“Happy Halloween.” I drew the bowl of candy away from the children, but one of the boys lunged and seized a handful. He stuffed the candies into his bag as he ran off the porch.
“Hey! You can’t just steal candy,” I yelled.
The other children laughed, running after their friend. The parents remained intent on their private conversation. I glared at them before swinging my gaze up the street. Through the branches of the front magnolia tree, I spotted the next group of trick-or-treaters.
What a weird holiday. It held its background in evilness, yet people encouraged kids to love it. Those kids went to the houses of complete strangers begging for sweets.
Footprints in the snow remained on the front walkway and porch. I gave the new set of children their candy, careful to keep the bowl out of reach.
“Keziah,” Oma shouted from the bedroom.
I almost dropped the candy as I ran in. “What’s the matter? What is it?”
“I saw a squirrel.” Oma pointed out the bedroom window. “He ran up the tree and into the roof.”
“Huh?”
“The squirrel went into the roof. What’s the matter? Are you deaf?” Oma’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“No.” I hid my fists behind my back. “The squirrel can’t get into the attic.”
“It did. Go up and look.”
“The squirrel probably just ran across the roof. They do that all the time. They can’t get into the attic. There aren’t any holes.”
“Go look.” Oma grabbed the flashlight she kept next to the bed. “Or I’ll look.”
Oma might fall over the junk up there and get hurt. I glanced out the window, but didn’t see any approaching trick-or-treaters.
“Here, I’ll go look.” I held out my hand for the flashlight.
“Good. We’ll have Jan make sure they can’t get in anymore.” Oma smirked.
I left the hall light on and checked through the door to make sure no one was on the way to the house. I hadn’t noticed how warm it was downstairs until I ascended the stairs. Without any insulation upstairs, the temperature dropped about ten degrees. I lifted the hook on the door and pulled it open by the handle while pressing the button on the flashlight to turn on the bulb. The yellowish glow illuminated the gloomy attic. As I stepped inside, I wondered if I should be scared.
I wasn’t, though. There couldn’t be anyone up there, and the squirrels weren’t getting in. I stepped forward, and the wood creaked beneath my slippers. I nudged a shoebox. I walked to the vanity and shone the flashlight at the mirror, seeing only me and the beam of light so bright it made me blink. I was about to look away when I noticed something else reflecting in the mirror: a wardrobe. Taller than me by a foot, it rose above the other contents of the attic.
Picking my way around old boxes and stacks of magazines, I wound toward the wardrobe and shone the flashlight on the brass clasp. I swept the beam downward and the glow rested on a scratch. I squinted, leaning over to study it. Someone had tried to scrawl a word, but the scratches were uneven and discernable. I moved the beam and saw the scratches everywhere across the wood.
I turned the clasp to open the door. Maybe it would be a werewolf about to lash out or an old wedding gown. Two garments hung on a metal rod, one black, the other orange. I separated them, shining the flashlight on an orange dress with a frilly collar and a black velveteen coat.
A cardboard box rested at the bottom of the wardrobe with green shoes on top. I took the shoes off and opened the cardboard box. A layer of gritty dust clung to my palm, and I wiped it on my jeans. The box contained spiral notebooks. I lifted out the top one, the paper old and yellowed.
Someone pounded on the front door and yelled, “Trick-or-treat.”
I stumbled out of the attic, closing the door and latching it. Leaving the notebook on the stairs, I grabbed the candy bowl and opened the front door.
Five teenagers greeted me. The boys thrust pillowcases out, one of them grunting the classic “trick-or-treat,” and the rest guffawing. Unless the gorilla masks counted, they lacked costumes.
“Can I give you a treat?” one of the boys asked when I passed out the candy.
I glared at him, which made them guffaw like hyenas again. They kept laughing as I slammed the door.
I retrieved the notebook and leaned against the wall. The cover felt dirty, had a bent corner, and smelled of cigarette smoke. I opened to the first page and read the heading. 1980, Chapter One.
Age had faded the penciled words and yellowed the paper. I read aloud in a whisper:
The day was rainy, that day I was born, but I don’t remember it. I was a baby, but my mother always told me about the rain. It came down like cats and dogs, and she always said that’s why I love cats. We always had a cat growing up. That’s what I remember most about those days.
Then, I became one of them, the Gootchiluns.
“Gootchiluns?” I repeated the word.
Goat children! Oma had said “gootchiluns,” and I’d misheard.
I flipped through the other pages in the notebook. They were written similarly, broken into chapters. Oma had written down her story. She’d gone to so much effort, used so much imagination, that it was no wonder she believed it to be truth now. As I flipped back to the first page, someone knocked on the front door. Meg from class stood on the porch with five other people covered in silly string.
“Hey, Keziah.” Meg grinned. “I didn’t know you lived here. Small world.”
A boy behind her sang the Small World song in a high voice.
“Hi, Meg.” I peered at the other faces. Covered in Halloween make-up, no one except Meg looked familiar. She’d smeared fake blood over her face and neck, and her clothes were all in crimson.
“Come on and join us.” Meg clapped. “It’ll be a blast.”
