blocking our way. She’s laughing—uncontrollably, it seems. Okay. Jack gives me a glance and steps over her, barely missing her head. He parts the streamers hanging from the ceiling light fixture like he’s swimming the breaststroke and moves on down the hallway, edging toward the kitchen at the back of the house. I calculate whether I’ve got the leg reach to follow him and take a shot, but I knock “Marilyn’s” wig half off, exposingpart of a brunette head. I’m realizing that there’s already been a fair bit of alcohol consumed here this evening, and suddenly, like the girl on the floor, I feel I’m in a little over my head.
I make my way down the crowded hall. It’s too loud in here, and I’ve lost sight of Jack already. On either side there are dimly lit rooms with streamers and bowls of orange-coloured taco chips and Cheezies. There are hordes of kids yelling above the music or hopping up and down to the beat. Some look familiar. I even know the names of a few. But there’s no one I know well enough to talk to. Then I catch sight of Jack, already getting comfortable with a beer in hand, flirting with some zombie girl. I don’t want to ruin his chances of a good time, so I try to keep my distance. I jump as someone screams and then laughs loudly right next to my ear. A black rubber spider falls at her feet. I’m not up for all this horror. But how am I going to get home if I leave now?
I need to kill time, and I figure the best way to do that is to keep moving from room to room. There’s a slow circulation of ghouls going on anyway, and I work my way into it. I pretend I’m on my way somewhere, to get something or talk to someone. I have something to do. Yes, I’m quite engaged in whatever that thing is.
Excuse me. Sorry. You first
. I keep my head low. No one knows who I am. No one is looking at me. No, that’s not true—this Bob Marley look isn’t exactly blending in. I’m getting some double takes, but that’s all. I nod a little as I edge through the crowded rooms, acknowledging people as if I’m one of them. But within ten minutes I’ve moved around as much as I can without driving myself completely mad. I’m going to have to find somewhere to hide. My best bet is the front living room. I think I saw an unclaimed corner of couch in there.
I’m making my way back through the dining room, squeezing past bodies, when I see a face in the hallway that stops me cold. It’slike catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror, only the mirror image doesn’t match up. For one thing, this other Bob Marley is a guy. He’s pretty tall, and his shoulders are … well, guy shoulders.
I’m frozen where I stand as this other Bob Marley saunters toward me. He puts a hand on my shoulder and leans into me, speaking low and close, like we’re in on some secret together.
“Wow,” he says into my ear. “Bob, I can’t believe you’d show up at a party like this not once but twice.”
Does he think I’m a guy? I try to be friendly. “Uh, my grandmother bought this for me.”
“Yeah, I got this from my stepdad. He’s always trying to broaden my cultural range.” He pauses and adds, “Eternal optimist.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to think of a response to that. “Well, my grandmother isn’t much of an optimist, eternal or otherwise. Although she does lighten up when she’s having a beer and a smoke out back with her horses.”
“Sexy.” He’s nodding. I can tell that amused him, and he’s looking intently at my eyes through the holes in my mask. “So, Bob, why
are
you here?”
“Well, I … you mean, other than because I get to wear a mask?”
“Ah. That’s enough for you?”
“Sometimes, yes.” I’m feeling a little bolder now. “Why are
you
here?”
“I’ve got a thing for Brad’s mom.” He’s looking around. “But I’m not seeing her.” His blue eyes are striking, the way they scan left and right behind the Jamaican face. “What do you think? Would she be a
I make my way down the crowded hall. It’s too loud in here, and I’ve lost sight of Jack already. On either side there are dimly lit rooms with streamers and bowls of orange-coloured taco chips and Cheezies. There are hordes of kids yelling above the music or hopping up and down to the beat. Some look familiar. I even know the names of a few. But there’s no one I know well enough to talk to. Then I catch sight of Jack, already getting comfortable with a beer in hand, flirting with some zombie girl. I don’t want to ruin his chances of a good time, so I try to keep my distance. I jump as someone screams and then laughs loudly right next to my ear. A black rubber spider falls at her feet. I’m not up for all this horror. But how am I going to get home if I leave now?
I need to kill time, and I figure the best way to do that is to keep moving from room to room. There’s a slow circulation of ghouls going on anyway, and I work my way into it. I pretend I’m on my way somewhere, to get something or talk to someone. I have something to do. Yes, I’m quite engaged in whatever that thing is.
Excuse me. Sorry. You first
. I keep my head low. No one knows who I am. No one is looking at me. No, that’s not true—this Bob Marley look isn’t exactly blending in. I’m getting some double takes, but that’s all. I nod a little as I edge through the crowded rooms, acknowledging people as if I’m one of them. But within ten minutes I’ve moved around as much as I can without driving myself completely mad. I’m going to have to find somewhere to hide. My best bet is the front living room. I think I saw an unclaimed corner of couch in there.
I’m making my way back through the dining room, squeezing past bodies, when I see a face in the hallway that stops me cold. It’slike catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror, only the mirror image doesn’t match up. For one thing, this other Bob Marley is a guy. He’s pretty tall, and his shoulders are … well, guy shoulders.
I’m frozen where I stand as this other Bob Marley saunters toward me. He puts a hand on my shoulder and leans into me, speaking low and close, like we’re in on some secret together.
“Wow,” he says into my ear. “Bob, I can’t believe you’d show up at a party like this not once but twice.”
Does he think I’m a guy? I try to be friendly. “Uh, my grandmother bought this for me.”
“Yeah, I got this from my stepdad. He’s always trying to broaden my cultural range.” He pauses and adds, “Eternal optimist.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to think of a response to that. “Well, my grandmother isn’t much of an optimist, eternal or otherwise. Although she does lighten up when she’s having a beer and a smoke out back with her horses.”
“Sexy.” He’s nodding. I can tell that amused him, and he’s looking intently at my eyes through the holes in my mask. “So, Bob, why
are
you here?”
“Well, I … you mean, other than because I get to wear a mask?”
“Ah. That’s enough for you?”
“Sometimes, yes.” I’m feeling a little bolder now. “Why are
you
here?”
“I’ve got a thing for Brad’s mom.” He’s looking around. “But I’m not seeing her.” His blue eyes are striking, the way they scan left and right behind the Jamaican face. “What do you think? Would she be a
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