False Horror

Supermen and slutty cats. Iron man and vampire bats. What a night! A father and son are mad scientists, and there's an entire Star Wars family. Too many princesses to count, less ninjas than last year, more of the turtle variety. Canes and swords and knives abound.

Moms carrying glasses of wine, older kids with colored cups. Pillow cases and plastic pumpkin bags, kids take two when told to take one but you have to admire the initiative. This is candy night, the beat of nights, and we must get all we can. A lot of people are carrying horse masks.

It is perfect that it happened tonight, the night of make believe, the night of others, when blood and gore is to be expected. The parents congratulate me and the children are frightened and I always forget why. A sticky feeling on my cheek reminds me of the blood.

"Like the getup, man."

"Who are you supposed to be?"

"Scary!"

My blinds are drawn and my hands are steady. Tonight is nothing other than what it is. Only a night for pretend, false horror, a night when no one bats an eye. Except for some children, God bless them. Inside waits for me a gruesome mess, a cleanup far worse than any party, a realization far worse than any fact. Inside I have to face what I have done. But in the meantime, I can pass out chocolate and enjoy these slight fringe benefits and be the monster everyone expects.

An Upcoming Scene from Later Tonight

Lights up. We are in an apartment party—that is to say a party going on in an apartment. It is Halloween, or very near it. While the apartment is a decent size it seems cramped with the dozens of people, many made larger by their costumes. Every person is holding a drink, and the floor and furniture shows the evidence that they've held many more. An upbeat holiday song is playing.

I've gotten there late and I'm trying to catch up. I've been talking to friends and meeting a few new people, but I keep seeing you across the apartment. I keep thinking and over-thinking what casual and clever thing I could say to start a conversation. Eventually, after the friend you were talking to leaves, and after probably too much time has passed, I walk over to you.

ME: Hi, how's it going?

YOU: [walks away]

ME: We'll talk later then?

Black out. End of scene.

Tweet

"'Two good-looking single young men, prime of their youth, world at their fingertips. Time to watch the Peanuts special! [Everywhere old men weep.]' Yeah?"

"What?"

"What."

"Why are you putting that last part?"

"Like old men are crying because the folly of youth and youth is wasted on the young and all that."

"It sounds like they're into us."

"No it doesn't."

"Dude, it sounds like they're into us."

"That is not how people will take it."

"That is exactly how people will take it!"

"OK OK OK, what if I changed it to 'people,' 'old people.'"

"I don't know why there needs to be any mention of any old anybody."

"You need a button!"

"The Peanuts is the button!"

"That's not a very good button."

"Then you work on that button, you don't add another one."

"I can add as many buttons as I like."

"This tweet is turning into one of Steve Harvey's suits."

"This tweet is going to be real good, OK now, let's see. OK but I want this to say something, you know?"

"It says enough without the old men thing. People will naturally think of old men."

"What?"

"People will naturally think about how old people would look at us and tell us we're wasting our lives."

"I'm not saying we're wasting our lives."

"No, I know."

"I'm saying we're wasting our evening."

"No, I know."

"Dude?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are we?"

The Last Laugh

It was different, it wasn't supposed to be like this, they were the ones who were supposed to get attached, not her. It came from out of nowhere, not suddenly, over a few days, but still when it started she didn't know from where.

"Come on," her friends said, "we're going out tonight."

To the place where the freshmen dwell, that terrible string of bars, into the chasm. They shaved and plucked and forced her to do these things, slinked themselves into skintight skirts and stilettos. And looking in the mirror she knew, even if she wasn't ready, that she looked good.

So she lied about being from Missouri. She lied about how long she'd been in town. She lied about her relationships. She danced what she could and when she didn't feel like it she sat down and her friends pulled her back on.

"Woo!" they said. "This night is about you!"

When someone leaves there is always a reason. She wanted to know, it didn't matter how mundane or morose, how hateful. It was there, she knew it, it was always there. Things like this are difficult but that's the choice you've made. She didn't tell him to go.

They were in line for food, Cory she thought his name was. He went on and on about his major or a friend's major or a friend's car or something. She thought about her bed, how big it was, how empty, how emptier it would feel with her in it. And when she placed her order Cory or Cameron or whoever gave her a look and laughed, said she didn't need all that. She laughed at him harder.

Sharing Pins

I stuck pins through my fingers, we all did. Only small safety pins, and only through the very top layer. Sometimes it was so shallow the skin would break immediately. But soon we all got fairly good at stick in the pins. Then you'd fasten it shut, pretend like you had some sort of power, the power to make pins stick to you. We didn't think about how dirty they were, we didn't think about not sharing. We didn't think about who started it or why we did it. We were kids and kids don't think and that is why everybody wants to be one. We didn't realize it at the time.

Sympathy Bloody Sympathy

"Sympathy for you is like a Band-Aid after the guillotine. It just won't do nothin'. You're gonna slump there and you're gonna bleed and there's nothin' this little bandage is gonna do. You'd feel foolish for even tryin', thinkin' that what you're doin' makes a difference. And so it is with you and my sympathy, or lack thereof. The second I start tryin' to understand where you're comin' from is the second I start lookin' like a chump. It ain't gonna change your situation. What's it gonna do for you? And I'll be washin' blood off my hands for a week."

Two Germans

Sitting next to Germans wondering which sister is older. They both are blonde and have strong jaws but then I think that might be all Germans. But maybe I'm thinking Aryans and I have to shake that word out of my head.

They're visiting from Hamburg and I fight the urge to call them hamburgers and feel good about it. I don't want to be most Americans, oh you're from Hamburg, would that make you hamburgers, us Americans love our hamburger, wink wink.

This is their first time in America. They haven't been to New York or Los Angeles, San Francisco or Boston or Washington, D.C. They wanted to come to Chicago, and when they're done they'll go home. I ask why Chicago. I say things like Empire State Building and Golden Gate Bridge and Liberty Bell. They said they didnt want to go to any of those other places, that they already felt like they'd been. All they knew of our fair city was a renamed skyscraper and I suddenly panic that I couldn't pick out Germany on a map.