By Frankenstein’s Monster
As told to Jerry A. Sierra
Some people say I’m a monster. People that don’t know me. People that are thoughtful and kind and educated and claim to be able to read between the lines. Yet they may not be as wise as they hope. They completely ignored Citizen Kane at the Academy Awards in 1942 (How Green Was My Valley won Best Picture!). They picked VHS over Betamax. They elected Regan over Carter. They cancelled Firefly before Season 1 was over. Then they sent a con-man sex molester to the White House and tried to make him King.
My story could be seen as a search for love.
Many can’t imagine that deep down, I’m a romantic. I love the thought of sitting in the backyard with my woman, watching the sunset and drinking a glass of red wine. It is not something I’ve been able to do much in my long life. But something that pulls me towards the very idea of finding someone to love.
In rare moments of peace and serenity, I remember all my brides in intimate details.
My first Bride was Elsa Lanchester. Sweet and beautiful Elsa. She was my first love. On the morning after our wedding night, she left a lipstick note on the bathroom mirror; “I don’t think it’s going to work with us. I see no long-term potential in a guy with neck bolts and a flattop. Good luck to you. No longer yours, Elsa.”
She left the wedding ring on the soap dish, which, in Texas qualifies as a legal divorce. She went to Hollywood to make movies and some theater. She married a producer. She won awards and strolled down red carpets. And she didn’t think twice about me, ever.
Elsa broke my heart, which was brand new (to me) and innocent. But she was completely wrong about my long-term potential. Since we met, I’ve become one of the most popular recurring Universal Monsters character of all… maybe Dracula beats me by an inch… but I’ve become the most lovable monster of all time. A symbol of integrity that young people today can believe in.
I’m the Muhammed Ali of man-made monsters. The greatest of all time. I’ve appeared in more movies, plays, comic books, radio shows and unsold screenplays than the next two characters combined. Except maybe for Dracula.
And, unlike Dracula, I’m lovable. Sympathetic. I like cats. I tip well. The true monster was my runaway father, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. The ambitious scientist looking to supplement God with science. The megalomaniac striving to leave a mark in the world.
Maybe, deep down, he’s a good guy too. Just don’t ask any of his children, or lovers, or employees. Or business partners. Or anyone who’s read the actual text by Mary Shelley.
It took me years in therapy to get over Elsa, but eventually, after many long winters and classic novels, I met and married my second Bride: Petrushka Segovia, a Russian-Spanish opera singer who retired from her career to be my Bride. It was bliss.
Two years later she suddenly dumped me to return to work. Her adoring public welcomed her arrival. Her critics loved her. Every one of her performances sold out. Yet she was miserable in her success. She attempted suicide and was committed to a Vatican Convent in which she spent her life writing poetry.
I felt responsible. I’d been so focused on my own happiness that I didn’t see my bride’s unhappiness.
Long years went by before I started living with Marylin Monrovia, my third Bride through Common Law. We were happy for a while, but the world was changing again. One day I found out that she’d taken a job as a flapper in an Al Capone Speakeasy in Chicago. Then she moved on to the Cotton Club Dancers in New York. She was the only white performer, and very popular.
The marriage broke up. Then prohibition ended, which didn’t matter to me. I was never much of a drinker. She wanted to come back, claimed we could work things out. But I didn’t want her. I was done. I turned myself over to the possibilities of a new life.
Marilyn went on to have well-known relationships with a baseball player and a nuclear scientist. Neither relationship went far. It is widely speculated that she was murdered by the Mafia. Others claim it was JFK. And yet others say it was Castro. Only Marilyn knows.
After a prolonged period of celibacy, I volunteered to work for California Governor Jerry Brown’s 2nd presidential campaign. And that’s when I met Lena Paul, my fourth Bride. She was beautiful and wild and, easily, the sexiest woman that ever lived.
Lena broke my heart on our 2nd anniversary when she asked for a threesome with her “friend” Herman Munster, a younger man; A hack with a 3rd rate act imitating me! This was just before his hacky Tv show that didn’t last long.
As a product of the 19th century, I didn’t like the idea of sharing my marital bed with an imitator, so I left her. She went to Florida to make adult movies with multiple partners of every gender and became a famous porn star celebrity.
After years of solitude, I encountered April O’Neil, my fifth wife, at Comic Con in Oakland. In some ways we were a better fit than the others, though, she wasn’t exactly a good housekeeper. I had to assume many of the domestic duties, since her journalism career kept her busy, and often away from home. Then she started hanging out with those pizza-eating turtles, which annoyed the hell out of me. She became violent. Started training with blade weapons and darts. It pushed me away. I’m a peaceful guy. I didn’t like that whole “action” scene.
One sunny day I was at the park, sitting on a bench and reading a short story by Harlan Ellison, when I saw her.
She had it all.
The face of Elsa. The sweet femininity of Petrushka. The curves of Marilyn. The fire in the eyes of Lena. The moon-orbit coolness of April. She was the perfect action-figure of a woman. My Goddess. Katie Holmes, my sixth Bride. (No relation to the American actress in Batman Begins, though there’s a striking physical resemblance that nobody can explain.)
