My mom didn’t believe in Halloween, and that’s why I never really celebrated it. Well, I mean, that wasn’t always completely true. I have a fond memory as a kid going to a church Halloween party as a, well, I don’t remember what. I had a mask, that’s all I remember. And there was candy. And there’s this funny story. The church put all the kids in a small work closet, like a storage room. About five of us. And then they turned off the lights. No one knew that my stepfather was hiding in the room. About three seconds after the door was closed, we all started screaming as my stepfather started fucking with us. I jumped on a table, balled up my fists, and just kept swinging until the doors were opened. My stepfather, later, told me I hit him in the face. People who know the intimate details of me and my stepfather’s relationship will find that last detail the best detail of the year.
Afterwards, though, Halloween just wasn’t done in my house. I was upset, at first, but then I just got over it. We lived in the middle of nowhere anyway, and there wasn’t a good place to go beg for candy. I never really had a good idea for a costume, any how. I’ve dressed up in the past, in college. I was “Grendel” from the comic books one year. I was my dad from the seventies, once. I was “Random guy wearing a Gorilla Masks” a few years ago. But I’ve never really felt the urge to get down into it for Halloween.
Some scientists or something say that Halloween allows us to dress up and live out our fantasies and all that crap. I don’t really buy that. We are constantly living our fantasies and we are constantly dressing up in a costume. I don’t wear a tie to work because I think it looks good. I wear one because that’s what Professors are supposed to wear. No, I think Halloween is more just about people having fun, dressing up and laughing at each other. There’s nothing wrong with that. There is probably something wrong with ME not wanting to have fun, not wanting to be a part of it. My roommates invited me to go to a Halloween party and I had to decline. I had to. I was under my blankets already watching “Breaking Bad” on Netflix. I just couldn’t go. The blankets wouldn’t let me. Once, a few years ago, I would have felt guilty, like I owed the world my presence. Now, I just roll my eyes and switch to the cool side of the pillow.
This ties to me going to a therapist, somehow.
“So, how do you spell your name?” she asked me. I told her.
I decided to try a therapist because I was having some pretty moderate panic attacks. I didn’t even know what they were until I looked it up on the internet. I thought I was drinking too much coffee. A friend suggested I try it and, sure, why not? The costume of a guy who goes to therapy. I could try that costume on. That’s how I ended up in an office with a woman who didn’t even remember my name from the last session I saw her. This was my second session. Not the first session, mind you. The second
“Something wrong?” I asked. She looked puzzled. Perplexed.
“I’m sorry.” she said. “I don’t even remember your name. I apologize.”
Thus ending me going to a therapist.
Afterwards, I sat on a bench outside her office, thinking about how I probably shouldn’t go back there. It wasn’t that it bothered me that she didn’t know my name. I mean, it did bother me. It was just that me going to a therapist really didn’t fit me, did it? Jarvis Slacks doesn’t go to therapy, even if I should really go to therapy. Jarvis Slacks sort of just tries to keep moving forward. This costume is a fancy costume. It’s one I wear all year long. It’s very unique and people tend to get it. It isn’t one of those weird costumes that no one understands the root of. And it’s cheap. All I did was put on jeans. It barely cost me anything at all.