September 9, 2005:
I can't remember what grade I was in, or even what costume I wore, but I do know this: On one long ago Halloween afternoon, I had to go trick-or-treating by myself. A "miscommunication" between young friends sent what would've been my candy-hoarding comrades out on the sugary trail before I had a chance to join them, and in an era before every kid had a cell phone, there was only so many times a person could scream "PAUL!" or "VINNY!" before giving up and getting pissy. Angry and depressed, I recall throwing a private tantrum for myself before realizing that, despite this particular Halloween's many faults, I still wanted the candy.
I put on whatever costume the year called for and headed out, alone. I've always had agoraphobic traits, and prancing along the streets in costume certainly had me feeling more than a little uncomfortable. Without the punch of courage only three of your best friends could bring, I awkwardly stumbled from house to house, not really enjoying the experience of trick-or-treating but nonetheless certain that I couldn't go home without a bag full of fucking chocolate.
What I really missed most was exploring our extended neighborhood -- that's how my friends and I had typically spent our Halloweens together. We'd walk a little further out into the world on those nights than on any other nights of the year. Oh, the glory. Walking down "new" streets that we'd only previously seen from the sanctity of our parents' cars, meeting neighbors we never knew we had and taking candy from them...it was rad. I don't know if it was the costumes or the traveling in groups or the desire for treats, but we'd always venture out past the points of safety on Halloween. Sadly, I wasn't going to pull that shit alone. No, this year, it was just a pansy stroll up and down the block my family lived on, and maybe another street or two that would only require a short sprint home if monsters attacked.
Truly, this was one of the worst Halloweens I've ever had. Just thinking about it makes me sad; sad enough not to check whether I can get away with pluralizing "Halloween" like that. I was one pathetic, self-pitying little trick-or-treater. Now fuming because my Halloween sucked and because my friends had ditched me (Upon finding out, it was a miscommunication. Two hours of bored solo trick-or-treating upgraded them to a full-fledged flat leavers.), I went to the two remaining houses on my block. It was starting to get dark out, and I'd had enough. These would be the last two.
The first house gave me a nickel. As in, the lady gave me five cents. God may as well have plopped his big royal ass down from the sky and shat on my head. This was insult to injury, downright. It was the only thing I'd ever been given on Halloween that brought forth an honestly disgusted "thank you" gesture -- in this case, making a "sneh-nuh" noise by sliding my tongue against the roof of my mouth and giving her a sarcastic "wooooooow." When you're this ticked, it time to stop being polite and start getting real. The second house, populated in no way by neighbors I particularly cared for, shockingly gave me a one-way ticket to a Happy Halloween. Presenting, the Halloween Popcorn Ball!
I'd never seen a popcorn ball before, much less one with Halloween branding. I even forgave my personal grievances with sugarcoated popcorn out of sheer awe. Ambiance-wise, it was the one of the bests treats I've ever received on Halloween. On that year, it was worth something even better.
See, I knew how my friends operated. They weren't going to work their way up to the more faraway avenues; that would only limit how far they'd get. Instead, they'd walk to a street as far out as they felt comfortable with, slowly making their way back to our respective blocks. As all trick-or-treaters know, our breed is on borrowed time. There was no way they didn't have to go home to beat the house rules on curfew before hitting my block. See where I'm going with this?
I was the only one with a popcorn ball.
In many ways, trick-or-treating was like excavating for dinosaur bones. Scientists may hunt for the commons when they need common grants, but deep down, each one of those sons a bitches wanted to be the first to discover the 900' brontosaurus relative with two heads. We'll take the silly little lollipops and somehow stomach the Mary Janes, but deep down, trick-or-treaters yearn to boast the best bag of teeth-rotting treasure in the neighborhood. I don't care what those bastards picked up on their travels after ditching me -- there was no way any of it was gonna beat my popcorn ball. In celebration, I did what anyone would do. I ate the popcorn ball.
I'm not saying that it saved the day. That Halloween definitely sucked. But I'm still here. I didn't have to kill myself. I didn't have to stop going on. Nothing aggregates the curves, or whatever, like a Halloween popcorn ball.
Haven't seen much of these beauties since that ancient victory, but a recent trip to a pharmacy presented Act II's big bag of the super happy fun in the sun collectively known as popcorn balls. Each individually wrapped treat reminds me that they'd make perfect starting ingredients of what would eventually become a science fair solar system mobile, baseball-sized but not baseball-brawny. Both the motherbag and her single-serving childbags gleam with the Halloween spirit, covered in orange and black graphics of bats and spider webs. My nephew calls Spider-Man "Spiderweb Man."
For just around two bucks, you get six popcorn balls per package and a lifetime guarantee. Those in the know refer to it as a "spooky steal." I'm tempted to give these away to whatever trick-or-treaters come to my door this year, but like Billy trying to master the mogwai, they are not ready.
