There is nothing quite like the exhilaration of heading out on a crisp October night to do some trick-or-treating with your kids. Their palpable anticipation is like a live wire running directly from their eyes to my heart, making it flutter as we put the finishing touches on our costumes and head out to visit friends and neighbors. Me, dressed as the Grim Reaper, my older son as Walt Whitman and my youngest as a clumsy research assistant from the Wistar Institute of Anatomy and Biology.
Why a clumsy research assistant from the Wistar Institute of Anatomy and Biology, you ask? Give me one second to slip in the first Walt Whitman quote and I'll explain.
There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part
of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The Wistar Institute of Anatomy and Biology was where Walk Whitman's brain was taken to be researched after his passing. That is until one day a careless researcher dropped it. It broke into numerous pieces and was summarily scooped up and thrown in the trash. No fanfare. Just tossed in the garbage.
My oldest son, “Walt,” calling me My Captain since donning his disguise (he thought of that himself) and his little brother, clutching their plastic pumpkins, strode through our front door and into the beckoning night. You'll excuse me if I wax a bit poetic; seeing him dressed as Walt gets my literary juices flowing.
At the first door, the clumsy research assistant from the Wistar Institute of Anatomy and Biology rang the bell and when the door opened, Mr. Whitman said " O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring!" instead of "Trick or treat," just as we'd practiced. Delighted neighbors squealed their approval and produced handfuls of candy to reward them for their cleverness. Death, in the form of me, gave a nodding approval from the shadows and shepherded the pair to the next house.
Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of
dreams,
I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet
and
hands;
This production was repeated dozens of times until their pumpkins overflowed with all things sticky and sugary. We all sensed that the end of the evening was nigh as we decided to visit one last abode before returning to our own, there to spill our bounty on the floor and divide the candy into various piles to be consumed or traded or discarded. Such was our revelry that I put aside the fact that this last house contained an individual whom I loathe. A man whom I've had quarrels with in the past.
A doorbell was pressed. An " O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring!" cheerfully offered up. The man looked down at my sons then put down his bowl of candy and departed, to return momentarily holding a package of sandwich meat. He carefully placed a slice of bologna into each of the plastic pumpkins and then closed the door a little too forcefully in the faces of my offspring.
Not allowing this to spoil our fun, I removed the slimy offenders and made light of it as we departed. I cheerfully walked Walt and my clumsy research assistant home. I was going to say clumsy research assistant from the Wistar Institute of Anatomy and Biology but I feared that you might be a little sick of reading all that so I went with the shorter version out of courtesy. Of course, having explained it, you've now read more than originally required to begin with, so any good will I might have garnered due to my thoughtfulness has now evaporated.
After the requisite amount of giggling and tomfoolery, I put my two happy children to bed. Despite the enormous amount of sugar no doubt coursing through their system, after a prolonged evening of physical activity, they dropped off to sleep quickly and I was free to once again don my costume.
I returned to my bologna-dispensing neighbor’s house. Except this time, I hopped over the back fence and entered through the rear door. When he saw a dark figure clutching a scythe standing in his kitchen, he knew instantly and with no uncertainty that he was about to die.
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at
anguish with
themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
There is no need to tell you how I dispatched him, only that I did. After some minutes rummaging through his garage to find a saw, and his cabinets to find an ice cream scooper, I had his skull off and scraped out his brain like the innards of a pumpkin... careful to throw it out with the same indifference shown by the staff at the Wistar Institute of Anatomy and Biology.
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night,
incessantly softly
wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world:
What a sight awaited the next visitors to his house! Him, seated at his door within arms-reach of his tub of candy, a single candle flickering inside his empty head, the light making its way out of the two empty sockets where his eyes used to be. How long would it be until they recovered from their initial fright and realize that it's not an elaborate prop but the remains of a fellow human being?
I returned home to shower and remove any evidence of my visit. Upon checking on my sons again, I saw that, despite its apparent itchiness, my eldest once against slipped on his big grey Walt Whitman beard. I smiled broadly and kissed them both on their foreheads.
You have to love All Hallows' Eve.