Katie had her way with me that first night. I was hooked. I could not refuse a love goddess.
Katie ruined me for April, who was in New York on assignment and didn’t notice that I was gone. We had drifted into our interests and careers, and the break-up was not difficult or dramatic. She kept the DVDs; I took the Blu-rays.
Predictably, Katie and I separated after she insisted on having our cat de-clawed. The thought horrified me, but she said it was necessary to protect the furniture. The furniture!? What new type of domestic horror is this?
After repeatedly arguing about this, and about a weekend fling I had with a travel agent, we were done. I gave the cat to a friend at Universal. Katie insisted that I was a “monster pig! Made from rejected pig parts!”
I don’t question that my failure to remain faithful can be attributed to anything other than “piggishness.” Sure, there were some questionable action items over the years which didn’t amount to much and didn’t last long… waitresses, flight attendants, hair stylists, divorcees, married professionals away on business.
I got that from dad. Maybe the one thing he taught me. Except, of course, to avoid fatherhood. I do give him credit for thinking ahead and making sure I could not procreate. There are already 8 billion people in the world that was made for 5 billion.
At a time of spiritual awakening, an executive from Brides, Inc, approached me. He seemed like one of those smart people that knows things.
He explained that unless you look like Brad Pitt or Paul Rudd, a mail-order bride is the most efficient way to achieve marital bliss. Of course, nothing’s completely perfect. But their statistics showed that a mail-order bride from Brides, Inc. is the best way to start a successful marriage in the 21st century. Numbers don’t lie.
He showed me a chart comparing mail-order brides from Viet Nam, Russia, India and Venezuela. Many of those sweet young brides end up eventually trying to kill their husbands. They have affairs, spend your money, and some even get fat.
As I started to approach my sexual peak at 180 years of age, I wanted a Bride I could love. So, I ordered a Deluxe Bride with new DNA, a WIN-14 OS with customizable software, PAUSE and MUTE buttons, and USB-C ports.
The techs from Brides, Inc were thorough in identifying my needs and spared no effort to convert my requirements as a man into design specs for my bride.
Part of the discovery involved a cranial helmet procedure that recorded my brain engram activity (BEA), mapped my pleasure/displeasure algorithms (PDA) and used them to interpret my perfect Bride. I was told to think selfishly about my perfect mate. To “see” her in my mind… to forgo cultural correctness and male guilt. To let my individualistic masculinity do the talking.
I put on the helmet, leaned back on the chair, and dared to be a man.
I visualized my Bride running around the house in nothing but high heels and red undies. She dances while she cooks and cleans. She rubs my feet and shampoos my flat-top and makes sure that I’m happy.
She pays the bills on time. She does all the shopping and takes out the trash. And, once again, she makes sure that I’m happy (if you know what I mean) when I wake up in the morning. Before breakfast. Sometimes again after breakfast. She’s such a good wife.
Three times a week she tightens my neck bolts. Then she untightens them a little, the way I like it. Then she docks into her recharging/rejuvenating module in the bedroom closet and stays out of the way until I wake her.
BrideX7™, they said, is as close to perfection as science, technology, divine intervention and human ingenuity could produce. I was on the verge of becoming a very lucky newlywed.
Yet sometimes reality can give you a different tune than the one you pushed the button for. Instead of “Black Magic Woman,” you get “Free Bird.”
Only weeks before my X7’s delivery date, I met Red Elsa at the Public Library. We were both renewing our cards.
She’s the perfect woman. Organic flesh and blood. Natural red hair with a purposeful streak on each side denoting character and individuality. Not afraid to speak her mind. No mute button or off switch. She’s human. No batteries. No charging station. Unpredictable and most desirable. I’ve never known such bliss.
Her eyes are deep blue, but if you fall into them long enough, they become green.
After canceling my order from Brides, and paying the steep cancellation fee, Red Elsa became my seventh Bride. She makes marriage itself seem natural and I feel lucky to have finally found a woman that I can share my life with.
I realized that “Free Bird” was what I needed to hear before I could move forward. Fate just dropped it on me. And this bird opened to the possibilities of real love; The freedom to love a woman.
As if all my previous Brides were just practice. Experiments. Lessons. Some were a royal pain in the ass. But it feels good to finally get it right. Every monster deserves his happiness.
And yet, if I’m completely honest, I must admit that I loved every one of my brides. I can’t imagine my life without the gifts each of them bestowed upon me, or without the feelings I had for them. Which is why I can easily see that when it comes to Brides, seven is my lucky number.
Last night Red Elsa and I sat on our balcony and watched the sunset. And as we shared a glass of red wine, she said, “This is perfect.”
I didn’t respond. But I thought the same thing. We held hands and watched the sun sink lower into the horizon. Until it disappeared completely. And all that was left was a darkening streak of cloudy patterns.
We held hands as darkness absorbed the fading sky.
I love my bride.
Images by Jerry Sierra
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