by Patti Kim
I dash back into the main office to call home.
“May I?” I ask Ms. Bierman, pointing to her phone.
“Did you miss your bus, sweetie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, nearly choking back tears.
She turns the phone and hands me the receiver.
“Thank you,” I say, and dial.
Busy tone. Ma’s sleeping with the phone off the hook. I hang up and try again. Beep. Beep. Beep. I try again and again and again until Ms. Bierman asks, “Are you all right, baby?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, returning the phone to her.
Mr. Graves, the vice principal, steps out of his office wearing a clown wig and a clown nose. He locks up and shakes his keys, telling everyone to make it a happy and safe Halloween.
“Get home for those trick-or-treaters!” he says before stepping into the hall.
I don’t know why I do this, but I quietly follow Mr. Graves like I’m some stalker. I think I’m hoping he might give me a ride home. We get outside. He heads over to his car, pulling off his clown wig. He tucks it under his arm. Keeping my distance, I tiptoe follow him, trying to figure out how to word what I need. May I please have a ride home? I know this ain’t normal, but are vice principals allowed to give us kids a ride home? I missed my bus. I need to get home. To trick-or-treat tonight. I got three cats and a dog. They need me. Our phone’s off the hook. Ma’s asleep. She’s putting in overtime ’cause this here’s her last week at the toll. She got laid off. They don’t need her no more. Robot’s taking her job. Daddy ain’t coming back home. My little brother. I don’t know if he’s wearing a key today.
By the time I get some proper words strung together, Mr. Graves is backing out of his parking space and driving off to get ready for the trick-or-treaters.
It gets real quiet out here. I hear birds and distant traffic. I walk across the parking lot like I have somewhere to go, trying to breathe steady, trying not to freak into a panic.
As I pass the dumpster, I see the legs of my ironing board sticking out of the side opening. There you are. I run over and pull it out.
The cover’s got TRASH written on it in black marker. I hope to Jesus that’s not permanent, ’cause Ma’s going to want answers, but then again, she ain’t ironed anything for eons. Daddy was the last one to use it to press his one good dress shirt for his aunt Lynelle’s funeral, which is how that stain got burned on there. Looks like the tip of a rocket ship. Three, two, one. Blast off.
As I fold the rusty legs, tears drip out of my eyes. I wouldn’t call it crying ’cause I’m not making sad faces or pitiful sounds, but it’s just water falling out of my eyes like if you get a cut, the blood leaks automatic. It’s just nature doing her thing.
I wipe my cheeks, strap on my backpack, tuck the ironing board under my arm, and walk away from the school toward the traffic. Surf’s up.
nineteen
I’m walking home. Can’t be that far. I know the way.
Every street I cross, I switch arms. The ironing board weighs a ton.
I pass Wish Wash Laundromat, King’s Pawnshop, Grande Market, and Pizza Oven. I stop for a second in front of Pizza Oven ’cause it smells good. A ghost cutout hangs on the window announcing their Halloween specials.
Do I believe in ghosts? Why, yes I do, thank you.
Ever since Daddy told us about how he never believed in ghosts, not even as a kid, but then his aunt Lynelle died and left him her old Monte Carlo, I have been a certified believer. She loved that car. He’d be driving it along, minding his business, when out of the blue he smelled her perfume. Bird of Paradise by Avon. He smelled it so strong it was like she was sitting right next to him, better yet, like she was sitting on him, better yet, like she was trying to possess him. He’d open the windows to air out the car, but to no avail. The whole thing reeked of Aunt Lynelle.
Then there was the incident with the radio station. Daddy likes country music just fine, but that’s not what he listens to when he’s driving. He listens to talk, and that’s where his radio’s fixed at. But this one time, he started the Monte Carlo, and the station was WMZQ. You guessed it. Aunt Lynelle’s first pick. It was playing a song about tomorrow never coming. Daddy said he sold the Monte ’cause we needed the cash, but I think it was ’cause of the haunting.
Then Ma told the story about how when her Ma and Daddy died in that barn fire. Their porch swing would swing at the very hour they would’ve been out there swinging if they hadn’t died. For ten whole minutes. Back and forth. Squeak and all. They took the swing down. But the very next day, there it was hanging on the porch again, swinging. “And guess who was sitting on it?” Ma asked in a spooky whisper.
