No one saw me.

Sure, it’s hard to stuff a rubber snake into your pocket without being seen when you’re 7 years old in a crowded store and your dad’s right there and the lights are bright and you’re fumbling as the blood is pounding in your ears and you’ve never stolen anything before, and the store owner’s in plain sight but I had to try…

So I did it.

Mask on. It worked.

My breathing was deafening.

On the sidewalk, October’s leaves circled us.

“Did you take something?”

“No Dad.”

The wind screamed.

In the car, silence.

“I’m going to ask you again.”

Mask slipping.

“What’s in your pocket?”

Something was tearing, ripping inside me.

All the air was sucked out of the car and I wanted to reach back in time and pay for the stupid snake so we could go home and carve the pumpkin and pretend this never happened but it was too late…

Confess or hide. Sweat and tears.

“I don’t know.”

Lies piled on top of lies like the leaves on the lawns.

I was falling quickly.

Twisting in my seat, I heard sand crackle by the window.

“We’re going back in.”

Inside the store, I told the owner I stole from him.

“Well…I won’t call the police this time.”

Mask off.

A chorus of leaves echoed our steps as we left, my dad and me.

I hate you.

I love you.

Trick or treat.

– Jeffrey Hedquist