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Everyone remembers their first kiss. Sometimes it?s with your first crush or some random kid under the slide. Mine was with my childhood best friend. Her name was Becca Kent. She had brown hair that her mom braided intricately and always wore red overalls, faded from frequent wear. We did everything together. Sometimes, we even did things we knew would get us in trouble. One day we found a movie shoved under the TV stand like someone kicked it under there when they were cleaning. It was obviously made for adults, but my mom was at the grocery store. We popped it in the DVD player and pressed play. I don?t remember the name, but halfway through we saw something we had never seen before - two girls who kissed. Neither of us had ever seen a girl kiss another girl before, we didn?t even know it was allowed. Since we were best friends, we decided we should too. Sitting on the old brown faded sofa in my living room, we kissed.
I don?t think anyone remembers exactly how their first kiss feels, and I certainly didn't, but you do remember how it feels - it felt right. Before her mom picked her up, we promised to never tell anyone about the movie, or the kiss. I stood on my creaky, wooden porch and waved goodbye to her as Ms. Kent?s blue station wagon drove up. Before actually getting in, she ran back and handed me something- a friendship bracelet. It was braided with pink and orange yarn. She tied it around my wrist and made me promise to never take it off.
The next day Becca didn?t show up to school. When I asked Ms. Wilson where Becca was, she told me she didn?t know a Becca. I thought that was weird, but Ms. Wilson was old and had too many students, maybe she forgot since she wasn?t there that day. When I got off the bus I ran inside and asked my mom if I could go to Becca?s house when I finished my homework. She asked me who Becca was. I laughed and told her she was being funny. She gave me a weird face that I didn?t understand. At the time I hadn?t seen it much but by now I have seen it more times than I can count. I now know it was a look of concern.
Days went by and Becca never came to school. I kept asking mom about her, and she kept telling me I don?t have a friend named Becca. I tried to show her the bracelet that Becca made me, still secured tightly to my wrist as promised. She told me I made that at school. After a week I got so mad I went to find Becca myself. I walked to her house after school. She only lived a few streets from me, and I had been there so many times I was confident I could get there by myself. I showed up and knocked on her door. The screen door was the only one closed and it made a metal tinging sound under my fist. Becca?s mom came to the door with rollers in her hair and a cigarette in her hand. I was relieved she seemed okay. ?Hello,? she said, ?are you selling cookies or something.?
I laughed. ?No Mrs. Kent. I?m looking for Becca. She hasn?t been at school for a couple days. Is she sick??
She gave me a confused look. ?Are you sure you have the right house? There?s no Becca here.?
?What are you talking about?? I asked. ?Becca is your daughter, my best friend. We go to school together.?
?Oh, I recognize you now,? she said, ?You?re the Bailey girl. You?re in the grade below my son, Grant.?
?Yes, in the same class as Becca.?
?I don?t know a Becca,? she said, in a more stern voice this time. ?I only have two sons. Grant and Andrew. I don?t have a daughter.?
I was getting angry. Why was everyone telling me my best friend didn?t exist? ?Yes, you do!? I shouted at her. ?Becca is your daughter. She always wears red overalls that are so faded they're almost pink. You braid her hair every day. And she made me this bracelet,? I held up my wrist to show her the bracelet. ?Why does everyone keep telling me she doesn?t exist?? I began to cry. Why was I the only one who remembered Becca?
Mrs. Kent ended up calling my mom and she brought me home. I stayed home from school the next day, and the day after that. When I finally went back there was still no Becca and still, no one who believed me. After that, my mom put me in therapy. Dr. Treeman told my mom I had an overactive imagination and created an imaginary friend that seemed real. I knew Becca wasn?t imaginary. After years of therapy and being told Becca wasn?t real, I learned pretending she never existed was best. Years went by. I finished high school I went to a small liberal arts college to study linguistics. The bracelet had long since broken off, but I still kept it in a jewelry box on my vanity.
I hadn?t kissed anyone since, and I was never going to. That was until sophomore year when I met Emily Beaton. Em was beautiful. She was tall and had dark skin with braided hair she kept in a bun most of the time. She wore gold earrings and a matching gold ring hung off her nose. She was always a bolder dresser than I who wasn?t afraid to wear bright colors and patterns. She majored in digital media art and If you saw her work, you would know why. She once made me a painting of a girl with hair made of butterflies. Golden drips ran down the canvas, causing some of the butterflies to fly away like they were trying to escape. It hung in my bedroom right next to my bed, the perfect position to be the first thing I saw in the morning and the last thing at night.
