DISCLAIMER: i wish i owned them, but i’m too lazy, and they’d probably get bored with me.

Halloween
by kaydee falls

--------------------------------
Every now and then, a certain day comes along and completely changes your life. It assaults you, twisting your life onto a path you never foresaw. Christmas Eve, almost two years ago, was one of those days: loud, raucous, and imposing its presence on you, unexpected and unasked for. And your life is changed. Who knows whether the changes are good or bad; the point is that something has been glaringly, fundamentally altered.

But there are other days, that leave their mark quietly, gently. Maybe you see them coming, or maybe they take you by surprise -- but your heart knows, and foresees, and remembers. And something changes.

Why do I always contemplate these things on Halloween?

* * * * *

October 31st, 9 PM, Eastern Standard Time. A year ago our Angel passed away....

And tonight, Collins is throwing a party. And extravagant, traditional, all-stops-pulled-out Halloween bash. He’s been planning this for weeks. His small apartment has been decorated to the max, until you could barely see the walls underneath the cobwebs and colored paper. The place looks like it’s been hit by an orange-and-black tornado, or maybe Collins just bought out an entire Halloween store and relocated it. Grinning pumpkins (all hand-carved) light the rooms eerily and papier-mâché black cats crawl along the walls and over the tables. Junk food of all kinds is present, as is a large collection of alcohol. Weird music blares from a cheap stereo. The apartment is packed with people, most of whom I don’t even know. I had no idea Collins was this popular.

I’m in a quiet corner, filming the various goings-on and trying to be invisible. My traditional ghost costume (read: sheet with eye holes) should help -- it’s so painfully boring and pathetic next to some of the elaborate costumes in the room. I see Marie Antoinette walk by, carrying her head in a basket, and chatting to a rather convincing Satan. Maureen is dancing wildly in the middle of the room, wearing a familiar-looking cat burglar outfit, while Joanne the Grim Reaper leans on her scythe and talks politics with a drag queen in a frighteningly revealing witch costume. Roger and Mimi are slow-dancing together, in spite of the music’s fast beat -- they’ve got theme costumes, Tarzan and Jane, which look pretty damn funny. Collins (James Bond, sadly minus Pussy Galore) is rushing around, making sure that everyone enjoys themselves. It’s a fucking great party.

None of us expected him to throw a Halloween bash. After all, Angel died one year ago -- we thought Collins would be in mourning, or something. Not all of us were sure that this was the most appropriate way to observe the anniversary of his passing -- but Collins shrugged off our concerns. “Halloween was Angel’s favorite holiday,” he reminded us. “I can’t think of a better way to remember him than this.” Even I had to concede to that.

But nevertheless, my camera focuses on Collins more than anyone else tonight. I can’t help but feel that this party is more than just a Halloween extravaganza, more, even, than a tribute to the person he loved most. A tension has been building in the past few weeks, and a nagging voice inside of me whispers that this is the night. When I ask it what it means by that, it shrugs and recedes. And please don’t ask me how an inner voice can shrug -- believe me, mine can.

At this point, Collins comes over to me. “Hey, Mark, having a good time?” he asks me, a little breathlessly. I look at him closely. He seems a little paler than usual -- not that Collins could ever be pale, exactly -- and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Probably from running around all evening.

“I’m great,” I tell him. “Sit down for a minute, will ya? Relax. We’re all having fun, it’s a great party, so don’t overdo yourself!”

He sighs, and smiles slightly. “I guess,” he says, leaning against the wall. “I’m not overdoing myself, though -- well, not much, anyway.”

“Sure you’re not,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not. You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you? You look so isolated over here.”

“I have my camera. Filming makes me happy. And there’s a lot to film here, so I’m having a blast. Sit down!” I order, as he starts to get up again. He smiles, and shakes his head. “What are you so worried about, anyway?” I demand. “Everyone always loves your parties, you know that.”

“Just a little out of practice, I guess,” he says casually. “I just want this to be my best ever. I want people to remember this one.” He hurries off.

And suddenly, I knew.

* * * * *

People started leaving at around 4 AM, but a few of us stayed to help clean up. This proved to be a Herculean task, and we were at it until almost 6 in the morning. Finally, Collins shoos us all out, saying that he could finish the rest and we should all go home and get some sleep. So we drift out, some more awake than others. Abstaining from alcohol, I had imbibed enormous quantities of caffeinated substances that night, so I was still pretty good to go. After leaving Collins’s apartment, I walk around the block a few times. Then I go right back inside the building, and walk back up the three flights of stairs.

The door to his apartment is unlocked, and I gently push it open. The living room is almost empty, with the exception of a few garbage bags, the couch, and a sad-looking table. In the middle of the floor sit two medium-sized suitcases. That’s all.

Collins emerges from the bedroom carrying a backpack and his coat. When he sees me, he looks surprised for a moment, then starts to laugh. “How did you know?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

“Collins, you were the first person I ever met in New York,” I say. “That was, what, six years ago? Seven? I know you too well.”

