Path of the Vampire forum

My name is Winifred Dove Sanders, I go by Wynn. I hate my name. I really do. It is a horrible name that has haunted me whole existence. Who names their kid Winifred anyway?! It’s like giving everyone silent permission to tease, torment and bully me. My mother said I should be proud of the name. It was my grandmother’s name. My grandmother on my mom’s side. My grandmother died when my mom was young, so she was raised by her maiden aunt, who raised her with stories that made my mother believe my grandmother was a saint on earth. Whenever I ask my mother to tell me one of those 'oh so special stories', she can’t. Proof positive my great aunt indoctrinated her into believing falsehoods. I wonder if my aunt gets some perverse sense of pleasure out of knowing she screwed my mom's head up royally?

My mom refuses to call me Wynn, she calls me ‘Winifred’. And when she says my name, she says it like she is making an offering to god, all reverent like. It’s creepy. My dad, on the other hand, calls me Fred because he thinks it is hilarious. It isn’t. He had his boss over for dinner one night when I was 13, and the boss finally realized that Dad's son Fred.. was really, Dad's daughter Winifred. Oh and not right away either. I was a late bloomer, so I looked like an under-weight bean pole boy. When the boss finally realized I was a girl, Dad could not stop laughing. My mother was horrified, when I burst into tears at the table, in front of... guests! I am 24 years old, and my dad still revels in telling and retelling of that hateful incident.

In school my teachers liked to shorten my name to Winnie. I suppose they hated the name too, and thought Winnie was preferred to Winifred. It wasn’t, thanks to them, I got called ‘Winnie the Pooh’. That’s a real self esteem booster, when you’re trying to make a good impression on the new cute guy at school, and then some jackass screams out “It’s Winnie the Pooh and a new guy, that must be Christopher Robin!” I hated middle school. In high school I adopted the nickname ‘Wynn’, after a brief summer flirtation with trying out my middle name ‘Dove’. I think I hate it worse than I hate Winifred. Especially when my own father told me the story about the name for prostitutes in the old west being called ‘soiled doves’. He knew this and still named me Dove?! WTF? I have a father with a twisted sense of black humor and a pious overly religious mother with a predilection for pointing out all my faults in front of people, and expecting me to smile and not react.

And they wonder why I moved to Canada.

I moved here to Canada for several reasons. Three basic reasons. First and foremost, my parents. They will not cut the apron strings. Well, more my mom than Dad. Dad loves to let me go forth and fall on my face so he can laugh at me later. And really… I do not mind that, as much as I really hate my mom telling me out right, ‘no you can’t do that.. You aren’t pretty, talented, smart, strong, forceful or determined enough.’ She doesn’t say all of those at once mind you. She picks the most hurtful one to use against me.

Me: Mom.. I am applying for a new job.

Mom: ‘no you can’t do that.. You aren’t talented enough. You have what you need, be happy where you are.’

Me: Mom, I am getting my own place.

Mom: ‘no you can’t do that.. You aren’t savvy enough. You will be dead in a week.’

Me: Mom, I am getting married

Mom: ‘no you can’t do that.. You aren’t pretty enough.’

Yes. She really said that. That was the straw. That was when I said.. Screw this.. I am out of here. The irony of it all.. I don’t even have a boyfriend. No one had asked me to get married. I said it to piss her off.. And she came back with that. I am not pretty enough?! WTF? Honey BooBoo’s mom got married.. And I am a hell of a lot prettier than her. Who needs an enemy when my own mother is there to systematically destroy my self esteem bit by bit.

The second reason I moved to Canada, the weather. I grew up in the southern United States. I am a fair skinned redhead. I get in the sun I start to burn within thirty minutes. I have to slather 50 SPF sunscreen anytime I do an outdoor activity. And my mom is a sun worshiper. Everything we did as a family while I was growing up entailed some outdoor activity.

Wedding anniversary, outdoor picnic!
Birthday? Volleyball and outdoor picnic!
Family get-together? Outdoor picnic!
Thanksgiving? Outdoor picnic and tag football!
Christmas? Firepit oyster stew and s’mores by the fire!

Did we ever have an indoor event? No. Every event was outdoors. Even if it was raining. Thanksgiving one year, we got the remnants of a hurricane, and I was so excited, we could finally eat indoors! No. She bought a tent. A huge *** tent you would use for weddings, and we had dinner in a cold wet tent.

Summers were worse. My mom’s house has a patio. Morning, noon and night, we ate on the patio. And my seat always faced the east. The morning sun would blind me. The noon sun would roast me.. My parents had the awning to protect them. And in the evening, I had the mosquitos and gnats bug me. I hate being outside in the summer.

