Drinking Bloody Marys May Be Harmful To Your Health

DRINKING BLOODY MARYS MAY BE HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH

“What’ll you have?” Joey, the bartender, asked, looking up at the woman standing at the bar, leaning in. She was about his age, late twenties, tall, with long black hair, hanging straight down her back. She was smiling at him, green eyes crinkling, and white teeth flashing.

It was hard to hear anything tonight, though. The bar was hopping, a loud background din filling the air. It was just after six on a Friday night, and people were cutting loose, looking forward to the weekend.

“Bloody Mary,” said the woman

“What?” yelled Joey.

“Bloody Mary!” said the woman, more stridently.

“Sorry. Still can’t hear you.” He shook his head, and motioned to his ear as he leaned in closer to the woman.

“Bl—“

Suddenly a hand clamped down across the woman’s mouth. Joey was startled, not sure how to react. The first woman grabbed at the hand, and pried it off of her mouth. 

The offending hand was attached to another woman, about the same age as the first.

“What the fu—“

“DON’T SAY IT!” warned the second woman. 

The first woman turned to scowl at the second woman.

“God, Liz! What is the matter with you? I just want to order a drink!”

Liz shook her head, and leaned in close to Joey so that he could hear the order. “My friend, Simone, will have a Caesar, but instead of Clamato juice, please use tomato juice.

Joey was confused. “So, she wants a Bloody Mary?”

“Yes she does.” Liz smiled.

Both women watched as Joey made the drink. When he set it down, Liz slapped a ten dollar bill on the bar, and thanked him. They turned are walked away, into the crowd.

Liz and Simone moved back towards their table. Marta, Ben, and Pete were engrossed in a heated discussion about where to ride-out the zombie apocalypse — Costco or Walmart. Ben, the new guy, had thrown in the idea of holing up in a well-stocked bomb shelter. The two women sat down. 

Liz interrupted. “She almost said it three times.”

Simone looked at her friend. “Since when have you been so superstitious?”

Pete chuckled. “She’s always been superstitious,” he mocked. “Have you ever seen her step on a crack in the sidewalk? She’s worried she’s going to break her mother’s back.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” said Liz, sardonically. She looked around the table at her friends. “Are any of you willing to take the chance that the curse isn’t real?”

Simone shrugged her shoulders languidly. “Really? It’s just folklore. And the reaction to it is called—” she whipped out her phone and did a quick Google search, “— ‘pre-pubescent anxiety,’ because it mostly affects ‘tween girls trying to scare the snot out of each other.” She looked around the table. “And, as far as I can tell, none of us have been pre-pubescent in a long time. Except maybe Pete, who acts like he is.” Pete took a bow. There were chuckles and snorts around the table.

Marta piped up. “There was a mirror behind the bar. I think that’s tempting the Fates a little too much, for my liking.”

Ben looked confused. “What are you guys talking about?” He was new to the group, a recent hire. This was the first time that he had been out for drinks with the group.

“The Bloody Mary curse,” said Liz, dead serious.

Simone snorted. “I was just ordering a drink. It’s not my fault the bartender can’t hear.”

“But you almost said it three times in a row.”

“I’m not sure the curse applies. There’s a difference between trying to conjure a spirit, and trying to order a spirit.” More laughter.

Ben continued to look at the people around the table, obviously puzzled.

“I’m confused,” he said.

“Okay,” said Liz, looking at Ben. “The curse of Bloody Mary says that if you say her name three times in a row -- Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary -- in a dark room, while looking in a mirror, you will summon her spirit.” She ticked off her fingers. “It’s dim in here, there’s a mirror, and Ms. Nonchalant, here, almost said Bloody May three times. Close enough for me.”

Simone chimed in. “By repeating the name three times, you are supposedly creating a magic summoning spell, which will supposedly make Bloody Mary appear, and she will supposedly do something horrible you.” She shook her hands as if frightened. "To me that's a lot of conjecture."

“Not quite,” interrupted Liz. “The spirit that you summon could be either munificent or malevolent. But there’s no way to tell which one will appear.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not willing to take the chance that Angry Mary will be appear. Nothing good happens when it's Angry Mary.”

