Throwback Thursday: Halloween Hauntings
Alberto hated Halloween.
He dressed up the first year we were married but made it clear that he would not be doing it again.
And the famous Village parade?
Go with your girlfriends, he said. I don’t like clowns.
Two Halloweens ago, when I was Sally from “Cabaret,” we had a fight in this apartment that haunted me even before he died.
He decided he’d rather stay home than go to a costume party in Brooklyn, so I got ready at our place and met up with two girlfriends. Around 2am, I texted him to let him now we were now at a loft party in the East Village.
Come. home. now.
I’m hanging with Mariana, Roberto and everyone else, I reply. I told you I’d be home late, baby.
I’m not asking.
After the fifth text, I turn off my phone. Whether I go home now or four hours from now, he’ll be pissed. I decide to stay and face the wrath later.
And wrath there was.
The verbal kind.
The written kind.
The not-talking-to-me-for-a-week kind.
The wrath was so memorable that a year later, in an act of conciliation, I sat out Halloween for the first time—ever.
This year, Halloween will invariably mean reliving our 2007 fight.
Sleeping in one of his shirts.
Waking up in our empty apartment with swollen eyes.
Fuck that noise.
I’ve heard Savannah puts on a good Halloween party, so I text one of my West Coast girlfriends and ask if she’s ever been to Georgia.
When do we leave? she replies.
I spend the rest of the night on Amazon.com, in search of the perfect Elle-vis costume.