Resurrection

Chapter Three

It plays out in her mind as if she sees it in a rundown theater, played by an aging film projector as the film degrades.  Grainy and choppy, sometimes with harsh cuts, and always the music of the moment underscoring each scene, her eyes the screen through which the Halloween of nightmares unfurls.

...tonight works, winky face.  Tonight works, winky face.  Tonight fucking works.  Not for me it doesn't.  It doesn't work for me.  It hasn't worked for me for years.  And you know it, too, don't you, Chad?  Goddammit, my makeup must be a mess.  Who gives a shit?  I'm supposed to look like a clown anyway.  There's Annika...

Claire walks past the Bride of Frankenstein and Wolfman making out on her friend Annika's front porch.  She notices the Freddy Krueger smoking weed under the porch light glance at her cleavage with a smirk.  

Annika invites her into the house.  Her friend wears a medieval tunic with an aluminum foil-wrapped piece of cardboard stuck in her belt.  Her bare feet are covered in weird patches of fur. 

"I'm a hobbit!" she screams over the dance music blasting from her living room.

...just get me a drink, Annika dear, I don't care if it's gin or vodka or fucking moonshine, just put something in my hand and get me the hell out of my head...

The Texas Tea in her mason jar is sweet and easy to gulp down.  How many types of liquors go into Texas Tea she lost count.  The cramped living room floor vibrates with each beat as the bass synchronizes the sweating occupants.  An Edward Scissorhands grinds against a Princess Peach.  A Statue of Liberty is making out with a Maleficent.  Two different versions of Keanu Reeves from different franchises pose for a selfie.  Halloween thrums in their bodies, Halloween and the relief of another midterm passed, a week of nights holed up in libraries without sleep conquered.    They've done it, and damn it, they deserve to have a little fun.  

Claire has already lost her gaudy baseball bat, lost it somewhere around drink number two, but at least she's not crying anymore.  She even manages to laugh when an Ursula trips over one of her own tentacles and breaks the lamp on an end table.

...you should have just come with me, Chad, you son of a bitch.   If you'd just come to the party with me, I wouldn't even have known.  There wouldn't have been an accidental text to whoever-the-fuck.  Stop lying to yourself, Claire.  I would have found out.  Someway or another Chad would've slipped up.  Better now than later.  You son of a bitch, I'm so sick of you and your lazy cheating ass...

She spills her guts to Annika on the back porch.  The text, the months of unhappiness, the money, how embarrassed she'll be to tell her parents her high school sweetheart was a grade-A piece of shit.  Her face is hot and snot pours from her nose.  

Before she can warn Annika, the roiling cesspool of liquor and unhappiness churning in her stomach spews out across Annika's hobbit feet.  The hobbit screams and flails her hands helplessly as Claire staggers away apologetically, wiping her dripping mouth and stammering "sorry" between retches.  Sexy Angel and Sexy Nun come to Annika's rescue and sweep her into the house.

Claire holds up the post next to her as she tries to gather her bearings.  Her stomach is a lot better, but she can't drive home like this.  Then she sees him sitting by the fire pit alone.  He's dressed like a pirate and has a plastic parrot velcroed to his shoulder...

...a little bit chubby, but sexy face.  I like his beard.  Is it drawn on?  Who cares?  I need to sit down...

She zigzags across the lawn to the lone pirate and plops down next to him on a lawn chair.

She says, "Did you see that?"

"I didn't think it would ever stop." 

"What... Me crying about my boyfriend?"