DEZ

When we get home, Riley drags herself out of the car. She’s sleepy and totally adorable. I lean against the trunk and watch her shuffle all the way across the yard to her door. The whole time I’m grinning like an idiot, excited we have plans tonight.

The cool air makes my nose run. That last little tease of warmth has gone and we’re on the downward slide into winter. Across the street, Mrs. Andre has put the insulation film on her windows and now is blowing them with her hair dryer to tighten the plastic and get the wrinkles out. Mrs. Andre says her shrink-wrapped house saves her over one hundred dollars a month on her heating bill.

Winter preparation 101. This is how we roll in the Heights.

I walk over to give Mrs. Andre a hand with the windows on the second floor. I started helping her a few years ago to impress Riley, but now it’s just become a habit. On the ladder—third rung from the top—I see Mrs. Andre holding the base. I can’t say I’m comforted knowing that the only thing preventing me from a fall is a ninety-pound senior citizen, so I try to make fast work of it. I pull the wrap tight across the first window and seal it with a few waves of the blow dryer. It smells like burnt plastic. After a few more waves of hot air, the wrinkles disappear.

I seal up eight windows just before we run out of daylight.

“Oh, thank you, Desmond,” Mrs. Andre says when I’m done. “You’re such a nice young man.”

If she only knew.

When I finally make it home, there’s a package waiting for me on the stoop. I grab it and head inside—where it appears our house has thrown up Halloween. Orange and black cover every surface. Ever since Mom and Bernie got together, she’s become one of those holiday junkies. It’s funny because it wasn’t always this way; Mom didn’t always have an affinity for seasonal soap dispensers and themed tchotchkes. Especially when I was in fifth grade and she was with Phil, the manchild.

That year, I talked about my costume for weeks. I wanted to be Wolverine from the X-Men, but in a cool, Hugh Jackman kind of way. Furry face, wicked claws, wife-beater and jeans. I remember Mom had to wait for a check to clear or something and couldn’t pick up the fur and claws until the 31st.

Turns out, that was the year she actually forgot Halloween … cue tearful childhood scene:

FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
INT. BRANDT HOUSE—HALLOWEEN

A 12-year-old DESMOND paces in the living room, waiting for his Mom.

The clock reads 6:00 when DEZ’S mom, TRUDY, finally enters.

DEZ
(smiling as he meets his mom
at the door)
Finally! I thought we were going
to miss trick-or-treating.

TRUDY
(sets her bag down and shakes
her head)
Oh, honey.

DEZ
(looks behind his mom’s back for
the costume)
What? Where are the claws and fur?

TRUDY
I’m so sorry, Desmond. I don’t have them. I can’t explain it now but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Now, I’m sure we can find something here that you could wear.

DEZ looks at his mom in disbelief. He breaks down, yelling and crying. He runs up to his room and slams the door.

Minutes later, RILEY walks in and DEZ swipes at his face to hide his tears.

RILEY
What’s up? You’re not looking very wolveriney. Everything okay?

DEZ
She couldn’t get the stuff. I can’t go.

TRUDY enters the room, holding a pile of white sheets.

TRUDY
How about a ghost, honey? A classic ghost. They never go out of style.

DEZ falls back on his bed, hides his face, and groans in frustration.

RILEY
(starts taking off her Padmé Amidala Star Wars costume)
I love it. Dude, it’s old school. A retro ghost, like from the old-time days.

DEZ
(looks up)
What are you doing?

RILEY
Think I’m going to let you steal all the retro glory? Nuh uh. I’m going as a ghost too.

END FLASHBACK

Amazingly enough, Riley and I had the best time that night. She was there for me in a way nobody else could be. And as I go up to my room, I finalize my plans to do the same for her this Halloween. I take the package that was delivered today and open it.

This will definitely work, I think, looking over the costume.

Yes. I’ll put things in motion tomorrow. A Halloween party for the film crew. I can see the event play out already. I’d be the director: setting the scene, getting all the actors into place, telling the story. See, whether it’s film or life, it doesn’t matter. I want to be that one person in charge.

I wish I wasn’t this way.

I wish I didn’t crave control.

But I do … badly.

And though I might not be able to control Riley, I can help get her to where she needs to be. Convince. Persuade. Protect. This will be the night I make my move, and now that I’m in charge of my own costume, I’ll no longer be that pathetic boy waiting to become a superhero.

I’ll be playing the villain instead.