When you do divorce papers, everything must be clear to both parties. Some go there in a more generic way, others go over almost all the elements that build a life: from daily details to annual celebrations, which just break this routine. Christmas, for example. The party that hurts many separated parents…
“So, Mrs. Falkenberg, is everything fine for you?”
(And that’s where I had to keep standing up, even if it meant looking like a crazy bastard, as they say.)
– Nope. Halloween. I don’t want to take it just once every two years.
Because Halloween, you see, is not like the holiday season which can last for a week, or even two. It’s an evening. An evening of illuminated houses, with neighbors smiling at you and opening their doors to you. A crowded evening outside, when it’s usually deserted at 6 p.m. An evening of horrific music on the balconies, of jumps and laughter, of astonishment all along the promenade. And as great amazement as the bags are emptied, awake directly on the floor, an eighth Popeye cigarette in your mouth. It is often said that a child who classifies or lines up his toys (teddy bears, rocks, tree branches) is a happy child… To see how they all take care to spread out their harvest and then divide it into categories (chips, chocolates, rolls of Rockets and klondikes not edible): they are happy in sacrament, the evening of the Hâllo-wouigne.
Who cares, let it rain. Who cares, let him fret. All you have to do is put your winter coat under your suit. We may no longer understand what you’re dressed in right away, but anyway, in Quebec on October 31, it’s dark before supper time. Besides, that too should be written in the big Halloween book: no right to start the tour if it’s still light. Like vampires, but for other reasons. Not because the sun is going to burn you to ashes, but because, the single mother who cooks supper and three make-ups at the same time, it doesn’t tempt her to open the door every two seconds and to have sold his purchases before 6 p.m. There must be some left for the enthusiasts who will still be in the streets at 9 p.m.
“Mom, why can’t skeletons eat?” my four-year-old asks me on a car trip this week, smirking, because he knows the answer so well. Fascinated by monsters, creatures, the human body, I know exactly what is going on in his head: he sees food going down without an esophagus, then just falling on the ground. (Yes, the love of Halloween is hereditary.)
“And between the coyote and the werewolf, which is stronger?”
– Mmm, I would say the coyote, my treasure. Because its strength is real, the coyote exists for real! (Imagine when he learns that Montreal has already had coyote problems, he’s going to freak out.)
– No, I think it’s the werewolf. He has the gigantic power to transform into someone else.
Boom. Winnie had just said why Halloween is so magical. That night, we can be whoever we want. Coat under or over the costume or not.
“And do ghosts exist, Mom?” (He continues to reflect on our existence on Earth.)
– Bin, some say no, others yes. For example, if I died, you could imagine that I am a ghost, a remaining soul that can try to continue taking care of you.
– That’s what I thought. We could continue to sit next to it. Or at your tombstone, with lots of flowers.
— […]
Yes, my treasure. But until then, I will spend at least part of Halloween every year with you, without ever having to skip one. Until you spend it with your friends at 9 p.m.