I slid her shirt off from my desk, then a pair of panties that Ihoped weren’t clean, one of those pink razors, reading glasses she never needed to read any of my stuff, the little white string from a used tampon I think I might of eaten on a really drunken night, and a cheesy gold chain from Chinatown I gave her for her third poorest birthday that I broke by trying to choke myself the first time she died.
Gordon gets off his typewriter and just throws himself on their lonely bed to cry in a drunken ball like usual. The whole apartment is her vandalized grave site, and he’s her cracked tombstone, changing what’s written on him with each different drink. Gordon has just been crying and writing for the last four nights. He’s always drank, but like this from the bottle of grief.
Alexia was the name of Gordon’s partner, but he just called her pumpkin or sometimes I-love-you-so-much. She died from a disease Gordon cannot even spell, but of course he still blames himself, it was his way. And on the sillier drunken nights he blames the kinkiness with tin foil he talked her into trying in the early part of their two year relationship, but tonight he feels like he did it with his own fuckin’ hands.
There’s a hard-little knock on the covered window of Gordon’s ground-level loft, and the words “Trick or Treat” coming from the hungry mouth of a child, lifts Gordon out of bed and to the front door as if she was knocking.
He opens the door shirtless and wounded from all the world wars that were fought inside of him just to see a cute little fat girl of ten years-old dressed in a pumpkin costume that must of been made by a very talented mommy, green leggings that looked to be oozed from these little fat legs and a homemade halo made from tape, wire and too much glitter that ran through her long brown hair and on to her pretty round face that didn’t look at all to be afraid of standing alone in the dark in front of this hurt weirdo.
“Trick or Treat smell my feet, give me something good to eat, if you don’t I don’t
care I’ll just pull down your underwear!”
“Sorry, Pumpkin, I didn’t even know it was Halloween.”
“I’ll take cake, do you have cake?”
“Yes I do have cake, Pumpkin. Come with me!”
“I’m a pumpkin angel!”
“Yes you are, Pumpkin.”
“Your palm is so sweaty!”
“I’m sorry that I am still so gross, Pumpkin!”
“Don’t be sorry and give me back your hand, you look like you need it.”
“Yes I do, Pumpkin, yes I do!”
“You been cryin’ huh?”
“Go have a seat at the table, Pumpkin, and I’ll fix up that piece of cake!”
“How do you break cake?”
“That was cute, Pumpkin.”
“Thank you!”
“Thank you, Pumpkin.”
“Don’t tell me that you’re gonna put on that dirty shirt!”
“Pumpkin, all I have is dirty shirts!”
“That’s okay, you look more scary without a shirt on.”
“Here’s your cake, Pumpkin.”
“Your apartment looks more robbed than it does hunted.”
“That’s because you stole some sadness away from me, Pumpkin, but I won’t turn you in!”
“Thanks! There’s nothing sweet in jail.”
“Well, here’s that cake I promised, Pumpkin, and it’s almost as sweet as you.”
“Aren’t you gonna have some cake too?”
“Okay, Pumpkin.”
“Birthday cake on Halloween is my favorite!”
“I don’t have any milk, Pumpkin, how about some water?”
“Milk? Water? You’re only supposed to have sweets on Halloween!”
“I got some Margarita mix, Pumpkin!”
“Is it sweet?”
“Yeah it’s sweet, but it’s also a little sour, Pumpkin.”
“I love cake!”
“Me too, Pumpkin!”
“That was so good, thank you for the cake!”
“Do you want more cake, Pumpkin?”
“No thank you, I have to leave now!”
“Okay, Pumpkin, I’ll walk you out!”
“Okay!”
“Watch out for weirdos trying to give out apples with razorblades in them!”
“Hey, your hand’s not sweaty anymore!”
“I feel better now because of you, Pumpkin.”
“Maybe I’ll come back on Christmas!”
“I’ll be here, Pumpkin.”
“Okay, wish me luck on my hunt for sweets.”
“Good luck Alexia!”
“Hey, how did you know my name?”
“I become smart when I eat cake, Pumpkin.”
“Me too.”
“Bye bye, Pumpkin, I needed that!”
“I know, bye bye!
Filed under: Caper Issue 1, Halloween, Roberto Beltran
The Catacombs 