She made me appreciate art in a way I never had before and introduced me to K-pop. As a white girl from the Midwest, no one I knew had any idea what K-pop was. Whenever we had study sessions she would find some band I had never heard of and we would jam out. On weekends we would go through art galleries and she would tell me about all the different artists we saw. We went out together often, but tonight was different - tonight I planned to confess my feelings. It had been so long since Becca, and how could I be sure I was the one who made her disappear?
We went to our favorite bar in town. It wasn?t a place frequented by college students, so it was pretty quiet but the floor was sticky with alcohol, and the air smelled of beer. There were old torn-up pool tables in the corner with two pool sticks yet to be broken in a drunken bar fight and a few lights were always out, making the bar look dirtier and more depressing than it already was. Em wore leggings with black and white lightning bolts patterned across them and a bright yellow leather jacket. Golden hoops decorated her braids making her jewelry pop even more.
We drank and talked for hours. She told me about a big portfolio she had to finish, and I told her about a group project I was basically doing alone. We talked about our hometowns, our families, and who our favorite BTS member was. Soon she had me caught up in round after round of pool. I was trying to concentrate but I couldn?t stop staring at her. My nerves made my hands so sweaty I could barely hold the pool stick without it slipping through my fingers. Eventually, we walked back and she took me to my dorm. She was saying goodbye and I knew this was it I had blown it. I didn?t tell her how I felt, and I wasn?t sure I would ever find the courage to. Just as I was going to give up hope she leaned in and kissed me. I remember exactly what this one felt like. Her lips were soft and warm. She held me close and I followed her lead. My heart had been set ablaze - I craved more. I invited her upstairs afterward and it was times like this I was glad I lived in a single. We spent the whole night together. Everything was finally falling into place. I would finally be happy and Becca would no longer haunt me.
I woke up the next morning and she was gone. I assumed she had an early class, so I didn?t stress about it. I went to my Psychology class like normal and decided to visit her after. When I knocked on her door her roommate answered. She told me no one named Emily lived here. I was sure this was Em?s dorm, but maybe she was avoiding me. Maybe she regretted it and told her roommate to send me away. I started freaking out. Knowing she worked at the coffee shop on campus every Friday afternoon I raced over there. When I got to the counter Kevin (a mutual friend of ours) was working at the register. I asked him if Em was working and he asked me who Em was. I told him to stop messing around and he gave me a very confused look.
?You know,? I said and held up my hand, ?about yay tall, braided hair, nose ring?? He just shrugged and asked if I was okay. I didn?t answer and stormed out. How could this be happening again?
I went to my room and got on my laptop. I searched for her username ArtWithEm32 on Instagram. Then Twitter. I even checked Facebook and all of her accounts were gone. I looked at my contacts and her number wasn?t there. I went to my gallery and all of our photos were gone. I panicked and ran to my wall. We had taken at least 10 polaroid photos together. You couldn?t delete hard evidence like that, right? I pulled them off my wall one by one. She wasn?t in any of them. Even the one from New Years that only had her in it was just a photo of a chair, no one there. I turned and saw the painting she made me still hanging there, looking the same as the day she gave it to me. I dug through my jewelry box to see my friendship bracelet was still where I left it. I heard a knock on my door and whipped it open, hoping it was her.
?Woah.? It was Kevin. ?I just came to check on you.? Judging from his expression I looked like a wreck.
?Where did I get this?? I asked him, pointing to the painting.
?The painting?? He asked. I nodded. ?I think you got it when we went thrifting in Portland.?
?No,? I all but shouted, ?Em painted this for me. You remember? Em? Our friend?? His face turned to that concerned look my mom made which made me see red. I kicked him out, anger flooding my senses.
