When We Had Halloween

 I’m not much for one to yammer on about “the good ole days” when everything we touched was golden and life was all smiles and laughter.  That’s a load of poop if there ever was a load.  But now and again my mind wanders from the Now and reminisces on “days of yore.”  Some trigger is pulled and my past drifts up from that deep well of memories and i recall a life’s moment with illusionary clearness – as if it was really happening.  The Mind is a powerful, seductive thing. 

One such trigger for me, every year without fail, is Halloween.  I love – LOVE – Autumn.  Each turning leaf, gust of wind, and honk of the migrating geese is like a new experience for me – and i greet these wonderful moments with great joy.  But Halloween.  Ah.  I miss the costumes and scary faces that came from dime-store makeup and old clothes from the back of your mother or father’s closet.  When scary was what your imagination did to you as you walked to a dark house with only the lights of the jack-o-lanterns aglow.  It wasn’t WHAT you saw that scared you – it’s what you THOUGHT you saw there in the shadows.  It was being able to walk in just a small group of two or three, and not see another soul on the street, or if you did, they were too far to give a sense of security.  It was that nervous possibility that someone would trick you, not treat you.  Because there were those who tricked and did not treat.  Never done in maliciousness, but in the spirit of fun and chaotic madness that is the soul of Halloween.  How can “trick or treat” have many meaning if you don’t know what it is to be tricked?  We never knew, and it made it that much more delicious, that much more nail-biting, that much more fun – to not know.  One of my fondest memories is of a girlfriend and i tip-toeing down a long, dark, tree-covered driveway.  The wind was blowing cold and we huddled together arm in arm.  The only lights were the carved, candle-lit pumpkins lining the porch railing and one dim house light.  Beneath the light sat a dark figure in a rocking chair.  The figure said nothing as we approached.  It didn’t move.  The front door next to the figure opened into a dark house.  No sounds could be heard but the blowing of the wind, our pounding hearts and worried whispers.  Just as out little shoes touched the bottom step of the porch, two boys dressed in rags smeared in red and darkened eyes jumped from the porch roof screaming like a clan of banshees.  Another figure that we couldn’t see but could hear running hard, came at us with a loud horn blowing.  The figure in the rocker – a man – moaned ominously – slowly rose, and came shambling towards us.

That was more than enough  – we screamed like only two little girls can scream and ran as fast as our feet would take us back to the street where my Mom was waiting – laughing.  We could hear laughter from the boys behind us.  Then we laughed too.  That relieved, that-was-so-fun-let’s-do-it-again kind of laugh. 

I miss that kind of Halloween.  That scariness that comes from the imagination.  Those memories will be with me forever – long after the candy is gone and the costumes worn away.