On a haystack near a fire, I drink slow

 "I feel like it would be really easy to drink at work."  Comedy Girl stands to the right of me in a wedding dress with puffy sleeves, red Chucks and her hair sculpted to one side.

"We could just put beer in the fridge in the break room, I think that should be acceptable on Fridays." I say and she nods her head.  We watch others in costumes mingle outside the conference room as the office anxiously awaits the costume contest.  Fan Boy, a mad scientist with blood covering his scrubs, stands on the other side of me.

"If I don’t win I’m throwing a fucking fit." He announces.  I’m wearing jeans and my favorite sweater with dinosaurs on it and am only slightly disappointed that I didn’t dress up for the office festivities.  Those in costume shuffle in the room one at a time and answer questions given by three judges whom I don’t know and probably work on the sales side.  

The owner of our company does the Borat voice really loud while trailing the cubicles that line the walls and he recently brought in an arcade game machine to make the atmosphere more "fun."  We have a meeting in which he tells us we should e-mail him about our ideas for improving comradery in the office and give it a more exciting atmosphere.

"You know," I say to Comedy Girl, "I should send him an e-mail about my Friday beer idea."  She laughs and goes in for her evaluation.  Comedy Girl gets second while Fan Boy eats a sugar cookie with crushed red peppers for three dollars.  The day slides on. 

In years past I was never totally fucking excited about Halloween.  The date would sneak up on me slowly and by the time it rolled around I’d have now slutty and/or clever costume and no immediate plans.  It would mostly remind me how much more awesome it is to be a kid than to be 20 something, self loathing mild alcoholic with a low paying editor’s position.  I see those thick frosted sugar cookies at the store and remember my picking out cheap ones for my fourth grade class party.  I remember going up to the rich neighborhoods to trick or treat and never being satisfied with my costume.

I’m 24 and I’m at a backyard party around 1 a.m. on Halloween.  There’s a bon fire with hay stacks around it, a wheel barrel full of cheap beer and a horror movie playing with a projector on the back of the shed.  There are girls in the store bought slutty costumes and a dude with working Gargoyle wings.  The inside of the house smells like pricey pot and the outside smells like a nice Phoenix night, with the tall city buildings over looking the yard.  Fan Boy, the Boyfriend and I sit on a haystack near the fire, drink slow, and talk shit about the whorey girls and douchy guys.  We like to call it, "self deprecating elitism."   

Later the three of us chew up mushrooms "from Indonesia" and I feel the wave of relaxation seep into me.  I watch the tracers on the blue skulls that line the path outside and lay my head on the boyfriend’s shoulder.  Comedy Girl and her boyfriend cuddle in a blanket and laugh at everything and I wonder back towards the fire.  I watch the others around the fire and suddenly I feel the urge to go.

"Can you drive?" I ask the boyfriend who wipes the sweat out from under his Super Mario Brothers hat.  He says he thinks he’ll be fine and we say our goodbyes.  We pass the marijuana filled living room and I can’t wait to be in the security of the boyfriend’s car.  We talk fast on the inside and the street lights on the freeway smear past me.  The road begins to looks like a one of those racing video games and the lights everyone have taken to wobbling as we speed down the streets of Central Phoenix.  Despite the obvious danger involved in driving from Central Phoenix to Mesa at 3 a.m. high on shrooms on Halloween, we laugh at ourselves, are wide eyed and giddy.

We make it home and spend the rest of the night and part of the morning lounging on the futon listening to Etta James and eating ice chips.  The night is sort of remarkable.   

The next day I lay on the futon with my hair hanging off the side and try to stay awake.  I start to doze off and dream about Halloween when I was kid and eating orange frosted cake in an elementary school classroom.  The cake is warm, right out of the oven and I’m dressed like a witch, what I always dressed as when I was little.  In the dream, I’m antsy and excited, waiting for the end of the day, feeling happy and comfortable.  The boyfriend nudges me and I jerk back to reality. 

"Did you have a good time last night?"  He asks and I stare at his long eye lashes for a second. 

"Yeah."  I say, rubbing my eyes, "it was just like old time."