After that day I tried to find someone who remembered her. I asked the bartender at the bar we went to often and the librarian who always yelled at us when we were too loud in the library. No one remembered her. Soon I stopped going to classes. Then I stopped leaving my room. My fiery anger had turned into a sea of sadness and I was drowning. My mom convinced me to take a leave of absence to clear my head. She thought all the liberal art mumbo jumbo was getting to me. I couldn?t tell her about Em. She would have had me committed if she thought I was inventing people again. I went back to Dr. Treeman and didn?t tell her. I didn?t even tell him why I was really there.
Years went by and I never went back to school. I moved out and got a job as a bartender. It was nothing like the run-down dive bar Em and I used to frequent. It was an up-scale nightclub that hosted a lot of VIP parties. It was always packed, but the customers tipped well. I didn?t date after college. My friends encouraged me to get out there, but I couldn?t risk it. Even if no one believed me, I knew Becca and Em were real people and whatever I did made them go away. Whenever I thought of where they went, I hoped that they were together and happy. I thought of ending it all once, to make sure I didn?t do this to anyone else. I then realized if I was gone, so were they. No one would be left to remember them. I kept the painting Em gave me on the wall in my room and hung Becca?s bracelet next to it to make sure I would never forget them.
One night, I was closing up with my coworker Ruby. Ruby Milton was another bartender at the club. She was 25 and had recently moved to town. Her black hair was cropped short and her makeup was always black heavy, bordering on garish. She was a hard worker and got along with all the regulars. She has only been working at the club for six months, but in that time we had gotten pretty close. On nights we worked together we would drink before closing up for the night. It was nice to have the whole bar to ourselves. This particular night, we drank more than normal and turned on the LEDs that lined the main bar. The lights illuminated the room with splashes of rainbow. Ruby blasted hip-hop music from her phone and we got on the bar and danced. It felt great to let go and just have fun. After a few songs, I had to stop. We both collapsed on the side of the bar. She laid her head on my shoulder and took another swig of her drink.
?You know,? she started, slurring her words, ?I really like you.?
I giggled and looked down at her, ?l like you too.? My words also came out in a slur which made me laugh harder In my giggle fit I didn?t realize what was happening. Ruby leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. I shoved her as hard as I could, but it was too late. We kissed. I hopped off the bar, shaking with fear. She apologized profusely. I couldn?t look at her. She paused her music and stood in front of me.
?I?m so sorry,? she said. ?I thought we were on the same page. I ?.? Before she could finish, I ran out of the bar. I got into my car and dropped the keys trying to put them into the ignition. I flew out of there and rushed home. I pulled into my driveway and opened my phone. I started looking through my photos, looking for pictures of Ruby trying to memorize her face. Her elf-like nose and her dark bangs that swept across her face. She had freckles scattering her face and hazel eyes. I stared at the photos for as long as I could before tears clouded my eyes and I couldn?t see her anymore.
I went inside and stood in front of Emily?s painting. I pressed my hand to feel the raised golden paint drips. I examined the colorful butterflies that were so realistic they looked as if they might fly off the page. I shifted my attention to the bracelet. The orange was closer to brown now due to age and the pink was lighter and sun-bleached. I didn?t have anything of Ruby?s. I wasn?t sure how I would remember her. I shut off my light and lay in my bed, staring into the darkness. Just like Emily and Becca, I would be the only one to remember her. Tomorrow, there will be no Ruby Milton.
?I?m sorry it took so long,? The doctor said as he walked into the waiting room. Marvin and Rebecca stood. ?No, please, sit down.?
?What is it, doctor? I don?t like the look on your face,? Rebecca said.
?Mr. and Mrs. Chatsworth, the MRI shows a mass near the hypothalamus.?
?What exactly does that mean?? Marvin asked.
?It tells us why you are undergoing mood swings. There?s an area near that region of the brain that is responsible for violence, and the tumor is pressing up against it, that explains some of your recent outbursts.?
?Doctor,? Rebecca said, ?he has also displayed a lack of empathy. He is the most wonderful man, but lately he?s been cold and distant.?
Marvin gave her a surprised look, ?You never told me that??
?As the tumor crowds the brain,? The doctor continued, ?it puts pressure on other areas. The frontal lobe is responsible for personality, and it too appears to be under considerable strain.?
?Can we remove the tumor?? Rebecca asked.
?It?s growing on the interior, and that makes surgery impossible. Medication might slow the growth, but there is nothing else we can do.? The doctor who had been speaking to Rebecca looked directly at Marvin. ?Mr. Chatsworth, I don?t like telling you this, but your family and friends will not recognize you in a few years.?
