Craig Frankenstein
April was a bit early for her date with Craig Frankenstein. She meandered around the plaza, looking at the tulips just starting to loosen their tight buds and the patches of clover sprouting up between the cobblestones. The air was fresh and the setting sun cast a pleasing pink glow into the sky. April smoothed the folds of her skirt. She was startled by a tall, thin man in a black suit running her way. He waved some flowers in his hand in what April took to be a gesture of goodwill amidst his intensity.
“You must be April,” started the man, slightly out of breath. He shyly continued, “I’m Craig,” and thrust the flowers in her arms.
Later, at dinner, April got up the courage to ask. “You must get this all the time,” she started, and Craig waved away her question without letting her finish.
“No relation,” he assured her. “None whatsoever. It’s a common misconception.”
April smiled. “Would you like to order dessert?”
Craig Frankenstein offered to walk April home and insisted she take his suit jacket as the early spring night had turned chilly. As they neared her corner, April got up the courage to invite him in. “I was wondering,” she started, and again she was interrupted by her date.
“I really wish you would drop it,” he snapped. “I really wish everyone would just let it go. I’m not a fucking Frankenstein or Frankenstein’s monster or whatever. I get asked all the time and I’m just really getting fucking sick of it.” He looked at her mournfully. “I thought you were different.”
April’s eyes widened. “That’s not at all what I was going to…”
“Just fucking forget it,” sighed Craig Frankenstein. He lumbered away into the shadows.
