on halloween

She don't run from the sun no more, She boxed her shadow and she won, - Anna Nalick (Paper Bag)
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Do you think he’d give me his sword?

I size up the pirate standing a few feet away from me. When it comes to cheaply made Halloween costumes, his is clearly no exception. Poorly made polyester in bright shades with poor cuts, Halloween is a nightmare for anyone who actually notices these things.

And I do.

Do you even know him?

My friend is skeptical. She’s dressed up as a pirate wench; apparently it’s the “in” costume for the season, along with cleavage baring firefighter, naughty cop, and midriff showing nurse.

I must have missed the memo.

Pirate! Hey, Pirate!

I call out as loud as I can to overcome the bad rap music pulsing through the house.
He doesn’t hear me, but his friend does, and he turns to see what I want.

Can I borrow your sword?

He looks down to where loosely hanging at his side is a cheap plastic sword.

Will I get it back?

At this point everyone in the near vicinity is listening to our conversation with interest.

Of course.

My voice is smooth, assuring. I smile sweetly up at his as I cross my legs, letting just a little bit more of red netting show.

Drunken pirates are almost too easy to convince.

But I mean, you’re the devil.

He’s got me there. My short black dress, bright red nails, and red shiny devil ears might give me away.

Halloween is nothing more then an excuse for girls to dress up as slutty as they can, and get away with it.

So is that a yes?

You’re making a deal with the devil,

a stray voice cracks as he hands the sword my way.

I grasp it, smiling sweetly.

You’ll get it back.

He makes a promise to return for it, and heads downstairs to where the rest of the party is going on, a beer in one hand, a cheap bottle of aristocrat vodka in the other.

Halloween is also nothing more than an excuse to get wasted.

Almost too easy.

I turn to my friend and twirl the sword in my hand, admiring it.

You don’t even know him.

I don’t,

I say as I twirl the sword in my hand.

But I wanted to see if he’d give it to me, anyway.

Who cares if the devil didn’t carry a pirate sword?

This one does.

If I ranked the costumes here, I’d give you the one.

My attention is turned to another partygoer, who’s so original that he’s dressed up as a football player: black jersey, jeans, with a football tucked under one arm and a long neck bottle resting in his other hand.

I forgot my pitchfork,

I reply coyly, standing up so that we are eye to eye.

It completes the look.

Halloween also is an excuse to act however the fuck you want to, because you’re drunk, it’s Halloween, and you’re dressed as the devil: so who’s going to fucking contradict you?

It’s almost too easy.

Another smile and I go in search of my friends Marilyn Monroe and Sandra Dee. We are the only girls at the party not in short shorts and cleavage showing tops.

I take a moment to appreciate it, and another to realize this isn’t the party for us. They head out to the car, as I look for my coat.

Are you really that devilish, or is it just a costume?

The face attached to the voice shows me another unoriginal costume: a baseball fan. Not like the World Series is going on or anything.

Of course, I’m one to talk; I’m the face of all evil. I don’t get bonus points for originality; I get points for bothering at all.

It depends on what you’d consider a devilish action.

I respond, sipping my amaretto sour.

There’s a keg; but I don’t drink beer.

He leers at me, asking if I would like to dance to the rap song of the moment. I slip my glass into his hand, as I grab my jacket resting on the chair behind him.

Finish this for me, you’ll like it.

Halloween, besides being a reason to dress slutty, get drunk, and act however the fuck you want is also a reason to party: and Marilyn and Sandra are waiting in the car to go to a new one.

Baseball fan will have to wait another day to dance with the devil.

The mistakes I’ve made, I’ll just make them again.