“But you have to wear orange,” a boy dressed in turquoise said. “We don’t have anyone in orange yet.”
I pictured the orange dress upstairs in the wardrobe. “Um, I can’t. I have to pass out candy.”
“Let your parents do it,” a girl in hunter green, with a lit cigarette pressed between her lips, said.
“My parents don’t live here.”
“You live alone?” The hunter green girl swayed and burped. “You got any beer? I could go for a beer right now, or tequila. You got any tequila?”
“No. I live with my grandmother.” I wanted to add that she was drunk enough, but pointing out the obvious wouldn’t help.
“That sucks,” She meant living with my grandmother sucked, or the lack of beer and tequila.
“Hey look,” a boy jumped over Oma’s row of rosebushes lining the walkway and whipped a can of shaving cream from his coat. He shook it, and sprayed the white foam over the trunk of the magnolia tree.
“Hey.” I pushed open the screen door to shove past Meg. “Don’t do that.”
“It’s Halloween.” He finished his makeshift drawing of a penis.
My fuzzy slipper fell off as I climbed over the porch railing, snow soaking through my jeans, and grabbed his arm. “That’s vandalism!”
“So?” he asked.
Matt, my locker neighbor. My steps backpedaled, snow-covered leaves crunching beneath my feet.
“Aren’t we going to get any candy?” Matt shook his can again.
“N-n-no,” I sputtered. “You can’t spray shaving cream on people’s trees.”
“Happy Halloween,” a girl screamed from the porch.
I turned to look and silly string sprayed into my face. Laughter scalded my ears and my face turned beet red.
“See you in school,” Meg called as her gang strolled to the sidewalk.
The silly string, sticky and cold, stung my skin. Tears pricked my eyes. This was what Mama had warned me about, the teasing by other children.
No way was this teasing.
“Watch out,” I muttered, “or the Goat Children will come after you.”
****
I am six years old. It is Halloween
night, and I am supposed to go trick-or-treating with a girl from school. Her mother is taking us.
The phone rings. Mama answers it, but the caller is the girl. “My mom’s going out tonight, so I can’t go with you.”
I cry in the living room. Oma wipes my eyes and then fixes my green face paint. I am dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West.
“I’ll take you,” Oma says, since Mama is passing out candy and Dad is away.
I make Oma dress up as a gypsy, in lots of colorful scarves. We walk around the block. She stays on the sidewalk while I run up to the house to ring the doorbell or knock. At the end of the night, I have my pumpkin bag filled with goodies.
Oma and I watch a movie and sneak a few, since Mama only allows one candy per day.
Chapter 16
“Hello. Keziah?” The guidance counselor peered at me over coke-bottle glasses.
“How are things going?”
“Okay.” I read Mrs. Rosnay off the name plaque.
“I checked your file and noticed you didn’t join any sports or clubs. Can I ask why?”
I almost corrected the counselor by saying the correct word was may, not can. “I don’t have time.”
“Everyone has time.”
“I take care of my grandmother. She needs me after school.”
“And you need to make time for yourself. You’re only young once.” The counselor tapped a pen against her lower lip.
“I have a familial responsibility. I can’t be away from her that long.”
“I’m going to call your parents and discuss it with them,” Mrs. Rosnay said. “In the meantime, I noticed you wrote on your college dreams paper you want to be an elementary teacher.”
I nodded.
“There’s a club we have called Teachers of our Future, or TOOF.” Mrs. Rosnay laughed as if that was funny. “It meets during school hours and goes to the elementary wing to help out classes whenever there’s a study hall. Here’s the info.”
I accepted the paper.
“You can speak to Mr. Krainski now, if you like. He’s in charge of computer technicians. His office is just down the hall from here.” Mrs. Rosnay stabbed her pen at me. “TOOF looks great on college resumes.”
I had no idea how TOOF could look great on anything, but the concept of helping elementary classrooms sounded fun. Not wanting to go back to economics class, I sought out Mr. Krainski’s technician office, the next room after the counseling office.
I rapped my knuckles on the open door. “Hello, Mr. Krainski?” The room consisted of a desk and bookshelves. Instead of books, they were covered in boxes with wires hanging out.
The black-haired man at the desk looked up. “Yeah?”
“Mrs. Rosnay sent me over. She wants me to join TOOF. I’m Keziah de Forest.”
His weathered face broke out into a smile that reminded me of a seaman returned from a voyage.
“Excellent. Just let me know when your study halls are, and I’ll talk to the elementary teachers. Any preference in grade?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Excellent. You’ll be easy to place.” His gaze roamed me from head to foot, frowning at my combat boots and lace corset. “You just have to make sure to always wear professional clothing whenever you go. Keep your hair short or tied back. Wear dresses or dress pants, nothing sleeveless. Wear blouses and jackets. Will this be a problem?”
“No.” I could walk to the mall if the snow held off.
“No cussing. No talking back. Do whatever the teacher wants. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent.” He smiled broader. “Usually we don’t take newbies after September, but Mrs. Rosnay mentioned your case to me the other day, so I’ll make an exception.”
I wanted to ask what exactly my case was, but I kept my mouth shut.
