When I got back to the chapel, it was time to eat the fake bread. My parents then went to “make confession,” where they tell the priest secrets in a tiny wooden room. Even if Mom and Dad told me to, I wouldn’t ever tell that man anything, not even the best part of my day. It’s not that he’s a bad person or anything. I don’t know, it’s just that why would I want to be in a small room with some man? I don’t like that at all.
Maybe it’s a sin, but I wonder what Dad tells the priest because Dad almost always says what he’s thinking. For example, on the car ride home this afternoon, he told Mom that she’s too fat and her hair looks too much like “a boy’s haircut.” He thinks she should look more like Shania Twain. He said, “You could really be beautiful if you tried a little bit harder.” Mom just nodded her head. I would have done the same thing if I were her. I always just nod my head when he gives me weird compliments.
Actually Dad might have one secret. Don’t tell anyone this, but I saw him crying in the backyard a few days ago. At that point, he had probably shouted “I’m doing my best” at Mom twenty times. The ice on the branches above made it look like it was just snowing on top of his head. He bent himself into a ball, barely shivering in his COPPER COUNTRY STRONG T-shirt. What does it mean when the thing that is supposed to make us strong isn’t here like it used to be?
I don’t know. I would never call Dad a crybaby, though. I have never actually seen another boy cry before in my entire life. I don’t think it’s about being hot-blooded or cold-blooded.
I have to ask, do you think of yourself as strong? Can I still be a boy if I cry sometimes too? Can I still be a boy if I’ve never punched a wall before?
Sorry. I’m being weird. I’m just thinking about stuff.
Sincerely,
Alex
Friday, October 31, 1997
Dear Whoever Is Reading This,
Thank you for listening even if you don’t have to. I’m sure you already know this, but today was Halloween. What were you? Have you ever been a ghost? Last year I was left-behind bubble gum, which you know can be a scary thing if you have ever stepped in some. I dressed in all pink and duct-taped a shoe to the top of my head. I liked feeling stretchy and getting to hide under tables for fun, but most people didn’t get it. Some people had the nerve to say that it wasn’t a real costume. I don’t know why, but that still really bothers me.
After a lot of thinking, I decided to be a moth for Halloween this year since everyone has seen a moth before. Sometimes real-life ones tap on my bedroom window when I’m home with the lights on. I think it’s cool that moths can eat whole blankets and sweaters and other things I cover myself with. I made the costume all by myself this afternoon by patching together tinfoil and bright green pipe cleaners I borrowed from the art room. I stood in front of our bathroom mirror to make sure my wings were big enough and the curly antennas were just right on my head. I smiled to myself. In that moment, I thought I looked great and I had myself to thank.
It was really nice to get out of the house and, believe it or not, the weather was kind of okay for trick-or-treating too. Sofie and I unzipped our puffy coats and kept our costumes out of hiding. Do you ever have to cover something that you don’t want to? It’s really the worst, especially when it’s something that makes you happy.
I hate to admit it, but for the second year in a row most of the grown-ups I met while trick-or-treating confused me for other things. Some even gave up on guessing, and gave me one of those caramel-apple suckers anyways. I didn’t know whether or not to correct them when they guessed wrong because I still wanted their candy. I guess it’s okay if they didn’t see that I was truly a moth as long as I knew what I was and my trick-or-treating buddies, Sofie and her dad, knew what I was too. Mr. B always says that you only have to touch one person for art to be good. It’s hard to believe that right now, but deep down I know that he’s right.
But for the record, I was not Tinker Bell, an angel, or a Picasso painting. I was for sure not the tooth fairy, especially when I still have some baby teeth and that would just be confusing. I worked hard to be a moth. Plus, making my own outfit really helped my confident walk while going around the block. My steps were bigger than any bathroom stall meeting ever. No one else had the exact same Halloween costume as me, and I felt memorable in a good way.
Sofie’s dad even took off his Scream mask, which was basically a sad face melting off, just to tell me how good my outfit was. He was so impressed that I made my moth costume all by myself and he said, “Nobody can do what you do.” My old BFFs’ parents never said anything to me like that. The grown-ups were actually the first ones to point and make fun of my bubblegum costume when we took pictures in front of Mary’s house last year. All the other kids had store-bought costumes like Helga Patacki and the Sailor Scouts.
This year, Sofie was dressed as the pop star named Selena with purple sparkly pants and a plastic microphone. Not only is Sofie going to be an astronaut and dancer when she grows up, she’s going to become a singer too. She did a twirl on the sidewalk and practically shouted, “I’m going to arrive to my big concert sitting in the back of a white horse carriage, just like Selena did.”
Richard smiled and said, “Then let’s make a Selena horse carriage for the big winter concert, honey bug.” I wasn’t even looking forward to the concert, but now I am. Richard promised that I can come over to help them paint their rusty bomber car white for Sofie’s grand arrival. I hope it actually happens because I love Sofie’s voice and I want the world to hear it. You’ll hear it one day. I have no doubt about it. I reminded Sofie that in the movie about Selena’s life, the moon tells her that she can be whatever she wants to be. I try to remember that every time I look at the moon now. I try to remember that even Selena was a little girl once too.
Without even thinking, I grabbed Sofie’s hand and said, “We have to make it to the moon before we die.” Sofie lit up, and I could have sworn that I saw the moon shining in the distance all of a sudden. It was so clear and round that it was practically singing to us. Sofie and I ran up the dark slope toward the light, leaving Richard behind to eat a Kit Kat bar.
Turns out it wasn’t moonlight. It was just a streetlamp. I felt bad about it only until Sofie held her microphone up to her lips to say “Dance with me.” She started to wiggle around under the fake moon. Her orange bucket rattled with candy as she sang a song that she wrote herself, “Shake, Shake, Shake.” “Shake, shake, shake” are the only words in that song, but it still totally rocks. She air-kissed the invisible audience, and I even added some of my own lyrics inspired by the movie Good Burger. The words go, “I’m a dude, he’s a dude, she’s a dude because we’re all dudes.” Sofie knows that song too, and it was the perfect remix. I felt our music everywhere as we shook our whole bodies. The tips of my fingers and hair came alive. “Shake, shake, shake. I’m a dude. Shake, shake, shake. He’s a dude. Shake, shake, shake. She’s a dude. Shake, shake, shake. Because we’re all dudes.”