Claudia

Long ago, in French class, when we chose our names, I chose Claudia.
Whenever people discuss Interview with the Vampire, they are quick to express annoyance towards Claudia. Some even make comments about how happy they were when she died.
I flinch.
I loved her, and I think, as time has gone on, I’ve gradually found more and more parts of myself in her.
She wanted so badly to be more than what she ever could be.
She felt so trapped in her little body.
So unseen for who she really was.
To equate Claudia to being “a brat” shows a dull and surface level understanding of Claudia’s character.
No. Claudia was tragic. Claudia’s behavior was a product of a slow-burning grief turned to raging helplessness. Claudia was every stage of grief…
I, too, have longed to be more than I am. I have longed to be valued and understood for who I am inwardly- and I am often disappointed. I am often nothing more than background noise to others.
Louis was the only character who ever understood Claudia, who saw her for more than a doll.
I once had a Louis too… But in my book it was Louis who turned to ash in the sun. It was I who was left to grieve.
I wonder how Claudia would have been, had the tables been turned. Would she have chosen death in the hopes of being with Louis again?
I wanted to choose death when my Louis died. But, like Claudia, my Louis gave me life when I was on the brink of dying.
And like Claudia I am angry at him sometimes for it… but more often I am incredibly thankful to him for my new life.
I wish I could tiptoe to his coffin and find comfort there, though. But his coffin is across the sea and six feet beneath the snowy ground.
I wish I didn’t feel so much like Claudia.
I wish I was more like Lestat- disinhibited, unbothered, indulgent.
But here I am- little Claudia. Stuck, always longing for something that I’ll never have again, longing to emerge from this shell and truly be understood. Or maybe I am just an angsty brat throwing a pity party.
Either way, I guess I remain Triste Petite Claudia.