   I used to give them my clay art work from school.   My mom would say "Fantastic!"  Then it would get shoved in a drawer.   Once I caught my mom spring cleaning.  She was busy and didn't want to be bothered.  When she looked the other way, I peaked into the trash.   My clay art was in there.

It hurt my feelings, but I didn't protest.  I can't say I made anything that fantastic.

But still….

It would be nice to have parents like Jan and George.

I guess it's good I have them as an aunt and uncle.   When I was young I drew a picture while they were babysitting me for a weekend.   They hung it up on the wall.   It's still there.   They didn't throw it away during their spring cleaning.  Sometimes I'm tempted to draw them another picture.   Maybe they'd put that on the wall as well.  But it seems too childish to do that.

Back to my parents….

I give them gifts for their birthday and all the holidays where it's expected.   I don't know why I bother.  They thank me.  They say the gift is wonderful.  Then I never see it again.   I bought my mom a really nice necklace for her last birthday.   I thought for sure this time would be an exception.

Nope. 

I've never seen her wear it.  

It's all a waste really.

I don't have a job.  My money is my allowance which comes from them.  I'm really taking their money and buying them stuff they don't want.  

Then they buy me stuff I don't want.

My mom buys me these really random things that have nothing to do with me.

For my last birthday she bought me this huge book about birds.  Since when do I care about birds?   Of course I would have much rather have had a book about zombies.

She also bought me high heels.  She said I need practice walking in them.

Yes.  Exciting.

My dad never buys me anything.  If he gives me a gift; it's something he got for free from work.   His company makes pens for other companies.   So I have a large collection of pens with various company logos on them.

A few years ago his company did a deal with Z Patrol.   I was excited about getting that pen.   

But I didn't.

My dad said it turned out there weren't any extras.

Speaking of holidays.  Today is October 31.  Halloween.

In the old days that used to mean something.

Now it really doesn't.

Not one person mentioned it at school. 

Of course they did away with it because of the zombie thing.  Why celebrate pretend monsters when you have real monsters?

But now we don't have monsters.   Or at least we don't have a lot of them.   So I think we should go back to doing Halloween things.  

Eight

Tonight I went to watch my mom perform.   She's in a play.

She had to leave earlier than me and Dad.   I went down to say good-bye to her.   Why?  Because I'm nice.

She looked at the dress I was wearing and sighed.

I should have just ignored that sigh, but I didn't.

"What?"

"Oh…nothing."

I had the willpower to ignore her nothing.  "Okay," I said.

She wouldn't let it go.

"Well, I just thought you'd want to wear something cute."

I didn't say anything.   What can you say to something like that?

"It makes you look kind of big."

I didn't change my clothes.   I didn't want to give her the satisfaction.  But all night I worried that I looked ugly.

My mom did great with her acting, which was a disappointment.   I was so mad at her.   I wanted her to mess up.   I wanted her to flub her lines or trip on the stage.  I wanted her to be overdramatic or drastically underdramatic.

After the show she was surrounded by people praising her.  My dad was one of them.   He followed her around like a puppy dog; and when he couldn't get close to her he bragged to others that she's his wife.

My mom pretty much ignored him.  She was too busy getting love from everyone else.

She ignored me too.  

I don't care.  

Why should I?

Seven

Zombie Zoo is not far from the Disney Museum.  I wouldn't mind going there too.  

Disney used to be this huge resort with multiple amusement parks.    I've seen videos of it.   It looked awesome.   I wish it were still around.

A lot of it was destroyed by fire, unfortunately.   No one really knows how it started; something to do with zombies.   There were lots of fires during the initial outbreaks.  

Some stuff from Disney was spared though; and that's what's in the museum.  

There's this guy at school…Dave.   He's been to the Disney Museum.  He says it's pretty cool.   He hasn't gone to Zombie Zoo.   His parents wouldn't allow it.  

I hope my parents are more open-minded.

There are some things that are a bit extreme…even in my opinion.

For example, one of the zombies doesn't have a body.   It's just a head in a glass cage.   A hungry head.  

Mandy says he should be put out of his misery.

Are zombies in misery?

I guess that's the question.  

A lot of people have tried to answer it.   No one has come up with anything definite yet.