Treats in Mio

Zach Pence followed the older boy, Keith, down the hill out of the dead-end cul-de-sac. They turned a corner and marched toward the main street. He could see that there were more cars moving between the two traffic lights. One was a blinking yellow a couple of blocks away, the other a stop-light at the north end of town.

When the Pence’s arrived shortly after lunch, the town seemed very small and dead. “You should see it during deer season,” his Dad addressed the back seat, trying to make Zach happy about the surprise trip.

“We should bring him up skiing, Ken.” Zach watched his mom nervously reapplying her make-up in the visor mirror.

“There’s an idea.” His dad was driving slowly, looking at the street signs.

“They said you could go left at the yellow. Right up there, the Shell station.”

At least his parents’ friend’s kid had his own TV and the latest gaming system. Or, so Zach was told.

“Dude,” Keith turned and said over his shoulder. “You aren’t gonna puss out on

 me are you?” 

“Nah. I’m OK.” Zach didn’t want to be a drag, since he’d found out that Keith was fourteen years old. “You’re lucky,” he panted, trying to keep up. The older boy was wiry and about four inches taller, too.

“Whata you mean?”

“It’s just…” Zach nearly tripped then, on a crack in the sidewalk. He thought about pushing his Darth Vader mask out of the way so he could roll up the ski mask underneath. It was twice as dark inside, plus hot and prickly. They hadn’t even started begging. “I can’t trick-or-treat by myself, yet. Mom says there’s too many weirdoes in Lapeer.”

Keith halted to let Zach catch up. “Oh, we’ve got weirdoes. She underestimated ol’ Mio.” He chuckled. “Check it out: This dude was making drugs last week and exploded his trailer back in the woods. His face was all bandaged up on TV. You shoulda seen his old lady, too. She had these fucked up teeth. The cops took their kids away.” Keith paused. “Your old lady’s pretty hot though. My Dad likes her.”

“Uh-huh,” was all Zach could think to say. His voice croaked, thickened with some kind of strange panic. “So’s your’s.”

They resumed their trudge toward the main street. Zach finally saw other children ahead of them—a ghost and maybe the pointy hat of a witch, the surrender flags of still-empty pillow cases fluttering behind them. The wind had turned sharp from the northeast. Zach’s eyes watered behind the double masks. The last streetlight beam before the intersection was suddenly full of driven flakes. He felt them splat wetly against Darth’s brittle grill. Well, they were in the Up North part of Michigan by about three hours. It was probably just raining down in Lapeer.

“Man, I’m glad football’s over,” Keith said. “I was an equipment manager for the Thunderbolts. We froze our asses off the last game. We might as well hit a few places, but the best junk will be from the stores. They stay open because the Chamber of something or other puts it on.”

“Are you gonna play when you’re old enough?” Zach shook open his brown paper shopping bag by its twine handles. “Dad said he played on varsity with your dad.”

Keith stopped at the end of someone’s front walk. He waited for some little kids to depart from under the porch light. “Oh yeah? First I heard of it.”

That struck Zach as odd and now he wondered again why Keith’s dad said they should all get acquainted. But maybe the moms hadn’t gone to the same high school. His father seemed to know Keith’s dad, like there was some old joke they’d shared for a long time.

The boys hustled up the rest of the porches on the last block before town—any house with a porch light or a jack-o-lanterns glowing. Both their moms had insisted on this precaution.

“Who are you supposed to be, anyways?” Zach asked.

Keith had pulled his own mask into place from the crown of his watch-cap. There was some kind of silky cape that had been hidden under his down vest and hoody which he now pulled loose. It wanted to stand straight back in the wind.

“It’s the Phantom from that one musical play,” Keith growled. “My ma seen it in Toronto and I had to be that for a couple years. She finally put away. Tell you the truth, I wasn’t even going out this year ’til you showed up. She had to go in the attic.”

Zach’s eyes were still watering. Was part of a growing despair that he should try to stifle. Maybe it was time for him to let go of this little-kid business, too. The snow was getting into his eye-holes. He wasn’t weeping. “Sorry.”

“It’s no big deal, dude. Don’t worry about it.” Keith let Zach lead the way up the last walk, a small ranch home behind the corner gas-station. “Just, if anybody asks, I’m the Phantom of the blown-up meth guy.”

