A Specter – Facebook blog from 11/1/2009


The moon nests, nearly full, in phantasmagoric tufts of swift moving clouds. Leaves cling to limbs in a last ditch effort to thwart winter, their struggles telegraph from tree to tree, dry castanets clamoring in the strong breeze. Little imps run in zig-zag paths, the crazed path of mutant moths drawn to porch lights and jack-o-lantern flames. The air is crisp and electrified but I am encapsulated in a bubble. Everything around me is moving and vibrant and I feel so still and bland, like a gray rock in a rapid. I feel no sense of revelry. Instead I am sadly observant. Streams of winged, painted, masked, caped, horned, bejeweled children jet by me with adults in the wake. 

My own carefully runs from door-to –door with her skirt lifted, with a good-natured grin carved on her face to rival most pumpkins. She doesn’t reach in to grab handfuls of candy like other greedy little ghouls but asks politely for the treats to be placed in her bag. She has a mild flu and keeps coughing into the shawl draped over her shoulders. I watch her move noting she has clumsy grace that is uniquely her own. Her blonde locks spiral from her gypsy headscarf and I see she won’t be a child for much longer. She plops down on a patch of grass, legs spread beneath her flowing skirt, her bag of loot nestled between them. She reaches in and searches around by touch and pulls out a pixie stick. 

“Mom, may I PLEASE have some of my candy now?” she pleads, looking up at me with her big blue eyes shrouded in fantastic eye makeup. 

My motherly nature inclines me to advise waiting until we got home. The kid still trapped inside of me tells mom to shove it. 

“Eat as much of it as you want.” I reply nonchalantly, without giving her a reason or a reprimand. 

She peers at me quizzically then greedily rips the paper from the top of the pixie stick, tilts the paper tube into her mouth and lets the entire contents of powdery flavored sugar slide onto her tongue. (I swear I see her eyes get glassy and her pupils dilate.) After the devouring, she returns her focus to me. 
“You’re the best mom in the whole world!” she exclaims earnestly. 

I reach out and put my hand in her bag of sweets. The negative film separating me from the festivities bursts. 

“Oooooooo!” I squeal. “You have sooooo much chocolate!”



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