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Blogs by Joseph W. Montaperto
HALLOWEEN 1/30/2023 9:33:05 PM
Joey has just finished up a torturous day at The Fox Hole, and walks the empty streets alone at night, brooding about the ghastly condition of his hands and reminiscing of good times past. No way can I see Esperanza like this. I thrust my hands disgustedly back into my jacket pockets, and trudge down the dark, cold streets on my way back home. Only a couple of hours ago, they had been teeming with boisterous little Supermen, Wonder Women, and Frankensteins. Now they are empty and silent. A frigid wind is blowing the remaining dead leaves back onto lawns that had just been raked. I do see some old guy trick or treating though, as Mr. French, the butler from the old TV sitcom Family Affair, strangely enough. I’m still not sure if it’s a costume, or if he just regularly enjoys dressing like Mr. French. As I continue on my journey homeward, grumbling to myself, I look skyward to note the rolls of toilet paper dangling from the depleted tree branches, illuminated by the solitary street light. The houses I pass are splattered with dried eggs, and their windows, as well as car windshields, are smeared with soap graffiti. I smile. Mischief Night. The night before Halloween, when you bombard all the houses and cars in the neighborhood. What a great tradition! I think back to last Halloween, which now seems like eons ago, when me, Ricky, and Skinny went Trick or Treating. Ricky, for some reason, had decided to dress up as Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt on San Juan Hill, when he was a member of the Rough Riders, to be precise. As if anyone would get that. He was very intricate in the way he prepared his costume, but almost every house we went to, the people thought he was supposed to be McCloud. He spent the whole night trying to explain to everybody that, no, he was actually Teddy Roosevelt on San Juan Hill. Obviously, nobody knew what in the world he was talking about, and Skinny and I, of course, thought this was hilarious, as he grew more exasperated. We start busting on him, calling him McClod, until he gets so pissed he starts chasing us. But he can’t run anyway, and especially in those clod-hopper cowboy boots he’s wearing. So we’re falling all over each other, laughing, as we try to get away, carrying these heavy pillowcases of candy.
I start cracking up at the memory, laughing so hard to myself that I have to cover my mouth. It’s one of those times where you just can’t stop yourself.
“Joey?” A girl’s voice calls out, totally busting me. I look up and peep right into the eyes of Snow White, smiling at me brightly. It’s like I am suddenly transported into some beautiful fairy tale. Of course, it’s not actually Snow White - but Kyla McBride, in her costume. With my cousin Skinny, who’s supposed to be Spock, I think. For a minute, I’m breathless, speechless. I just cannot avert my gaze. I mean, she’s more like Snow White than the real Snow White. I almost expect any minute now, a bunch of birds and forest animals to be gathering to dance around her. I have never seen a girl look so sweet, so pure. So wholesome.
“What are you doing out here, laughing all by yourself?” she asks, still smiling.
I try hard to regain my composure, my cool, as I ashamedly jam my hideous claws back into my pockets. I smile, hoping she doesn’t notice.
“Yeah…I- uh- had to work tonight and I was - uh… just remembering last-
“Aww, you had to work tonight, on Halloween? Poor guy,” she coos with genuine sympathy.
She hands me a piece of candy from her trick or treat bag. Me and Skinny exchange greetings (I respectfully call him Chris in front of Kyla) although there’s a bit of awkwardness. We haven’t really connected in a while, and our last significant exchange was that incident with the baseball.
I begin to recount the story of last year’s Halloween with me, him, and Ricky, though, and the laughs start to flow, melting away the tension. As we continue bullshitting and joking, and cracking up for like the next half hour or so, a warm familiar feeling runs through me. Kind of like being in a time warp, where we’re all close and happy again. Very comforting.
I’m regaling them now with tales of my adventures with Na-Na. The experiences of going to the Savoy Lounge. And especially about breaking into the school those nights. Painting that mural, smoking pot, and listening to Etta James. I have them spellbound, wide-eyed; I’m in total control now, a master storyteller! Just like that time with Na-Na and Guy Warbush, relating tales of fictitious cunnilingus with my alleged babysitter.
Kyla’s gazing at me like I’m a combination of James Bond and Eugene O’Neill, all rolled into one. She just keeps going “Wow. Wow”, every time I finish a story. The cold night breeze accentuates the natural pinkish hue, giving her that real rosy-cheeked look. Wow.
I start dropping in stories about Esperanza, about how beautiful she is. How she’s an older woman, a beautician in Elizabeth, and how we’re supposed to be going out soon. All the while I’m searching Kyla’s blue eyes, her face, hoping to detect maybe a hint of jealousy, a bit of envy, but I don’t see anything. She just listens attentively, smiling, and even Skinny watches me admiringly. They seem genuinely happy for me, and with each other. Which, for some reason, makes me depressed. I realize that Kyla is the polar opposite of Esperanza; where the latter is sleek, sexy, hot, unpredictable, Kyla epitomizes the girl you go ice skating with, and then to the malt shop, or something.
“Hey, Joey, you want to come to the movies with us all this weekend?” she asks sweetly.
“Who’s going?”
“Me, Chris, Katelin, Barbara, the Eichorns…there’s supposed to be a really good picture playing at Park Theater…”
“Um, yeah, maybe, I got to see what’s going’ on first…”
“Yeah, let us know, OK?”
We continue walking to my house, still gabbing and laughing, stopping at my front door to bode goodbye. I figure I’ll talk to Skinny now, catch up on what he’s been up to… but he says goodbye too, and starts walking Kyla home. As I watch them disappear down the block together, I stand there alone in front of my house, choking back feelings I don’t totally understand, stabbing pangs of remorse, maybe jealousy. I struggle to convince myself that I have an exciting life. I’m on the cutting edge, man, breaking all the rules, exploring new cultures…and that kind of a safe life would never work for me. I vow to myself that I have to go up to Esperanza; she’s got to see my mural.
