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HALLOWEEN
My parents declare that I am too old to go trick-or-treating. I'm thrilled. This way I don't have to admit that no one invited me to go with them. I'm not about to tell Mom and Dad that. To keep up appearances, I stomp to my room and slam the door.
I look out my window. A group of little creatures is coming up the walk. A pirate, a dinosaur, two fairies, and a bride. Why is it that you never see a kid dressed as a groom on Halloween? Their parents chat at the curb. The night is dangerous, parents are required--tall ghosts in khakis and down jackets floating behind the children.
The doorbell rings. My parents squabble about who will answer it. Then Mom swears and opens the door with a high- pitched “Ooooh, who do we have here?” She must have handed out only one mini-chocolate bar to each creature-- their thank-yous do not sound enthusiastic. The kids cut through the yard to the next house and their parents follow in the street.
Last year, our clan all dressed up as witches. We went to Ivy's house because she and her older sister had theatrical makeup. We traded clothes and splurged on cheap black wigs. Rachel and I looked the best. We had used baby-sitting money to rent black satin capes lined in red. We rocked. It was an unusually warm, wicked evening. We didn't need long underwear and the sky was clear. The wind kicked up, skimming clouds over the surface of the full moon, which was hung just to make us feel powerful and strong. We raced through the night, a clan of untouchable witches. I actually thought for a moment that we could cast spells, could turn people into frogs or rabbits, to punish the evil and reward the good. We ended up with pounds of candy. After Ivy's parents went to bed, we lit a candle in the totally dark house. We held it in front of an antique mirror at midnight to see our futures. I couldn't see anything.
This year Rachelle is going to a party thrown by one of the exchange students' host families. I heard her talk about it in algebra. I knew I wouldn't get an invitation. I would be lucky to get an invitation to my own funeral, with my reputation. Heather is walking with some of the little kids in her neighborhood so their mothers can stay home.
I am prepared. I refuse to spend the night moping in my room or listening to my parents argue. I checked out a book from the library, Dracula, by Bram Stoker. Cool name. I settle into my nest with a bag of candy corn and the blood-sucking monster.
