The question I asked near the beginning of yesterday’s post was answered: my coworkers did indeed dress up. I know because they sent me a picture. It totally made my day.
AJ trick-or-treated with his friends until late in the evening, ending up at the neighbors’ across the street. He and his two buddies — The Boy Across the Street dressed as a monster, and Ben Franklin Boy as Charlie Sheen — stopped in for a rest halfway through the night. They were arguing about who the hot girls in the class were. Oy. I’m not ready for that. Fortunately for me, AJ is not ready for it either. Football is much more interesting than girls.
They were the youngest trick-or-treaters we had all night. No cute little ones this year. Only teens in half-baked costumes. Mostly polite ones, at least, although one group had to be prompted to say trick-or treat and one girl elbowed the boy next to her and hissed “say thank you!” in his ear.
I missed the cute little ones. I miss my cute little one. Yesterday after school I caught him on his swing, a green disk that hangs from a tree. He doesn’t play on it much anymore. I remember when we hung that swing. He was so little he couldn’t climb onto it himself. We had to pick him up and show him how to hold onto the rope. Now he has to lean back so his feet don’t hit the ground.
Given that I am dying of a plague of unknown origin, it was probably just as well that I didn’t have to take him out trick-or-treating, that he was big enough to go on his own. But I miss walking him up and down the neighbors’ driveways. He was missing it too, I think. Usually we come home from trick-or-treating, grab some dinner and then walk up to my friend T’s house and then to the mansion where they always hand out caramel apples. But last night he got home too late and we didn’t get to go. He was disappointed. At breakfast he was still thinking about it.
“I wish we’d gotten to go to the candy apple house.”
“Me too. But we can go next year.”
He was quiet but what hangs between us is that we might not be here next year. He is still not sure how he feels. Nor am I.