The last reason I moved to Canada, .. vampires. Ever since I saw that Brad Pitt / Tom Cruise vampire movie, I have been silently obsessed with vampires. The scene where the little girl sheared off her ringlets, which I would have too if I were here, and they came back just as they were. Can you imagine being stuck for eternity in a child’s body? And you could tell she wasn’t a child in her thinking. It was like her mind kept growing and learning, and she was stuck in that baby body. How horrible!

Then the scene where Brad Pitt, after being a vampire for so long, saw the sunrise on a movie screen. His look of appreciation and longing, made me wonder, what else did vampires suffer with? Does all light bother them? Or just the sun? And Does the sun really bother them? They are supposedly cold, because of no heartbeat, sp do they show up on heat sensors? Do they really not have reflections? Do they have to use lotion? I dry out and have to use lotion or I scratchy myself to death; do they? And if so, what brand do they use? I could really use the name of a good lotion.

Of course I didn’t tell my parents the real reason I moved. I lied. Said I was transferred for my job. I also told them I was transferred to Toronto, not Harper Rock. Truth is, I don't have a job. But I have a stash. Living at home, allowed me to stash all my extra funds. I have enough to last two months, with no income. But I am reliable and hardworking. How hard can it be to get a job?

So for the last week or so I have been hard at it, putting applications and making calls, looking for a job. Not that I am worried. Well maybe a little. I did just quit everything in the States and move to a new country, because of what some might call an unhealthy fascination with vampires. But, if I did not do it now, I would never have done it. And I would have lived a life of regrets. Not to mention the fact that my parents drive me nuts.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, was my mom asking me to go back to the grocery store for the third time in a row. My mom hates the grocery store. She thinks it’s common. That she is above going to the grocery store herself. Normally my father does the grocery shopping, but he’s working a deadline at work and putting in long hours and can’t drop what he is doing to go fetch and carry for her. So what does she do? She calls me. Now I am at work when she calls.. And she expected me to tell my boss I had to leave work to do an errand for her.

Um.. No. My mom have never worked a job a day in her life. Everyone, my grandparents, my dad, her siblings, all dropped whatever they were doing to placate her. If they didn’t do what she wanted, she made their lives miserable. So, yes, I too, learned at an early age, to do what my mom said, in order to avoid the drama that would follow if I said no.

So while at work, I tell her no. I can’t. She had the gall to tell me that my job wasn’t important. That her needs outweighed the ‘petty little job’ I had. Her tirade went on for a while. I put her on speaker while I worked. I wanted to share the ****-existence-my-life-was with my co-workers. Eventually the tirade ended, and she conceded to the fact she could wait until I went to lunch.

So, lunch comes. I.. **** my life, went to the grocery store to get her god damned milk. I drop it off and am about to leave, when she says, she needs sugar too. WHAT THE ****!? Why didn’t she tell me that BEFORE? I go BACK to the store.. Get her, her stupid sugar, drive back, practically fling it at her, when yes… you guessed it .. she also needs vanilla.

No. I realized then and there, I had to make a stand. Yes I hate drama. I hate yelling and fighting. I hate walking into a room filled with tension so thick you can cut it with a knife.

But I was done. No more.

My future flashed in front of my eyes. I could see myself, 60 years old and alone, unmarried, fetching and carrying for my mom who was still alive at 90. Heaven forbid she be a sickly 90 year old. Changing diapers.. On her? NO.

Good GOD NO.

I was walking out of her house to the carport, when I saw my future. I stopped, turned, and looked at her. I told her, ‘My job was transferring me to Toronto. I would be leaving in two weeks time.’

She laughed. She said, “No. You’re not allowed.” She dismissed my words out of hand, like she could just ignore it. My thoughts and feelings meant nothing in the matter. Oh Sure.. I lied. But it was the principle of the matter. Maybe it was huge opportunity for me. DId she care? No.

Not allowed? Like I was her property to do with as she saw fit. I drove back to work. Turned my notice in. Explained to my boss, who is a great guy by the way, that I had enough of my mom and I had to get out of the country. I had to get away from her as fast as possible or they would be seeing me on the news as a spree killer.
My boss gave me $250.00 to help with my moving expenses.

My mom and I never discussed the move any further. Life went on, like -she- expected it to, until two friday nights later, my mom called wanting me to pick up her dry cleaning and deliver it by 9:30 am Saturday morning. I told her, ‘Sorry.. Driving to Canada tomorrow..’ I could hear her exasperated sigh and she said. “9:30.. Don’t be late. I have a luncheon to attend.” And she hung up.

My cell rang and rang Saturday morning. I never answered. I called Dad at lunch and told him I was headed to Canada. He wished me luck. I think he was secretly glad I was able to do what he wasn't able to, and that was leave her before my will was totally crushed into oblivion.