?And what does that mean?? Rebecca asked. Marvin could hear the concern in her voice.
?It means his personality will undergo dramatic changes. Mr. Chatsworth, you struck your wife the other day, which she tells me is completely out of character for you. That is why she begged you to come in for an examination. Do you remember striking her?? Marvin shook his head.
The doctor turned back to Rebecca, ?I?m afraid it?s only going to get worse. We have medication that can calm your husband to some degree, but, Mr. Chatsworth??Marvin, you will lose the essence of who you are.?
Rebecca sobbed, and Marvin put his arm around her. ?I?m sorry, honey,? he said, ?just know that no matter what happens, my love for you will never change.?
The Grim Reaper towered over Marvin. It was October 31st, and he was hard at work setting up the lawn decorations. It was his and Rebecca?s favorite holiday. Inflatable ghouls, tombstones, cobwebs, and animated figures accented his house, making it the shining star of the neighborhood. Marvin worked many years as a studio prop master, and he used his movie skills to entertain the children.
He stood back to admire his work, walked into the warmth of his house, and picked up Rebecca?s photograph. Rebecca died ten years ago, almost to the day. Her passing had been sudden, like a knife to the gut, Marvin would say. Death came and swept her away without warning. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to outlive her. Part of him was glad she was gone. He had changed, and he didn?t think Rebecca would like it. He kissed his fingertip and gently touched it to her photograph. This act conjured up one of their final conversations.
?Honey,? she had pleaded, ?you need to let him go. Not even a dog deserves to be locked up in a ten-by-ten bedroom.?
?What?s done is done,? Marvin said dismissively, ?He?s got a place to sleep, he gets plenty of food and water, and you know I can?t set him free, so drop it. ?
But Rebecca couldn?t drop it. ?It?s not your fault,? she told him, ?It?s the sickness making you do these things. You?re not in control of your actions or your body.?
?I hate it when you say that,? he snapped, ?Please, stop telling me I?m not in control. I do what I want to do when I want to do it.?
Rebecca backed off, but they would have the same argument a few more times before her passing.
Marvin walked to the kitchen cupboard and pulled down a large bowl. Only the best candy would do tonight. Snickers, Milky Way, Three Musketeers, and Kit Kat bars were positioned by the door. No mini-candies for this household; oh no, Marvin went all out and bought the full-size candy bars making his house a neighborhood favorite. But all things change, and Marvin noticed fewer children in the neighborhood. Many had moved away to start their own families, and Covid-19 didn?t help. Last year, the authorities canceled Halloween, and he hoped the children would come back in droves.
A candle in a jack-o-lantern signaled the neighborhood that he was open for business. Over the years, Marvin noticed that many of the kids didn?t say trick or treat as frequently as they used to, and they certainly didn?t say thank you. Often, they would just open their candy bags and expect candy to drop in magically; children, it seemed, had lost some of the most basic of social skills and good manners.
Marvin was known as the pariah of the neighborhood, often snapping at dog walkers and joggers for no apparent reason. He noticed that many of the neighbors would walk on the other side of the street to avoid unnecessary confrontations. Most of the year, Marvin was irritable and unapproachable, but not at Halloween. On October 31st Marvin felt that he underwent a remarkable change welcoming every child in the neighborhood into his home.
The little preschoolers brought him the most joy. They usually held their parent?s hands and gently knocked on his door. They arrived early when the twilight glow of sunset still made the neighborhood appear safe. But once darkness fell, the little ones went to bed, and the older kids, the ingrates, came out.
It was early evening when two little angels appeared at his doorstep. ?Twick or Tweet.?
?How precious, ?Marvin said, ?Are they twins??
The young couple nodded, ?What do you say to the nice man??
?Tank you,? the girls chimed in unison.
?You are most welcome,? Marvin said. He turned to the parents, ?You have beautiful children. Thank you for teaching them good manners; that is so rare these days.?
Early evening brought out more children than he expected. He handed out candy to Spiderman, Yoda, kings, queens, and monsters. But as daylight vanished, so did the little ones. The ingrates would come knocking any minute, and Marvin had to prepare himself mentally in case he ran into any hoodlums.
