Dear Ian,
I wish I had gone trick-or-treating with you. You probably don’t remember, but that October 31, when I was in tenth grade and you were in eleventh grade, is the Halloween that haunts me the most.
I can still remember the look on your face when you ran into the Wirthlin’s dining room, yelling something about a Power Rangers mask. The phrase “Which of These Is Not Like the Others?” might as well have hung above the table as my parents, your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wirthlin and I sat eating chili and pie. Full of too much candy, our siblings ran through the room screaming, but you kept looking at me. You smiled, like we were in on some great joke, as I sat there in my biker costume. Conspiratorially, you asked me, “Do you want to go trick-or-treating?”
Do you remember, Ian, how all the girls liked you? You were tallest of all the boys, walking around in your skinny jeans and American Apparel v-necks. You always came in first at the cross-country meets, and I always wondered from what you were running. Even though you wore the mask of James Dean, you were always so kind to me. In fact, out of everyone in high school, you were the only one who stood up for me. Of course, I liked you, but you might as well have been the man on the moon for how far away you felt. Up there in eleventh grade with your eleventh grade girlfriends. You always went steady, never had more than one girl at a time, and I liked that, but every time you broke up, there was another eleventh grade girl waiting her turn.
Still, there you were, asking me to go trick-or-treating. I pushed up from the table, tugging on the sleeves of my pleather jacket. My skin didn’t feel like it belonged to me, decked out in temporary tattoos. You talked as we made our way through the house to the front door, but all I could make out was “come see” while my heartbeat whirred in my ears. As you held the door for me, I stepped out onto the front porch. Your friends, waiting in the street, looked up at me with their pillowcases and animal masks. They looked more like they were going on a hipster heist than trick-or-treating.
You asked if I was going, as you jumped off the porch, and I shook my head, my legs glued to the porch. Maybe if I hadn’t been so acutely aware of how much I didn’t belong, I could have overcome my shyness, but even when you asked again, I said no.
I wonder who you go trick-or-treating with now. I wonder if I’d recognize you and if you would recognize me. I’m not shy anymore, and my parents became parent. I have a lot to run from now, but I’ll never get first in the state for cross-country. I wonder if you’re still running. I wonder if you’re still wearing a mask. Wherever you are, whatever you’re like, I wish I’d gone trick-or-treating with you, Ian.
Truly,
Jamison