Here’s another angsty, lonely spec written on a dateless Friday night. And other people have been monopolizing the computer, which is the delay.

Disclaimers- this is me saying no own, no money. And I look good saying it, too… only you can’t see me.

If you do know where they have Midnight Yell Practice, kudos to you. If not, you won’t hear from me. I’ve never actually been, so if I get anything wrong I’m sorry.

To Truman and Brandon, who won’t read this and hopefully will never find out about it, but who told me about Midnight Yell practice… And to those guys in Freebirds, who also won’t read this and told me about Midnight Yell practice first (incompletely, so I had to ask Truman and Brandon). They come in their dooleys, and they pile the girls in, just pile em in, and take em out to that field, that field way over there…

* * *

Every university has its traditions. Some of these are strange, and some are wonderful, and some are wonderfully strange, and some are strangely wonderful. (Look, Mom, I’m Anne Rice! Ok, I’ll stop now. This wasn’t supposed to be a silly!)

There is one such university that, rather than having cheerleaders, has Yell Leaders. These are five upperclassmen who have been elected by the student body to lead the Yells at football games. (Hope you figured that out.) Every Friday night before a football game, students gather at midnight in the stadium to learn all the new yells.

I, Lestat de Lioncourt, heard about this tradition and decided to go and observe. I love mortals with school spirit. I don’t know exactly why, something about all that shouting stirs the blood in my old veins.

The night was hot, and as the students crowded into the stadium I could smell the thin layer of sweat on each one. The air was completely clear and the stars were out, but no breeze stirred. I can’t imagine how much warmer it must have been during the day.

Many of them were in couples, but a few singles filed in as well. When I first heard of this it did not seem like something one would do as a date, but mortals have such strange customs always.

I was grossly misinformed.

The mortal who told me was a drunk in a bar, proudly showing me his class ring and droning on about traditions of his school. He passed out as he was talking about the Yell Practice, in fact his last words were, “But the best part is when the lights go…” thunk. As I was draining him I searched for the rest of that sentence, but to no avail.

So I came to see what the best part was; what the lights did.

The event seemed to be nearing a close, and yet no one moved. I did notice the slight movement of the coupled toward each other. Puzzled, I was about to search minds, when suddenly all the lights in the stadium went out.

For one instant it was completely dark- for the mortals. And with my vampire eyes I saw all the couples kiss at once. In some cases it was a peck, in some it was long and deep.

I was watching the couples so intently that the tiny flames across the field at first did not register. Then I realized that all the singles were holding up little lighters.

What was the meaning?

And very quickly it became apparent that they were signaling. One by one the flames go out as each unpartnered person found another and the kiss was the whole stadium, not just one couple. Not even many couples at one time, really. It was one great emotion in the hot dry air. All these mortals together- some have known each other for years, and some did not even know the name of the person whose lips theirs so happily tasted.

Theirs is a wonderful world. Women wear pants and attend college alongside men. Race matters far less than in the first America I knew. So much technology. So much knowledge. In elementary school they learn about things no one had ever dreamed of dreaming of inventing when I went to that long-gone monastery school. Their world is so fascinating and so beautiful.

And as this kiss spread through the stadium I felt the stab that comes every time I see myself separated from the modern world.

The great loneliness filled me, drained me, withered me. All these sweet tender mortals in each other’s arms, and I in a far corner. Third person narrator, a part of nothing but observance.

It lasted only moments. The lights came on and the emotion dissipated among the students, but lingered in myself.

I watched them chatter as they left. So charming, so innocent. And they’ll all die within a century and I’ll watch their great-grandchildren in some equally bizarre and special ritual, and the world will go on whether I am lonely or not.