He thought that second and third graders could be just as nasty as those horrible eighth-graders, but high school kids were the worst of all. They should be at parties, he thought, not collecting candy from senior citizens. It was creepy, and it bothered him that they were walking the streets among the little children.
Rebecca once told him that his personality took a turn for the worse once the sun went down. Sundowners, she called it, and then she told him the tumor intensified the condition It was Halloween night ten years ago when he really lost it. Rebecca came close to calling the police, but he stopped her; he was shocked when she died only a few weeks later. It was the tenth anniversary of the incident, and he knew he could use her calming presence tonight.
Marvin walked to the pantry, grabbed a bowl of dog food, and walked it into one of the bedrooms. He put it on the floor along with a bowl of water. ?I don?t want to hear a sound tonight do you understand me? Not a peep. You be a good boy.? He locked the door, put his ear to it, and listened for the sound of slurping water and the munching of food. Satisfied, he walked away.
It had been quiet for almost an hour when the doorbell finally rang. Like in 2020, he thought there might be no older children this year. The neighbors didn?t help matters either. Only a few homes on the block had decorations. Kids were attracted to neighborhoods where residents got into the spirit, and decorations lined the blocks.
?I?m coming,? he yelled down the hallway. He stood without problem, but walking had become a bit of a chore ?Don?t go away!? he yelled again, ?I?m coming!? He opened the front door, ?Well, look at you.? The child on the landing looked to be seven or eight. ?You?re the first Wonder Woman to knock on my door tonight.? Marvin bent at the waist. ?I love Wonder Woman.? He gently whispered, ?What?s your name??
?Billy,? the child said.
?Billy, you do know Wonder Woman is a girl, don?t you??
?I want candy.?
Spoiled Brat. Marvin smiled and waved at the young couple on the sidewalk. He looked back at the child, ?Don?t worry, I?ll give you candy, but wouldn?t your rather be Superman or Batman??
?Mama!? Wonder Woman yelled.
Marvin dropped a candy bar into the bag. ?There you go,? he said, ?now get the hell off my porch.?
The child ran to his parents. ?He said a bad word. He?s a bad man,? the child whined. The father reached into the bag, removed the candy bar, and placed it in his pocket. He gave Marvin a dirty look.
It was unusually slow, and another half-hour passed before the doorbell rang again. ?I?m coming,? he yelled. He picked up the candy bowl and greeted his guests. Two children stood at the door.
?And who are you?? Marvin asked the shorter of the two.
?I?m Jason,? he said.
?Are you sure you?re not a hockey player??
?I?m Jason,? the child said defiantly.
?Cuz, you look like a hockey player with that mask.?
The child opened the bag wider. ?I want candy.?
?That?s not what you say, you little monster. Marvin felt a throbbing in his head. Now, what do you say??
?Trick or treat!?
?That?s better.? Marvin reluctantly dropped a candy bar in the bag. He turned to the other, ?And who are you??
?I?m Chucky.?
?Where are your parents?? he asked. Chucky pointed to a house up the street. ?They shouldn?t leave you alone. Do you know what happens to little boys who get separated from their parents?? The boys shook their heads. Marvin summoned his scariest guttural voice. ?They disappear!?
The boys ran across the lawn, a witch laughed, and a wolf howled. The frightened boys stumbled over a tombstone and rolled on the turf. Marvin snickered. He had placed a speaker behind the hedge that played terrifying sounds whenever someone walked by. He straightened the yard ornament and walked back inside, doubting those kids would return next year.
Oh, how he wished Rebecca was with him tonight. He went to the bar and poured himself two fingers of scotch. Who was he kidding? He poured himself another three fingers and sat down to watch Silence of the Lambs. It was their favorite scary movie, but it wasn?t the same without his wife. War of the Worlds was the earlier feature, the original, not that knockoff piece of crap with Tom Cruise. But Silence of the Lambs, now that was a world-class thriller. The scotch kicked in, and Marvin dozed before hearing his favorite line . ?I?ve been in this room for eight years, now Clarice, and I know they?ll never let me out, not while I?m alive.?
Marvin was in a whisky sleep when the doorbell woke him. It rang incessantly. What the hell, he looked at the clock. It?s almost ten!
