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Did you know I fell off the fire escape, Griff? That’s how I died. I’m not good with balconies or high places.
“Please stop talking. Or thinking, or whatever it is.”
It was so stupid. So wasteful. I stood on top of that metal railing to show off to my friends. Then I slipped. Last thing I knew: pavement rushing toward my face.
I get out of the shower and throw a towel around my waist. Then I angrily beeline straight for the music and crank it up even louder. I have to drown him out.
Y’know what, Griff? You’re being stupid about all of this. You don’t know how to read guys like I do. Peer inside my thoughts if you want. They’re right there.
“I’m never peering into anything of yours again.”
If you go back to that party right now, or text him, he’ll answer. Dude, it’s not even nine yet. Fucking lame. We should be out there partying with Byron and—
“You’re not a ghost. You’re not my ‘bro’. You’re an infection, that’s all. Like a fever I have to ride out. I was overcome with something that wasn’t me. I should have just been myself. I should have just trusted myself. I would’ve been sweet to him. Kind. I would’ve waited and not wasted that first kiss. I wouldn’t have drank so much. I wouldn’t have …”
Who cares about a little tear in his vest?? Do you have any idea how many chicks’ dresses I tore? Buttons popped off of jeans? Off of shirts? They fucking loved it!
“Now it doesn’t matter.” I drop onto the floor and lean back against the wall, music blaring in my ears. “I will never know.”
I hear banging at my door.
Of course. It’s probably one of my neighbors I still haven’t met, demanding I turn my music down. Oh, I can’t wait to give them a lovely first impression of me. I already gave Byron a terrible one. What’s one more?
My man, your rage right now could set fire to a whole rainforest. Can we take a minute and just—?
I’m off my feet. The floorboards quake with terror under my heavy footfalls. I swing open the front door.
Five kids stand before me. Two ninjas, an Elsa, a confusing mummy/vampire/dog amalgamation, and a very uninspiring Captain America.
“Trick or treat!” they cry out in annoying unison.
I lean forward and peer into Mr. Lil’ Steve Roger’s bucket. At the top sits a tiny bag full of—“Candy corn? Really? Who the hell gave you that crap?”
The kid stares back at me.
“Or maybe,” I go on, “I’d better ask: who hates you enough to drop that into your bucket instead of … well, instead of literally anything else on Earth?” I look at the other kids in turn, who’ve all drawn silent. “Halloween is the biggest damned dumpster fire of a shitty, trash-ass holiday. Yeah, you pretend to love it now as kids, but wait until you get older and the term ‘costume’ becomes a lot more interpretive. Going as a kitty-cat to your friend’s party? Better expect to be wearing nothing but a black bikini, bra, and stupid fucking ears on your head. It’s just an excuse to get drunk, screw things up with the guy you are trying to win over, and it has fuck-all to do with the shit you grew up loving: good-ass candy. Tasty candy. Beautiful, colorful, sugary, crack-cocaine candy. This?” I give Mr. Lil’ Captain America’s bucket a bitter swat of my hand. “Fucking candy corn? This is an insult, and the fact that you weren’t insulted by someone trying to squash out your precious dreams with this terrible trash candy is an insult to me.”
Captain America attempts to lift his figurative five-dollar shield. “B-But I like—”
“Candy corn sucks,” I cut him off. “When you eat that shit, you become some idiot toddler again putting crap in your mouth that doesn’t belong there. It’s like Satan’s last laugh on this overrated, trash holiday. It just plain suuucks. Trick or treat, you ask? It’s a trick, you dumb kids. Every last candy corn that exists or ever existed is a trick. Even the ones they shape like fat little pumpkins to make them more appealing. Spoiler: those kind are just fatter, grosser bits of garbage. They suck so much, they are literally the worst suck of anything in the whole history of sucky shit that has ever sucked.”
Elsa has started to cry.
One of the ninjas, too.
The mummy amalgamation appears fascinated.
“Kids, just take it for what it is. Spare yourself the big letdown when you grow up. Halloween just sucks. It’s all tricks. No treats. It is a capitalist farce invented by Satan and Snickers to line the wallets of corporate executives. And also Wal-Mart.”
Mr. Lil’ Captain America has apparently had quite enough. “Are you gonna give us candy or not, sir?”