Ben still looked confused. “What happens if she, well, does appear?”

Marta spoke up. “Apparently,” she drew the word out, annunciating each syllable, “if you conjure up Bloody Mary there are a number of things she could do. She could—“

Ben interrupted. “Does she appear in the room with you?”

“No,” said Marta. “Apparently she appears in the mirror you’re repeating her name into.” 

Ben nodded, saying nothing.

“And,” continued Liz, “if you look directly into her eyes, she may drive you insane, scratch out or liquify your eyes,—“

“À la Raiders of the Lost Ark,” said Pete.

Liz turned toward Pete, giving him an annoyed look. She continued “— cause internal bleeding, strike you dead, or, the pièce de résistance, drag you back through the mirror, where you will spend eternity trapped with Bloody Mary and all her horrors.”

“Huh,” said Ben. “I’ve never heard of this before. Who is this Bloody Mary — Mary I of England?”

“Good guess. But no,” said Liz. “She’s apparently a woman who was executed for being a witch and practicing the dark arts.”

“Or,” said Marta, “Modern folklore has it that she was a woman who was killed in a car crash, her face horrifically mangled from the wreck.”

Simone held up her hand. “I don’t really believe in the curse, but there is also a version of the story that says someone took her child, and that she went insane, and killed herself.”

“That would drive me insane if I had a chid and someone took him or her. I freak out when I think that someone might take my dog when I leave her in the backyard,” said Liz.

“I heard that she killed her own kids, and then went insane and committed suicide,” said Pete.

Ben looked from one person to the next. “This is a grim story. How come I don’t know anything about it?”

“It probably wasn’t popular when you were younger,” said Liz. “My mom was one of those prepubescent girls Simone mentioned, who knew the legend and tried to summon Bloody Mary.” Liz leaned in, conspiratorially, talking in as low a voice as the noisy bar would allow. “She and a group of her friends were at a sleepover, and they tried to summon the Bloody Mary.” She paused, looking around the table. “She swore that they all saw something in the mirror — a spectre of some sort. They were sure it was Bloody Mary." She paused. "While no one’s eyes liquified that night, one of the girls, Anita, the girl who was doing the conjuring, apparently went blind within the year.”

“I call bullshit,” said Simone, shaking her head.

“No,” Liz insisted. “My mom told me. She and Anita are still friends. And I’ve met Anita. She’s definitely blind — she has a dog and she uses a white cane. So, unless they are playing the long game, I believe my mom told me the truth.”

“Yeah,” said Simone, “but do you know how she lost her sight? It probably doesn’t say ‘blinded by Bloody Mary’ in her medical records.”

Liz gave her side-eye. ‘I’m not going to ask her if Bloody Mary blinded her. I’m just telling you what my mom told me, and what I’ve seen with my own non-liquified eyes.”

Simone looked skeptical. 

Ben piped up. “So, it’s kinda like when you say Betelgeuse three times, and you summon him or make him disappear.”

There were nods all around the table.

“Right,” said Pete, “from the movie, Beetlejuice.”

“Exactly!’ said Ben. “Say his name three times, and he shows up, hits on your girlfriend, is completely inappropriate, and screws up everything in your world. Say Betelgeuse three more times, and he disappears.”

“Yeah, it’s like that,” said Marta, “but you can't make Bloody Mary disappear.”

“And there’s no Michael Keaton entertainment factor,” said Liz.

“Hey," said Simone, "Michael Keaton’s in this new series, Dopesick. Have any of you watched it yet? I hear it’s pretty good…”

The conversation veered away from Bloody Mary, and on to more mundane topics.

*****

The bar was empty, and Joey was almost finished closing up for the night.

“We were so very close this time, Joseph,” said the scratchy voice.

Joey was looking into the mirror behind the bar. 

“Yes, Mary, we were. I thought for sure she’d say it three times. Then we would have had her.” He shook his head. "Damn!"

“Not to worry, Joseph, tomorrow is Saturday night, and who doesn’t love a nice, strong Bloody Mary?”

They both laughed.