As she pumped the pedals on her bike, Vi wondered if Iris had ever even tasted Junior Mints or Charleston Chews. If she had, she probably wouldn’t remember, so it would be like having them for the first time. Everything was new and strange to Iris. Vi was a little jealous of her, experiencing wonderful things for the first time—Rice Krispies, Pop-Tarts, Tootsie Pops （“How many licks does it take to get to the center?” asked the wise old owl in the commercial）， Saturday morning cartoons. She didn’t even know who Scooby-Doo was!
But she loved watching Iris try new things. She loved teaching her about Pop Rocks that exploded on your tongue, Creamsicles （Vi’s favorite—orange outside, vanilla inside!）， and how to work a flashlight. She’d taught Iris how to tie her shoes and put her clothes on so that they weren’t backward and inside out.
* * *
VI’S LEGS WERE burning from the extra weight of Iris on the seat of her bike. They were almost there now, riding across the field, then around the back lot of Leo’s Good Deal Autos, where they sold used cars in front and had a junkyard out back. Vi imagined that Leo took pieces from broken-down cars and pieced them together like one of Eric’s chimeras.
Just behind Leo’s back lot was the fence for the drive-in. They pulled up right on time—the big screen was lit up with dancing popcorn and candy and cups of ice-cold Coca-Cola, inviting everyone to visit the snack bar, where smiling hot dogs were waiting. They laid their bikes down on the ground, and Vi found the loose section of fence, holding it open for Eric and Iris, then crawling through herself. They settled in at their usual spot: a little mound in the corner of the back row. Speakers on poles blasted out the sound.
Bride of Frankenstein started.
Vi loved the beginning, because there were Mary Shelley, her husband, Percy, and Lord Byron, and the men telling her what a great story she came up with, and she saying there’s more of the story to tell. It was a perfect night for such a tale, Mary Shelley told the men, a perfect night for mystery and horror. “The air itself is full of monsters,” she said.
Vi leaned over and explained to Iris, “That’s the woman who wrote Frankenstein. She’s the one who started it all.”
Vi’s heart went out to the monster, burned and shot, bloodhounds on his trail, villagers with pitchforks and torches chasing him down.
“He’s not bad,” she told Iris as they watched. “Just misunderstood. All he wants is a friend.”
And Iris nodded and Vi knew she got it, she truly got it, because wasn’t she a little like the monster herself? Scared and misunderstood, all alone in the world?
But Iris wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Now she had Vi and Eric.
Vi inched a little closer to Iris, and Iris didn’t move away. They sat side by side in the dark, their eyes glued to the screen.
They watched the monster, Boris Karloff in makeup and prosthetic forehead, bolts in his neck, as he was captured, tied to a pole, and paraded through town, then set upright on the pole to be stoned by villagers. Vi always thought he was like Christ in this part, but she knew better than to say that out loud to anyone, even to Iris and Eric.
“See,” Vi whispered to Iris when the monster cried at finally making a friend. “He’s more human than they are.”
As they watched, a new monster was created to be a mate and companion for the original. Electricity brought her to life, just like him. Vi loved the laboratory scenes, the machines all pulsing with light and electricity. And when the lightning struck the kite, the Bride’s bandage-wrapped body came to life, and Iris scooched even closer to Vi, side by side. Then Iris reached out and took Vi’s hand, and Vi wasn’t sure if this meant she was happy or scared, maybe a little of both.
It’s a fine line between the two, Vi thought, and she wanted to save that thought, put it away in a drawer to take out and look at later, because it felt important.