H: Trick or Treating

Chapter: Kid, Trick or Treating

I haven't said it out loud yet, but tonight is the last time I go trick
or treating. My twelfth birthday is only five days away. I think that
means I'm too old to go door to door, asking for candy. I could be
wrong, but it seems to have something to do with being a
teenager.

My big sister hasn't dressed up for Halloween for years. The last time
she did, she was an Indian princess and wearing braids, feathers, and a
pillow case with one of my father's belts tied around the waist. Some
bigger kids attacked her. "Attacked" was her word. I didn't see it,
because she went off with one of her friends. They both lost all of
their candy. On the porch in front of our house, my sister cried and
bent the feathers on her costume. I tried to give her pieces of candy
that I didn't want, but she didn't want them, either.

My big sister isn't home this Halloween. My mother is leaving as soon
as my little sister and I start out. We don't have a bowl of candy by
our front door to give to the kids, because no one will be here to give
the candy out. "The light will be out when you get home," my mother
says, "I don't want any tricks being played."

I know what my mother means, though it makes no sense. Why spend time
throwing eggs or putting cat shit on someone's porch when the next
house might have candy?

For my last Halloween, I already have four costumes lined up. Five,
really, if I count the old sheet with a stain in the middle that I cut
eye holes into. My mother has sewn a vest for my real costume, a genie.
She did everything by hand, from a pattern, and finished the edges with
a shiny blue trim. It even fits. I needed a turban so my mother told me
to wear the cap I bought her. I bought it after her last visit to the
hospital, when her hair was coming in darker and making the skin on her
head show up more. Now she just wears a wig that goes to her shoulders.
She wears it even when she's just sitting around on the couch. "He
likes it," my mother says, meaning her boyfriend, who drives an old
truck and cleans buildings at night.

My little sister has four costumes, too. She might have more, I think,
because I've seen her hiding pieces of my mother's clothes. I know she
has a paper sack with armholes cut into the sides under the couch. Her
real costume is a witch. My mother has drawn dark circles under her
eyes and put on long, fake fingernails, the plastic so soft that they
bend and keep flying off my little sister's fingers like little black
snakes. She has a pointy witch hat. It doesn't fit my head.

Our plan is to go through our own apartment complex, and then through
the real houses close to us. Then we'll come home and change costumes.
We practiced using different voices, shouting "Trick or treat!" until
my throat hurt. I told my little sister that if anybody asks, just
shake your head and act like you don't speak English. No one will know
around here, anyway.

"Have fun, and watch out for cars," my mother tells us from the couch.
My little sister's eye makeup is smudged, and I pull up my turban
because my head is sweating. I wonder if I should put a shirt on under
the genie vest, but decide against it. We plan on doing a lot of
running.

"One last thing," my mother says, "Don't talk to any strangers. If
anybody talks to you run away, or start screaming. You can do that,
right?"

My little sister puts her head in the doorway, nodding. Her witch hat
falls down over her eyes. She reaches up to push it back, and one of
her fake fingernails pops off and lands on the chair next to the
doorl.

"Forget it," I say, pushing her outside.

It is just dark, but there's still a lot of traffic by our building. We
aren't going that way, though. I don't see any other kids in costumes,
only the same grownups who sit on their stoops every night. Some of the
grownups call down to us from their balconies. "Ooh, that's a scary
witch," one says. My little sister doesn't look up.

We stop at the first building over from ours. A lady answers her door
and says, "It ain't Halloween, is it? What? You want somthin'?" We back
away.

"Thank you!" we shout, and run towards another door. This time we are
lucky, each of us getting a fistful of candy. My sister opens her bag
to see what was thrown in, but I knock her head with my elbow.

"Thank you!" we say. A can flies from one of the balconies above,
landing next to us in the dirt. "Thank you!" we say again, and run.