Benny and I whimpered, “Who?”
“YOU!” she boomed.
We screamed our heads off.
When Ma and Daddy told us those ghost stories, it was one of the best days of my life. I was eight years old. We’d gotten back from trick-or-treating. Candy loot was sorted, exchanged, and organized accordingly. Benny and I were tucked in bed. Charlie and the angels lounged with us. With Daddy on my bed and Ma on Benny’s, the family ghost stories were shared. It beat Christmas morning. Never felt so close. Nothing like a good scare to bring a family together.
A car honks. Ma would flip the bird. It’s like a reflex with her when she’s driving. It’s so embarrassing. Makes me want to open the car window and say I’m sorry.
Suddenly, moving headlights decorate the street. My feet hurt. My back aches. My arms feel sore. The sun’s going down.
I walk toward Golden Gardens Assisted Living, which looks like a nice hotel building. Warm orange light glows out of their front windows and doors. The chairs in the lobby look plush and comfy. No one’s sitting on them. I see a tray of cookies on the coffee table. There’s a bowl of Halloween candy at the front desk. I bet they’d let me use their phone.
twenty
The doors of Golden Gardens open automatic.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what’s going on. Amanda quit this morning,” says the receptionist. She’s talking to an old woman wearing a pink feather boa and holding a Mardi Gras mask over her eyes.
Elevator music’s playing in the lobby. It’s coming from the boom box behind the front desk. The place smells like pine trees and pumpkin pie. I help myself to a sugar cookie shaped like a ghost.
“What are we to do about our masquerade?” the old woman asks.
“I’m sorry. I think it’s canceled. Amanda was in charge of all that.”
“Well, how about you, dear? Can’t you do it?”
“That’s not my job.”
“I don’t see why you can’t be a good sport about it and get this shindig started. Look at me. I got all dressed up for it. I have my dancing shoes on,” she says, waving her mask like a magic wand. Her hair glows white.
“I’m sorry. I have to stay here at the front desk and answer the phone and…” The receptionist looks over at me like she needs a rescue.
“Hi there!” I pipe in.
“Hi. What brings you to Golden Gardens? How can I help you?” the receptionist asks. Her name tag says “Claudia.”
“May I please use your phone?”
“Are you here for the masquerade, darling?” the old woman says. “Well, it’s been canceled. They put a stop to it because of that lazy Amanda. She was no good at her job. No good at all. She was supposed to be our events coordinator, but what events? I don’t recall any events unless you’re referring to those dreadful outings to Kmart.”
“Here,” Claudia says, giving me the phone.
As I dial, an old man dressed as Superman comes into the lobby with a walker and says, “Where this party at?” On his head is a glossy black toupee.
Our phone rings.
“Hello?” Benny answers.
“Put Ma on,” I say.
“Where are you? Why ain’t you here?”
“Get Ma.”
“Maaaaaa!” Benny yells into the phone.
“Micke
y, where in tarnation are you?” Ma says.
“I’m at that Golden Gardens place on East–West. You know. I’m fine. It’s just I missed my bus. I’m sorry, Ma. I called, like, a million times, but our phone was busy. Did you have it off the hook? I’ve been walking this whole time.”
“Worried sick, Mick. I’ve been worried sick.”
“You can’t keep the phone off no more. You know how annoying that busy tone gets? Beep. Beep. Beep. That’s like being in hell. Busy tone for eternity. Can’t get a call through. Can you come get me?”
“I’m late for work.”
“Please, Ma. I’m going to miss a good chunk of trick-or-treating at this rate. Please. Pretty please? I’m butt-tired and hungry,” I say.
“You think whining and begging’s going to get you anywhere?”
I take a deep breath, change my tone, and say, “First, you hate that job. Second, this here’s, like, your last week. Third, they laid you off. Don’t you think you owe them and yourself one tardy?”
Ma takes a breath and says, “Oh, all right, fine. But don’t go wandering off nowhere, ’cause if you ain’t there, I’m going straight to work. You hear? I’m not looking for you,” she says, trying not to sound proud of me. I can hear it in her voice. I can hear the smile she’s trying to hide.
