Sneaking Sally Through the Alley

We spend the late afternoon getting ready. Luke, our make up artist, transforms Dominick into a zombie just pulled from his earthly grave. We get fake blood all over the bathroom sink. It's fun, this mad scramble of creation and magic, a touch of the theatrical. We've been reading Hamlet, learning about Shakespeare, researching Elizabethan England, drooling over the beautiful British countryside and stately manor homes, and imagining ourselves in the Globe Theatre. Our recent foray into PBS's wonderful series In Search of Shakespeare has only whetted our appetite to refashion ourselves...even if just for one night. The last line of stitches drawn, the last bit of blood oozed into place, and we're ready. Ready to brave the spirits, greet the evening's mischief, lose ourselves in the pitch black of the night. But first, some photos. It's hard to see the bloody tire tracks running up the front of Dominick's Road-Kill Zombie Child costume, but they're there, and I should know, since I ran over the red paint-glue-gravel splattered outfit several times in the driveway with my car. A lone tire, still smeared with red, still bears witness to the horrible accident, which soaked blood into the driveway, coloring stones and sand a scarlet reminder of the fun we had.

Where does one go trick or treating when you live in the rural countryside? Not in our neighborhood, where the houses seem spaced miles apart, and the absence of sidewalks or any kind of safe shoulder on the road make the thought of going trick or treating in our neighborhood completely laughable, ludicrous, dangerous, even. We head to the Mount Hermon campus of NMH, where a festive gathering at the Head's House starts things off right. Through the luminarias and into the dusk we stroll along the upper edges of this recently restructured, re-routed campus made more beautiful by the evening skies settling in, casting shades of pinks and oranges atop trees and across the swaths of playing fields that ripple throughout the levels of life here. We walk in hordes, clusters, twos and threes, all happily running in packs from house to house, through short cuts in the woods, crunching through leaves, brushing shoulders, clinking candy buckets. I run with the kids, and have to remind myself on several occasions that I am not one of them. A haunted house at the dining hall brings the spooks out, and the food captures the playful creativity of the night: meatloaf disguised as rats, watermelon brains, bloody fingers. Yum.
We head over to our old neighborhood in Northfield, where area ruralites go for safer, sidewalk Trick or Treating. It's packed. Costumed throngs of all ages sweep through the leaf litter in a ceaseless tide of feet, swoosh, swoosh, crunch, crunch, swoosh. Houses have been decorated full tilt, with headstones, jack-o-lanterns, spooks and skeletons coming to life, timely shrieks and fully-formed screams, scary music, and orange glow lights. The musky stench of a fog machine fills the air; up ahead, a breath of fog covers the ground and a cluster of tiny costumed toddlers holler and proclaim their fear, "That house is scary. We're not going in there! No way!" After rushing onto one porch to dance in a strobe light (and being rewarded with candy, I might add), I have to keep reminding myself that I am not there to trick or treat; several times I forget myself and roar up the walkways to the houses with the kids, before stopping and hanging back like a good, respectable parent. It must be the Sally costume; she's filled me with her playful, restless spirit, not a bad thing, really. I quite like it. All too soon, we reach the end of the street, where a solitary house sits surrounded by neighbors who have furtively cloaked their non-participation in utter darkness. The sky lights up for a brief second, a shooting star, my second this week, appearing overhead. Perhaps the tides are changing. Dominick and his friend Oliver race to the door, and are greeted by a three-year old girl in her pajamas, holding out a bowl of candy, telling them "Happy Hawoween." Dom and Oli look around and listen for any signs of an adult, but only see two stockinged feet on the end of a couch, the unmistakable sounds of snoring drifting in from the next room.
We return home after walking what must have been ten miles. We've seen friends and neighbors and felt the warmth of familiar faces, but the cold has settled into our bones; a hot bath and a bowl of soup will feel good. After scrubbing the fake blood and face paint off Dominick's face, and washing the head injury out of his hair, a touch of black remains under his eyes, the look of eyeliner that makes him writhe in agony, "I look like a girl!! Aaahhh!!" A few deft strokes with the q-tip and it's gone: it's just stage make-up, I tell him, boys wear it too. I'm feeling awfully comfortable in my Sally costume. I just might wear it to bed...

...but first, I have to light my Samhain fire outside in the fire pit, offer my post-surgical binder compression bra to the gods, say my wishes, and bring in some protective fire to relight our own hearth fire. In lieu of animal skins and heads, I keep Sally on a little longer as I head outside to commune with the spirits. As soon as the fire reaches a good pitch, I toss the bra on top, and it catches quickly, spewing a noxious, thick smoke into the air. What do they make those things out of?! I watch, mesmerized as layer by flammable layer, all the little annoying frilly edges that made me turn red and scratch and burn, the pink flowery fabric that was somehow designed to make us feel more feminine, more pretty, the velcro that bound so tightly it was hard to breathe, burn down to an unrecognizable lump within minutes. Good night Bra. Farewell Cancer; I'm moving on. I look to the starry skies. May the Spirit of Misfortune grace us with better luck this year. I grab a fire stick and bring it inside to light the small pile of kindling I've assembled in the wood stove. After some breathy blowing, it roars, slowly illuminating the dark house with its warming, central light, sending sparkling embers and evil spirits to push past the cold and ride the airflow up and out of the long black pipe. I hang up my Sally dress, and scrub her off my face, but she'll be a part of me forever, living on in my new Sally-styled girl, in my heart, in my restless spirit. Tonight, I sleep well.