The loot from the stores was as good as Keith had promised. Full sized candy bars from that gas station, a fistful of tiny Tootsie Rolls from a butcher shop; individually wrapped Twinkies from the little Spartan grocery. In front a gift shop full of Mio sweatshirts, a lady in a snowmobile suit handed out candied apples. Neither of the boys wanted to drop them into their bags. Zach crunched into his as they crossed the main street. “Them doing this is pretty nice,” he said. “Wouldn’t work in Lapeer.”

Keith led the way up a side-street. “Nope. It’s just too bad there isn’t more to our downtown.”

 Up and down a few more blocks, Zach’s bag began to gather weight. The boys passed other groups of kids—little ones herded along by parents; others, of Keith’s age, who called out to him: “That you, Parks? You going to the party?”

“Yeah, I’ll get there eventually!” Keith shouted.

“Nice costume!” Someone laughed. “Gay!”

“Who’s your little boyfriend?”

“Eat me later,” Keith hollered back.

They cut across on a parallel street to begin doubling back. “There’s a party?” Zach asked.

\

“Yeah. It’s just this thing they have at school. The UNICEF kids turn in their coin boxes so the school gives ’em a reward. Everybody goes it’s school money. There’s cider and donuts. It’s OK.”

Zach finished what he could see of his caramel apple without biting into the core. “I’m gettin’ cold. Why don’t I just hike back to your place?”

Keith was silent as they climbed the steps of one last house. He forgot to say trick-or-treat, but Zach mumbled it.

When they were back on the sidewalk, Keith said: “Here’s the thing, though, young dude. If you go back by yourself, I’ll get my butt chewed, but good. My old man said to keep you entertained for the rest of the evening. They wanta get their freak on, know what I mean? I guess your folks didn’t want you to miss trick-or-treating.”

“Oh,” Zach said. He followed Keith around a corner. They headed down another incline leading back to the business section. “Get their freak on? Playing Trivial Pursuit?”

Keith choked down a laugh. “Wow. You are such a newb,” he said. “But, it’ll be cool. The dance is mostly for middle-school kids anyways. They’ll have a half-assed DJ from Communications Club so the girls can dance with each other. Hey, you can prob’bly have your pick.”

Zach swallowed another lump that had formed in his throat. He didn’t really see how going back to the other boy’s house would inconvenience anyone. If the adults were playing cards or maybe somehow getting their freak on with Trivial Pursuit, who cared? “Well, I don’t wanta get you in trouble,” he said.

Keith walked faster as snowflakes gathered on his shoulders. The cape had become soaked and no longer waved behind him. It might be freezing. “I’m about to freeze my nads off, myself. Have you had enough, yet? We got about half-a-mile to hike to the school.”

“Sure,” Zach answered. “What do I do with this apple core and the stick?”

Keith laughed. “Jesus, just drop that shit by the curb. You are the most a cherry kid I have met in quite awhile! Just loosen up!”

Back at the two short blocks of stores, they slowed by a bulletin sign for the village office.  Two patrol cars sat empty at the curb. Zach paused in front of a lighted showcase near the sidewalk. Inside the Plexiglas, the statue of a bird clutched a plaster tree branch. The replica was nearly three feet tall.

“What is that?” Zach stepped close to read some printed matter inside but the lower glass was fogged.

“What?” Keith stopped, too, and came back to stand behind him. “Oh, right. That’s the famous Kirkland warbler. That there is our one claim to fame.”

Zach tried to read the brass placard beneath the model. “What’s the big deal about him?”

Keith bent close but couldn’t read the Audubon material either. He shrugged. “I guess I don’t really know. What it boils down to is, this bad boy doesn’t live anywheres else on this earth. Only in the woods around here. That’s somethin’ isn’t it? Wonder why they don’t have a statue of me,” he laughed.

It appeared to Zach that the bird’s colors were faded, as if maybe its yellow breast hadn’t been repainted in awhile. That was just a perfect—what was that poetry term they had in English class? Anyway, that, for how this whole Halloween had gone, as far as he was concerned. The day had absolutely faded for him and he hoped it was one of a kind. He turned to follow Keith again. Except, what if that dance could brighten it?