The doorbell continued to ring another five, six, seven, times in a row. He heard a stirring in the guest room. He stood unsteadily, looked at the whisky glass, which still had a sip left, and finished it. The doorbell rang several more times. It was pissing him off. Confused and intoxicated, he made his way to the door.
Three young men with pillowcases and no costumes stood on the porch. They looked too old to be trick or treating. He figured they were about seventeen. Teens without costumes were the scariest of all.
?What you got for us, old man?? one of the boys said.
?You?re supposed to say, ?Trick or treat.??
?What ya got for us, gramps??
?For you punks, I?ve got a story.?
The boys laughed. ?We?ll pass on the story. Just give us candy, or whatever it is you?ve been drinking? He turned to his buddies, ?This old fool can barely stand.?
?Ten years ago,? Marvin began, ?a punk came to my door. He was alone, unlike you three sissys who travel in packs. Anyway, he called me, old man, just as you have, and when I told him I wouldn?t give him any candy, he spat on my shoe.?
The boys laughed, ?That?s it? That?s your scary story? What?d ya do? Give him some cheap ass candy??
?No, I tasered him, locked him up in the guest bedroom, and now all he eats is dog food. He?s chained to the bed with a dog collar around his neck. If he talks back to me like you punks are doing, he gets electrocuted. I kicked up the voltage a few years back, and now he can barely speak. He?s been missing since 2011, and I understand his parents have never stopped looking for him. He?s in that front bedroom over there, but he knows better than to talk.?
?Ooooh, you?re scaring us, Gramps,? one of the boys said.
?You?re no Stephen King. Just give us some candy and shut up,? the third said confidently.
?If I were ten years younger, I?d teach you punks a lesson.?
?You?d lose an arm-wrestling match to a squirrel,? one of the boys said.
?I was strong enough to stab my wife to death when she wouldn?t stop nagging me about the boy. Let him go, she said. They won?t put you in prison, she said. You?re not well, she said. Well, she?s not saying anything anymore. Oh, she still sleeps with me every night. She?s mostly skin and bones now, but if she were alive, she?d tell you punks where to go.?
?You?re not scaring us, old man. Just give us candy.?
Marvin took three candy bars and tossed them on the lawn. ?Fetch,? he said.
?No problem, old man. We?ll play fetch.? The boys barked like dogs. ?Beggars can?t be choosers.? The boys jumped off the porch and ran to the side of the house to pick up the candy.
From the bedroom window came a weak whisper, ?Help me, please. Help me.?
The boys laughed. ?Help me, please, help me,? they mocked, ?Crazy old man. Do you think a recording is going to scare us?? They flipped Marvin the finger, kicked over a few tombstones, and ran off.
Marvin slammed the front door, walked to the guest room, and unlocked it.
?I told you not to make a sound,? Marvin growled.
In the corner, a young man of twenty-three crouched in a drug-induced stupor. His skin was almost transparent from ten years of incarceration, and his ribs showed through the threadbare tee shirt. He gently tugged at the modified dog collar around his neck.
?I?m sorry,? he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
?You ever call out that window again, and I?ll slit your throat,? Marvin yelled.
?I?m sorry,? the boy said, ?I?ve learned my lesson. You won?t hear another sound from me.?
?I thought you had learned your lesson, but apparently, you haven?t. Tell me again, you?re sorry.?
?I?m sorry,? the boy whispered.?
?Louder,? Marvin said.
?I?m sorry,? again the boy whispered.?
?Say it louder, or God help me, I?ll kill you.?
?I?m sorry!? the boy shouted. The volume triggered the voice-activated collar. Electricity crackled, his neck spasmed, spittle flew, the boy screamed in pain, and with each successive yell, the collar shocked him, again and again, and again until mercifully his throat closed, and the screaming stopped.
?It?s how we train dogs not to bark,? Marvin said, ?Works pretty good on punks too, don?t you think??
Marvin went into the master bedroom, flicked on the light, and walked to Rebecca?s side of the bed. ?You told me once I had no empathy,? he said to her, ?Well, you were wrong. I have plenty of empathy.? He broke off a rib bone from her desiccated carcass, walked back to the bedroom, and tossed it on the floor. ?Chew on this,? he said, ?It?ll strengthen your teeth. I?m sick and tired of picking them up off the floor.?
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