“And,” Mr. Krainski continued, “we meet every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at lunch to discuss what’s been going on in the classrooms.”
My heart dropped into my stomach.
“We meet in the back room of the library,” he said. “The librarians don’t care as long as we clean up after ourselves, but future teachers are always tidy.”
“Mr. Krainski, I can’t meet at lunch. I have to go home and feed my grandmother.”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“If don’t go home at lunch, she won’t eat.” That sounded weird. “She has dementia,” I blurted out.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Keziah. I can’t make an exception for you. We meet to discuss what’s going on. That’s the point of TOOF. We’re a group. We have to act like one. Teachers need to work together. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes.” I groaned. “I understand.”
“Let me know if your situation changes.” He shuffled the papers on his desk.
I left feeling numb.
****
I sat in the back of global history class and rubbed my hand over my face, taking off my glasses to massage the corners of my eyes. A headache started to build pressure.
The desk next to mine creaked and a male voice said, “Hi.”
I peered through my fingers at the blurry blob of a boy surrounded by pale gray walls.
“Hey,” I muttered.
“You’re Meg’s friend.”
“No.” I put my glasses back on.
“Cool panties.”
I squeaked, jerking upright in my chair, and yanked the edge of my turtleneck over the back of my jeans, glaring at him while I adjusted my corset vest. He drew back his lips to show uneven teeth. He had nice lips, though, perfectly sculpted, like the lips of a cherub.
“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” He had a nasally voice, but those lips made up for it. “That was mean of them to spray you like that, but they were drunk. You can’t blame them for being drunk.”
“Were you drunk?” His hair, or what was left since he had a buzz cut, was chocolaty brown.
“I don’t drink beer. I’m allergic to wheat.”
I wondered if that was a joke. “That sucks.”
“I’m Domenick.”
“Keziah.” I hoped he wouldn’t try to shake my hand, and he didn’t disappoint.
“I’ve been really bored lately.” He stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles. “My parents are looking at new houses. They want to move over the summer.”
“To where?” I hoped he would stop talking soon, but didn’t want to act rude.
“Buffalo.”
“Oh,” I said.
“That’s by Niagara Falls.”
“I know where it is.”
“Yeah, I figured you would. You got a boyfriend?”
I tore my eyes away from his lips again. “No.”
“Got a girlfriend?”
“I don’t like girls like that.”
“I do.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You wanna go to the mall sometime?”
“Um…”
“Like a date.”
No one had ever asked me out on a date before. I opened and shut my mouth, then licked my lips. He was nice, and I wanted to say yes, but what would Oma say?
“I’m b-b-busy a lot,” I stammered, “but I’d like to go sometime. I live with my grandmother. She’s got dementia, so she needs me a lot.”
“That’s cool. I get it. Maybe over break for Thanksgiving?”
“My parents are coming up from the city, but yeah, sure. Um, how about I give you my cell number?” My heart raced. I could be like Tiffany, swamped with love.
I tore off a corner of my notebook page and scribbled down my name and number, and passed it to him. “Text me over the weekend. They don’t come until Wednesday.”
“Cool.” He lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. “I’ll make sure to text you.”
Domenick waggled his eyebrows again, and I giggled before hiding behind my essay.
****
I am ten years old. It is summer vacation, and we take a trip to an amusement park in Pennsy
lvania. Dad can’t go, since he has work.
Mama keeps grinning. “I haven’t been here in ages. I was a teenager then.”
“She had to go on every ride twice,” Oma tells me.
Mama laughs, so I laugh with her. I don’t feel well, though. My stomach hurts. I tell myself I’ll feel better after we get inside, but after five minutes, I feel worse.
“I think I’m sick.”
Oma feels of my forehead. “Hmm, you do have a fever. We should leave.”
“But we just got here,” Mama says. “We already paid for your tickets, and they were expensive.”
“You stay. I’ll take Keziah back to the hotel. If she feels better, we’ll find you. If not, I’ll come pick you up at eight.”
“Okay.” Mama hugs me. “Feel better, honey.”
The hotel room’s air conditioning does make me feel better, but soon I have a sore throat and can’t stop coughing.
Oma frowns. “Promise you won’t leave this room.”
“I promise,” I say.
Oma walks across the street to a cafe and buys me a hot mint tea. I sip it and feel better, but for the rest of the trip, I stay in the room with Oma while Mama visits the tourist sites.
Chapter 17
“No.” Oma laughed. “Don’t be a loose woman. You can’t go to the mall with Domenick.”
My hands trembled. “Why can’t I go?”
Oma laughed again. “I’m responsible for you, and you stay right here where I can see you. I know what you’d be doing out there.”
“But, Oma!” The veins in my forehead throbbed. “That’s not fair. I won’t do anything bad, and you wanted me to go out before.” There’d been that little boy on the sidewalk.
“You’ll be doing bad things,” Oma said. “You’ll smoke, do drugs, drink, and be rude. You’ll put on makeup and short skirts.”
“I wear makeup every day.”
“Are you trying to break my heart?” Oma turned away, but reached for the wall to steady herself. She drew a deep breath and continued to the bedroom with her face pinched, tears on her cheeks.
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