Done in

BOO

 

Holding my wife's brand new scrub bucket filled with small plastic bags
of M & Ms, Hershey's miniatures, candy corn, I open the door and shout, 'BOO' The children laugh and dig into the bucket. Before me are a clown with a red rubber nose, a witch with a battered broomstick and high black cone shaped hat, twins with paper mache'  pumpkins on their heads They get a bit greedy, turn and run down the driveway where our neighbor, Mr. Donaldson, waits to watch over the candy-lovers, makes sure each kid stops a moment, waves to me and hollers, 'Thanks.' I appreciate it but do believe it takes a bit of the fun out of the begging.

 

'Mary Sue,' I call to the oldest child in the group. 'Come closer. I have something special for you.' She runs to me. I hand her a paper bag full of candy make-up, a caramel colored lipstick, a licorice eye brow stick and marshmallow earrings attached to junk ones my wife found in the 5 & 10. Mary Sue didn't have to be told to thank me. She adds a big hug and a tweak to my nose.

 

The last child in this group is somewhat shy. Mr. Donaldson has to take her by the hand and bring her to me. Oh, she is cute, adorable. She has
white transparent wings that flap a little if she pulls a string. Her blonde hair hangs in tiny curls to her shoulders and even in the semi-dark I can see her eyes twinkle like starlight. Almost cooing, in her soft voice, she asks me to make her wings flap. 'Please, make them fly me into the sky, please, please, Sir. My Mommy is in heaven and I just have to see her.' Tiny silver tears wet her rosy cheeks.

 

I give those tears no chance to become a river and sweep the darling child into my arms, swing her around and around until we are both dizzy. 'Did you know your Mommy is watching over you? She told me on my iPod that you should have fun, flap your Halloween wings and you will fly part of the way to her. Don't look for her because she is invisible but she can see you!' That doesn't work. She begs me, Mr. Strong Man, make my wings flap. I have to go to heaven to see my Mommy.'

 

I pull the strings, pull them hard. One string breaks. I pull on the other and it flaps, flaps, fast and hard. The child rises, floats upward, high towards the tree tops, waves to me and disappears.

 

A skeleton in a black suit with painted on white ribs shakes me, wakes me from my goofy dream. My own seven year old son has been waiting too long for me to take him Trick or Treat. He bops me on my head and tells me to hurry before all the good candies disappear.

 

I hurry.