“Got it. I’m staying put. Right here in this lobby. One quick thing, Ma. Can you bring my dance CD?”
“Your what?”
“My dance CD with all the dance songs on it. You know the one. It’s in the player.”
“What for?”
“I got an idea. Please and thank you,” I say.
“Fine,” she says, and hangs up.
I hang up and wait to thank Claudia ’cause she’s busy trying to quiet down the old folks. They’re now up to five, six, seven. Mardi Gras–mask woman, Superman, tuxedo man, cat woman, Little Red Riding Hood, top-hat man, bunny woman. Then a few more old folks show up dressed like old folks. They want answers. They want the manager.
“Jerry’s about to leave,” Claudia explains.
“Over my dead—”
“You can’t go in there,” Claudia interrupts.
“Watch me.”
“Okay. Fine. Just wait here. I’ll get Jerry,” Claudia says, and leaves the front desk.
“Doesn’t that figure.”
“No one cares anymore.”
“It’s not like it used to be.”
“We deserve to have some fun around here.”
“I’ve been waiting all day for this.”
“I like your whiskers, Pauline.”
“These took me hours. My hand was so shaky.”
“Whatever happened to movie night?”
“That Amanda didn’t know what she was doing.”
“I wanted to dance tonight.”
“I was all set.”
“Nothing like a good dance to lift the spirits.”
I can’t stand it no more. I take Ma’s robe off, clap my hands real loud, and blurt out, “Did someone say dance? Do y’all want to dance? Hi there, Golden Gardens! My name’s Mickey! This here’s my Gidget costume, and I’m going to teach y’all how to dance the Electric Slide! Y’all ready to do this? Everyone line up right here!”
“I know this dance.”
“Did she say she’s Gidget?”
“They did this one at my granddaughter’s wedding.”
“Can y’all see me? Let’s start nice and easy. Watch me first. This here’s the grapevine to the right, touch, then grapevine to the left, touch. Here I go again. Got that? Now follow along. I’m going to do it real slow. Right. Left step back. Right. Touch. Left. Right step back. Left. Touch. You got it! Let’s do it again,” I say.
We practice three more times. Everyone’s doing it, even Superman back there with the walker.
“Let’s move on. Watch me first. Grapevine right, touch. Grapevine left, touch. Walk back for three and touch. See that? Let’s add the walk back for three and touch. Come on. From the top,” I say.
“Y’all are fast. Now, from here, step up, touch, step back, touch. Got that? Okay, from the top. Yes! This here’s the tricky part, so watch. You’re going to do a step scuff turn. See that? Step scuff turn. Do it with me.”
“From the top!” someone shouts out.
We all Electric Slide, calling out the steps together. Grapevine right, touch. I’m having such a time. Some of them already know the dance and are helping the others out. We do it again and again until everyone’s got it down. And like clockwork, Ma’s car shows up at the front, and I tell them to keep going and excuse myself and run outside and grab my CD while Ma yells at me to come back here right now. I dash back into Golden Gardens and pop the CD into Claudia’s boom box and turn up the volume and push play.
“It’s electric!” I call out.
The music comes on. We all start dancing. We’re doing the steps together. I hear a woo-hoo from the back. This here feels so good I’m cartwheeling inside. It’s at the first step scuff turn that I see a man with a briefcase heading into the lobby. I’ll bet that’s Jerry the manager. He stops and watches us, nodding along to the music.
At the next grapevine right, touch, I see Ma marching up to the doors. She looks crabby. I keep on dancing. She walks into the lobby, stops by the comfy chairs, and crosses her arms. She watches us dance. She’s tapping her foot, but I can’t tell if it’s ’cause she’s peeved or if it’s ’cause of the music. She walks over to me. I think she might grab my arm and drag me out to the car, so I dance like this here’s my last dance, but she don’t touch me. Instead, Ma gets next to me and joins us, grapevining to the left, touch, grapevining to the right, touch. We Electric Slide together for three whole rounds, and it’s like something dreamy to see Ma dance, shimmying her shoulders and snapping her fingers and smiling like she don’t got a care in the world.
