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Dash
The house looks different at night. The place went through a Halloween makeover. Orange lights line the gutters, and carved pumpkins sit along the walkway leading up to the front door. Tombstones litter the front yard, and skeletons dangle from the trees. From over the high fence, back in the yard I’ve become familiar with these past few weeks, I can hear music and laughter.
I still don’t fully believe I was meant to be invited.
Instead of heading for the gate like I normally do, I walk up to the front entrance.
The ring of the doorbell results in some happy barking, and soon I’m met with the sight of an exuberant pit bull dressed in a bedazzled T-Shirt. Seeing someone she recognizes, Pumpkin lets out an excited yip and tries to put her paws on my shoulders.
“Pumpkin! Sit.” The command comes out in a firm confident voice.
The dog drops to all fours then plops her butt on the ground, even as her body continues to wiggle with the strength of her wagging tail.
“Dash! I swear you’re the first person she’s jumped on.” Paige trots up beside her dog, clutching a giant bowl of candy to her chest. “I can’t believe you made me look bad, Pumpkin!” Despite her grumpy exclamation, Paige pats her puppy’s head affectionately. When she turns her gaze on me, all evidence of disgruntlement immediately disappears, replaced with an enchanting smile. “You dressed up!”
I smirk down at the sweater I’m wearing, a knitted monstrosity covered in bats with a full moon on the right shoulder.
“I borrowed it from Cole. He has a surprising number of ugly holiday sweaters.”
“It’s not ugly! It’s gorgeous.” Paige steps forward and brushes a hand over my shoulder as if to smooth down the material. At least with the long sleeves she can’t see how goosebumps race across my arms at the contact.
“It’s not really a costume. Now yours…that’s something.”
Paige is wearing a full-body black leotard with skeleton bones printed on the tight fabric. Showing an extra bit of modesty, she’s pulled on a short black skirt over top, which sways with each of her movements.
Most women out partying tonight wouldn’t have bothered with the extra piece of clothing, and they probably would have paired the outfit with a sky-high set of heals. Paige went with sensible flats, and she’s piled her blonde hair on top of her head in a sleek bun. She’s like an undead ballerina.
“To be honest, I didn’t have much of a choice. My mom insisted on dressing up as David S. Pumpkins and demanded that my dad and I be her skeleton back up dancers.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Paige stares up at me, speechless for a moment. “My god, Dash.David S. Pumpkins. Tom Hanks. SNL. You haven’t seen this?”
Maybe now would be a good time to point out that I don’t have cable. Or a TV. Or internet. Instead I just shrug and enjoy the way Paige clutches my arm as if I’m on the verge of dying from lack of pop culture references.
“Well by the end of the night, you will know who David S Pumpkins is. Even if you don’t think he’s hilarious, please pretend for my mom’s sake. Doesn’t matter that she’s seen the sketch fifty times. Every time it kills her. She worships the ground Tom Hanks walks on. If she ever met the man, my father would find himself without a wife.”
Paige shakes her head sadly even as a smile plays at her mouth, then her eyes pop wide as she glances around us.
“I’m a horrible host. Please come inside.”
As I follow Paige, I get a better look at the decorated shirt Pumpkin is wearing. It’s a simple orange T-Shirt, with a mathematical sign punched into the side.
“Is that…?” I trail off and wait for Paige to explain so I don’t sound stupid if I’m wrong.
“Her shirt? It’s Pi. Do you get it?” The grinning woman places the bowl of candy on a side table before crouching down to wrap her arms around the squirming pup.
“She’s…pumpkin pie?”
At Paige’s energetic nod I can’t help chuckling. This girl is sweeter than the bowl of KitKats she was about to hand out to trick or treaters.
The smartly dressed dog wiggles out of her owner’s embrace and snuffles at my pants pockets.
“Pumpkin, stop. Dash doesn’t have—” She pauses mid-sentence when I pull out half a dog biscuit.
I make Pumpkin lie down before I give her the treat. When I glance up at Paige, she has a curious smile hiding at the corner of her mouth.
“Do you constantly carry those around with you? Or do you have magical pockets that produce dog treats whenever you need them?”
