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And just like that, memories I’d thought long forgotten returned. I remembered black eyes and bruised ribs and hands heavy with prayer-like fists raining down.
I sat up and tried to collect my thoughts. From the stereo in the living room, Donna Summer lamented about the melting of a cake left out in the rain and a recipe lost from memory to a throbbing disco beat.
“Sorry,” MJ said. “I didn’t mean to pry, or embarrass you—”
“You didn’t.” And she hadn’t. I wasn’t aware that I did that wincing thing, though I’m not surprised. I guess Iamsurprised that anyone cared enough to notice.
“I just meant to point out that despite what’s happened to you, none of it seems to have left you with baggage.”
“I travel light,” I said. “I carry no baggage that can’t be checked curbside or stuffed in an overhead compartment.”
“Are you two studying? I hear an awful lot of talking,” Jackson yelled from the kitchen, drowning out Donna for a moment. “I’m making a snack, but only studiers can have some.”
MJ lingered over the last photo in my parents’ wedding album. In it, my parents are looking back at the photographer from the back seat of Grampy Eddie’s 1958 Buick Century convertible. My dad’s arm rests across my mother’s bare shoulders. They are both smiling. Grampy Eddie sits up front behind the steering wheel, his back to the camera; the inevitable fedora set at arakish angle covers his head. On the trunk of the Buick are the words:Just Married. With a sigh, MJ closed the album. As she returned it to its spot on the shelf, she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
“What? That’s ridiculous. No.”
Jackson burst in just then carrying a bowl of Jiffy popcorn glistening with butter and salt.
Saturday, October 21, 1978, University City—Saturday afternoons, what I have begun to think of as our “gang of seven” hang out at our apartment—DAX, MJ, Perils, Sue P, Faiz, Jackson, and me. DAX was reclining on our sofa tossing popcorn from the bowl resting on his stomach into his mouth when he asked, “So, what are we doing for Halloween?” When no one responded, he sat up and demanded, “None of you have made plans?”
We—MJ, Perils, Sue P, Faiz, Jackson, and I—shook our heads, no.
“Pathetic,” he said. “Fine. I’ll make plans. We’re going trick-or-treating, then we’ll hop the bars downtown.”
We looked at each other, but no one dared contradict him, even though I was sure we were all thinking,aren’twe’re too old to go trick-or-treating?
“OK, it’s settled,” DAX declared. “We’re going trick-or-treating together. We’ll meet here Tuesday around five-thirty.”
Jackson and I looked at each other, wondering when our tiny apartment had become the official launch pad for our gang’s little adventures.
“I’ve always wanted to go trick-or-treating,” I offered.
“You’ve never been trick-or-treating?” DAX asked incredulously. The others just stared at me in mute astonishment.
“No, and neither has Jackson.” They all turned to stare at Jackson.
“It’s true,” Jackson said. “Neither of us have been.”
“How is that possible?” MJ wondered aloud.
Easy. When I’d asked to be taken trick-or-treating back in Springfield, Grampy Eddie had nixed the idea with a firmno, adding, “We are not poor. There is no need for you to dress up as a fool and go begging the neighbors for candy.”
And of course, in Locust Hollow there wasnoHalloween, Reverend Jack having decreed it an opportunity to pay homage to the devil, but more dangerously, through costuming and wandering the darkened streets, you were inviting the devil himself into your home and offering him a seat in your favorite chair.
“Is Halloween a big holiday here?” Jackson asked.
“Only for children and the gays,” Perils said.
“Chil’,” DAX said, “Halloween is gay Christmas.”
“Gay Christmas?”
“Yes. Well, now, anyway. During the fifties and sixties, Halloween was known as ‘bitches Christmas.’ All the gays dressed up in drag and bar hopped. It was really special because normally it was illegal to cross dress, but on Halloween, folks could get away with dressing in drag—for a lot of folks, it was the only time they could appear in public as their true selves. So that’s why Halloween is so important to us gays.”
Tuesday, October 31, 1978, University City—Perils arrived dressed as Cat Woman fromBatmanand carried her family’s remarkably placid calico cat in her arms. When anyone commented on how cute the cat was, she would insist it was a dog in a cat costume. Most people laughed, while others stepped back in wary confusion. MJ was the Tin Man fromThe Wizard of Oz. She’d painted one of her perpetual overalls silver, placed an aluminum watering can on her head, and Perils had helped her paint her face and hands with a silver body paint they’d found at Spencer’s Gifts. Jackson took one look at her and, calling her contagious, told her not to sit on any furniture. “Don’t even lean against the walls,” he admonished.
Faiz was dressed as Tony Manero fromSaturday Night Feverin a white three-piece suit, black shirt with a wide collar, and platform shoes; Sue P was dressed as a “disco lady” in a two-piece bedazzled black-and-white jumpsuit with a matching headband.