I leave my CD to keep on playing, while Ma and me walk out of Golden Gardens.
As Ma drives us away, I watch them, all costumed up, moving together in the orange light to the Electric Slide, and I tell Ma all about Amanda and how she up and left her job as events coordinator just like that and how that was Jerry the manager watching us dance and how Golden Gardens needs someone real bad.
twenty-one
When I get home, Charlie wags his tail so hard he could boomerang a kid to the moon. He’s so dizzy happy to see me, he’s actually smiling, teeth and all. You ever see a dog smile? It’s the best thing ever. Right up there with Reddi-Wip, wild applause, and trick-or-treating. He’s begging me to take him with us. He’s been cooped up all day with Sabrina, who’s been in a mood lately. I know I shouldn’t, but I tie a bandanna around Charlie’s neck so he could pass for a farm dog and decide to bring him along.
Benny fussed, but I put him in an old pageant dress of mine. I put a little makeup on him, teased and sprayed his hair, and fastened onto his head the tiara I won at the Little Miss Darlin’ Pageant in the category of Personal Expression. He whined, but what choice did he have? Dress up and free candy, or stay home and no candy.
Benny looks like a pageant gone bad, swinging his candy bag and strutting his stuff out the door. He makes me laugh so hard my stomach stops grumbling.
Our first knock-knock is our neighbors. “Trick or treat,” we say. Charlie barks.
“Is that you, Benny? I remember you when you were itty-bitty. Don’t you look so adorable?” the woman says, like Benny’s a newborn. She doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. She puts Mary Janes in our bags. We say thank you and move on.
As we walk up the stairs to the next set of doors, Benny says, “I hate Mary Janes.”
“Me too. But…”
“I know. I know. Beggars can’t be choosers,” he says, knocking on the next door.
“Don’t tell that to Ma. You know what she’d say,” I say.
“What’d I say about begging?” Benny says in Ma’s voice.
“This ain’t exactly begging, and I was going to say candy is candy is candy,” I
say.
“Mary Janes are yuck.”
What’s yuckier than Mary Janes? Bit-O-Honeys, circus peanuts, pencils, pennies, loose raisins, old Valentine chalk hearts, and candy corn that’s not even in wrapping. Our building is giving out the worst candy ever.
As we run over to the next building, some kids on their way out tell us not to bother. The one apartment with candy is giving out old broken-up candy canes from Christmas.
“But I like candy canes,” says Benny.
“You know where we should go for the real good candy? I’m talking about the big chocolate bars, like Snickers and Butterfingers and Kit Kats, and not the itty-bitty sizes they got the nerve to call fun. I’m talking about regular-size bars, the stuff you can grip like a handle and rip off with your teeth,” I say, pulling him and Charlie toward the creek.
“They got Milky Ways?”
“I’ll bet they do. We got to cross Route 12.”
“Where the big houses are at?”
“Yeah, where the rich folks live.”
“Big house means big candy?”
“Come on, Benny. Let’s go!” I say, breaking into a jog.
twenty-two
A real nice lady dressed up as a witch gives me and Benny extra plastic bags for double-plying ’cause ours are about to bust since they’re bulging with candy. Real candy. Good candy. I’m talking Twix, Almond Joy, Snickers, Milky Way, Hershey’s, Reese’s. You name it, this place is dishing it out. It’s like one big trick-or-treating party. Kids crawling all over. Porch lights on. Candles burning inside jack-o’-lanterns made from pumpkins—I mean real pumpkins. One pumpkin was carved to make it look like it was sick and throwing up its innards, a bunch of seeds tangled up in a slimy, stringy mess. Orange lights strung along railings blinking and winking, making me want to wink back. Glow-in-the-dark skeletons hanging from trees. One house has a coffin that opens and laughs when you walk up to it. One yard’s a cemetery with a machine blowing fog all over the tombstones. One yard’s covered in Halloween blowups with “Monster Mash” playing through loudspeakers. One house left a cauldron of candy sitting there on the porch for all to take ’cause they couldn’t be home to give it out. This whole place is in on it, making Halloween dreams come true. Even the cops. They blocked off the streets with their cop cars, lights flashing, so no one would get run over. It’s Halloween heaven on this side of Route 12.