“Seven,” he says softly. “Christ, Mark, we’re getting old.”

“Yeah, ancient,” I reply. “Why, you must be almost thirty, which makes me about twenty-six.”

“Don’t laugh,” he says. “You’ll be my age someday too, sonny.”

I smile, and sit down on the couch. He sighs. “Seriously, though, how did you know I was leaving? I thought I had been pretty careful about keeping it a secret.”

“Lucky guess,” I shrug. “But you’ve been acting a little weirdly for weeks now, and you were really throwing everything you had into this party. And when people started leaving -- I’ve never seen you act so attentive to all your guests. You made sure to say goodbye to each of them personally. Pretty impressive, actually, that you could keep track of them all.”

He smiles, resigned. “You do know me too well. I can’t believe you noticed that.”

“I’m Mark,” I say dryly. “I always notice things. It’s what I do best -- observing.”

“Did you tell anyone else?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I figured you must have a reason for keeping it quiet. I respect your decisions. I just wasn’t going to let you off so easily.” I hesitate, unsure of whether I should ask or not, then plow ahead. “Why are you leaving, may I ask?”

His eyes evade mine. “Just wanted a change, I guess,” he says, offhandedly. I stare at his face closely, trying to figure out what exactly he means by this, when I notice that he’s still sweating more than usual. His face has gotten a bit thinner, too, recently, and there are shadows under his eyes. I narrow my eyes, examining him. This looks familiar. This looks like -- oh.

“Tom, when did you stop taking your AZT?” I ask softly.

He gapes at me, then shakes his head, grinning wryly. “Right after Angel died,” he says. “Mark, I don’t know how you do it, but you’re a marvel.”

I ignore this last comment. “Why?” I demand.

Collins sighs. “I just didn’t see the point anymore. Why I should keep prolonging my life, when others are so easily taken away. What more can I give to the world? I was relatively healthy, in spite of everything -- I could go on for a while on my own. Long enough to wrap up any of my affairs. And see, I lasted. For quite some time. You know,” he adds, wistfully, “at first, I felt better than ever.”

“And now you’re dying,” I say, scarcely whispering.

He laughs, hollowly. “Mark, I’ve been dying for years. It’s just now, I have a more, ah, comprehensive timeline.”

“How long?”

“My doctor gives me a month, maybe six weeks,” he says bluntly. “He says if I see Christmas, it will be a miracle.”

“So why are you leaving?” I demand. “You have friends here, practically family -- you should stay with us.” But I know the argument is futile. He’s already shaking his head.

“So you can watch me die?” he says quietly, but with heat. “So you can watch me waste away, like I watched Angel turn into a ghost? Dammit, Mark, that’s not how I want to be remembered. You of all people should know that.”

And I did. “What are you doing, then?” I ask, defeated. “Where will you go?”

“I want to travel again,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “To see Europe. First stop, Athens. I want to visit the Parthenon again -- if they’ll let me in. From there, who knows?”

“What about money?”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “I have enough saved up, more than you might think. And Angel left me more than anyone would have expected him to have. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. I won’t be needing it for long.”

Collins stands, glancing at his watch. “I called for a car to pick me up and take me to Newark,” he says. “It should be here in about five minutes. Could you help me carry my stuff downstairs?”

“No problem.”

The car is already waiting when we get outside. I help Collins dump his three bags into the trunk, then stand on the curb to say goodbye. “I wish I could go with you,” I say.

“No, you don’t,” he retorts, shaking his head. “It’ll be slow going, for me. Especially at the end.”

“I thought of a reason that you should’ve kept, um, ‘prolonging your life,’” I say impulsively. “To see what happens. In the world, I mean. And among friends. To see where everyone ends up.”

He smiles gently. “I already know, in here,” he says softly, tapping his head. “You’ll become a famous, award-winning filmmaker. Maureen will finally make it in Hollywood, and Joanne will become the highest-paid lawyer in the U.S. A new drug will be created, a cure for AIDS, so Roger will become a world-famous rock star, and he and Mimi will get married and have lots of beautiful, healthy babies. You see, Mark,” he adds, “I’m not like you. I don’t want to watch, observe. I have it all planned out perfectly in my mind, and I don’t see any reason for life to disillusion me.” He hugs me. “I’m glad you figured me out, anyway. Now you can tell everyone that I love them.”

“Bye, Collins,” I say, as he gets into the car.

“Bye, Mark,” he replies. He pulls the car door closed, but rolls down the window. It’s warm, for the morning after Halloween. The sun is just beginning to rise, and I suddenly feel exhausted. I’ve been up all night, after all.

The car begins to pull away, and Collins waves goodbye out of his open window. “Keep in touch!” I call after him. I’m not sure why I said that -- I know he won’t. I guess I just figured it was worth a try.
----------------------------------