Dread swirls in my stomach as I lean against my front door, and I try my best to ignore the thoughts about my dumb costume. My eyes sweep the road, over and over; please, I beg. Come, don't come, remember the promise, just forget all about me--I can't decide which I want, just that I want something to happen.
After a few agonizing moments, I watch as Lyle's SUV turns the corner and looms ominously into view. The 8-passenger car seems gigantic, its black paint absorbing the light, and my stomach flips nervously as I watch it creep into my driveway and sit, waiting for me to approach. Wiping my sweaty hands on my pants, I slowly make my way over to the passenger seat and climb in.
"Jesse!" a chorus of excited voices greet me, and I can only muster a half-grin as I tug the door shut. Some Halloween-themed music plays in the car; combined with the chatter of excited children, it's almost overwhelming. Lyle gives me a smile as he carefully backs out, but I can't even begin to return it. Instead, I focus on studying his costume, a sheep, in an effort to distract myself.
For a short while, it works as I admire the handiwork of the handmade costume, but at the same time, I have to stifle my urges to touch him. Internal warfare wages; I'm left numbly watching the streets, crowded with cars and costumed people, roll by. Finally, we park along the side of the road, and I almost trip in my desperation to escape the SUV.
As Lyle and one of the older kids distribute bags and buckets, I stand by, adjusting the hood of my own costume, also made by Lyle. A wolf, to match his sheep costume, and I'm still trying to process what matching costumes mean. His approach, though, interrupts me before my thoughts spiral out of control.
"Here!" he chirps, handing me a black pumpkin basket. "This will be your first time trick-or-treating, yeah?" Hesitantly, I nod, taking the bucket and turning it around. A leering face, cheaply colored to imitate fire, peers back at mine, and it feels prophetic in a weird way.
"Thanks." I can barely force the word out, but Lyle gets distracted by one of the kids trying to get a headstart. After some reminders, we set off as a group; I tower over them, even the taller of the twins. My eyes dart around, trying to take in all the costumes and decorations and lights. I'm barely aware that we're standing in front of someone's door until someone nudges me in an effort to get closer,
"Trick-or-treat!" the kids almost shout as the door opens to an older woman. She distributes candy with a heavy-hand; must be early in the night. Someone forces me forward right as her eyes turn to me, and, stricken dumb, I awkwardly hold out my black bucket. A few pieces of candy rattle against the bottom as her smile sours.
Shame devour me whole, and I meekly shy away, trying to hide behind Lyle. The kids rush past us, eager to press forward; I trail behind, trying to think about anything but the look on her face. Unfortunately, the journey to the next proves all too short for me to sufficiently recover, and despite my best attempts, I find myself shoved forward again and forced to endure the shame all over again.
House after house, the cycle seems to repeat; nobody else seems to notice the change, though. Chewing on my lip, I consider the thought that maybe I'm imagining the judgement, but I remind myself of my towering height, how obviously I stand out. Nobody could mistake me for being anywhere close to an appropriate age.
I'm snapped out of my foggy thoughts by the sight of a familiar face, and I gawk in horror at Travis, somebody I never thought I'd see outside of certain circumstances. Someone I never wanted to see outside of certain circumstances. Recognition fills his eyes; before he can speak, I find myself running. It isn't until I'm leaning against the monstrous SUV that I realize I've even run, and I wait, panting and trembling and trying to keep it all together.
"Jesse--"
"Don't." I snap at a concerned Lyle. "Just unlock the car. I'll sit and wait for you guys to finish." I can't force any emotion into my voice, can't even manage to look at anyone's face, and I slip inside the black beast without another word. The door slams shut before anyone can ask anything else; I stare resolutely down at my lap until long after I'm sure they're gone.
First time trick-or-treating--bust. Definite bust. My last time, for sure, and I sink into the seats, staring morosely out into the night as I allow myself to be plagued by the worst of my thoughts. After an eternity in my own silent hill, I watch as the group comes back into view. They clamber into the car; nobody says anything to me the entire ride back to my house.
Relieved to be close to my room, my own private domain, I leap out of the car and abandon my scarcely-filled candy bucket. Thrusting the door open, I don't glance back, afraid of feeling even guiltier, and I find myself surprised, mortified, and angered when a hand stops the door from slamming shut. Lyle stares at me, tentative but concerned. He holds my black bucket; I watch as the SUV drives by.
"Come in," I mutter as Lyle steps inside. The house is dark and empty, and only the moonlight filtering in from the windows provides any light. In the shadows, out of judgemental stares, I find myself able to relax slightly, but Lyle's presence keeps me tense and on edge. Emotions coil tightly inside of me, ready to burst at any time, and the thought terrifies me so fully that I have to take a few steps away from the smaller boy before I do something I'll regret.
"Do you have popcorn?" he asks, and I almost cry at the relief I feel. Dreaded questions weigh heavily on us; I ignore that, though, and lead him to the kitchen. We drag out snacks and soda as the popcorn pops, and, armed with snacks, we sit down on the couch and manage to find some scary movie playing on the television. He doesn't ask about what happened; I don't offer to tell him.
Despite my first time trick-or-treating having resulted in absolute failure, a small part of me feels grateful for everything as Lyle drowsily leans against me, and I comb my fingers through his soft light brown locks. His hazel eyes drift up to meet my gaze; he offers me a sleepy smile before a yawn distorts his face. Swallowing thickly, I return my gaze to the movie and ignore the warmth creeping through my chest. Maybe... maybe it didn't end too badly after all.
ns 172.69.59.100da2
and then Add to home screen.