seeds, ate a portion of its contents, and threw the rest to the sparrows.
She was losing weight, but her resolve to stay on the diet was tested when Rene suggested trick-or-treating together. She had given up that fall ritual two years ago—too babyish. But she missed dressing up in costumes that she assembled from boxes of clothes in the garage, and missed the sound of candy falling into a grocery bag.
"I'm going to go as a nerd," Rene said, straight-faced, before he erupted in laughter.
"But, Rene, you're a nerd all the time!" Marisa laughed and begged him to please keep his cell phone in his pocket, not on his belt. She hugged
him, called him "my precious
nerdito,
" and told him how proud she was that he had retired his white socks.
But neither went trick-or-treating. Rene had to hand out candy at his house, and Aunt Sara asked Marisa to do the same at her place. Aunt Sara was working the night shift at the hospital and didn't want to leave her house empty on a night when not only goblins and spirits but downright nasty thieves broke into homes. She left Marisa with a pizza and three bags of candy to hand out.
"I shouldn't," she told herself as she pulled a cheesy slice of pizza toward her mouth. "I really shouldn't." But her tongue rolled out, and she bit into the slice. Her eyes fluttered closed. It was too delicious. She took a second and third bite and then wiped her fingers on a paper napkin when she heard the shuffling of little feet at the front door. When the doorbell rang, she snatched a bag of candy from the coffee table.
"Trick or treat!" screamed three girls, all princesses.
Marisa rained big chunky candies into their bags, and showered more into the bags of the next herd of trick-or-treaters.
She was kept busy. When the hordes finally stopped coming, she returned to the kitchen with
her mouth watering for her half-eaten slice of pizza. It had grown cold and gooey, so she popped it in the microwave and returned to the front door when the bell rang.
"Trick or treat," a crew of three guys croaked, their deep voices sounding like frogs.
"Hey," one of them said after he grabbed three fistfuls of candy. "Ain't you Marisa?"
They're from Washington,
she guessed.
"Yeah. Who are you?"
The guy stripped off his mask. It was a screaming face, modeled after a painting that had been popular since he was a baby. But he was no longer little, though his pants were riding low. He had a faint mustache and his teeth were yellowish from cigarette smoke.
"Joel," Marisa said. "Aren't you too old for trick-or-treating?"
"
¡Chale!
I could do it two more years." He threw two fingers up like a pitchfork. "After that I'll give it a rest, and then when I get my kids, I'll push them in the stroller."
"¡Qué gacho, carnal!"
one of the friends cried with laughter.
Joel's friends stripped off their masks. Marisa recognized one of them, and the other was someone she had never met and would rather not know—a chain of bluish tattooed tears fell from the corner of his right eye.
"You moved,
qué no?
Is this your crib?" Joel asked as he leaned around Marisa and peered in. "I like the couch.
Es muy firme
for,
tú sabes,
a little action."
"It's my aunt's place."
"Your
tía
home?"
"Yeah, she's home." Marisa's heart began to thump. Joel wasn't the worst guy in the world, but he wasn't an altar boy, either.
"Too bad," Joel crowed as he wiggled his hips and threw his arms into the air. "We coulda partied. You feel me?" He brought a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit up. "Hey, how come you moved to that
gabacho
school? Don't you like us losers?"
Marisa thought fast and conjured up a lie. "My mom made me. She said I was messing up."
"I'm messing up, but my mom don't move me." Joel giggled. "But that's smart of your mom, caring about you and everything." He sucked on his cigarette and let out a wafer of smoke. "The word is you're all stuck-up, too good for us." Joel's face became slick with meanness, his teeth like rows
She was losing weight, but her resolve to stay on the diet was tested when Rene suggested trick-or-treating together. She had given up that fall ritual two years ago—too babyish. But she missed dressing up in costumes that she assembled from boxes of clothes in the garage, and missed the sound of candy falling into a grocery bag.
"I'm going to go as a nerd," Rene said, straight-faced, before he erupted in laughter.
"But, Rene, you're a nerd all the time!" Marisa laughed and begged him to please keep his cell phone in his pocket, not on his belt. She hugged
him, called him "my precious
nerdito,
" and told him how proud she was that he had retired his white socks.
But neither went trick-or-treating. Rene had to hand out candy at his house, and Aunt Sara asked Marisa to do the same at her place. Aunt Sara was working the night shift at the hospital and didn't want to leave her house empty on a night when not only goblins and spirits but downright nasty thieves broke into homes. She left Marisa with a pizza and three bags of candy to hand out.
"I shouldn't," she told herself as she pulled a cheesy slice of pizza toward her mouth. "I really shouldn't." But her tongue rolled out, and she bit into the slice. Her eyes fluttered closed. It was too delicious. She took a second and third bite and then wiped her fingers on a paper napkin when she heard the shuffling of little feet at the front door. When the doorbell rang, she snatched a bag of candy from the coffee table.
"Trick or treat!" screamed three girls, all princesses.
Marisa rained big chunky candies into their bags, and showered more into the bags of the next herd of trick-or-treaters.
She was kept busy. When the hordes finally stopped coming, she returned to the kitchen with
her mouth watering for her half-eaten slice of pizza. It had grown cold and gooey, so she popped it in the microwave and returned to the front door when the bell rang.
"Trick or treat," a crew of three guys croaked, their deep voices sounding like frogs.
"Hey," one of them said after he grabbed three fistfuls of candy. "Ain't you Marisa?"
They're from Washington,
she guessed.
"Yeah. Who are you?"
The guy stripped off his mask. It was a screaming face, modeled after a painting that had been popular since he was a baby. But he was no longer little, though his pants were riding low. He had a faint mustache and his teeth were yellowish from cigarette smoke.
"Joel," Marisa said. "Aren't you too old for trick-or-treating?"
"
¡Chale!
I could do it two more years." He threw two fingers up like a pitchfork. "After that I'll give it a rest, and then when I get my kids, I'll push them in the stroller."
"¡Qué gacho, carnal!"
one of the friends cried with laughter.
Joel's friends stripped off their masks. Marisa recognized one of them, and the other was someone she had never met and would rather not know—a chain of bluish tattooed tears fell from the corner of his right eye.
"You moved,
qué no?
Is this your crib?" Joel asked as he leaned around Marisa and peered in. "I like the couch.
Es muy firme
for,
tú sabes,
a little action."
"It's my aunt's place."
"Your
tía
home?"
"Yeah, she's home." Marisa's heart began to thump. Joel wasn't the worst guy in the world, but he wasn't an altar boy, either.
"Too bad," Joel crowed as he wiggled his hips and threw his arms into the air. "We coulda partied. You feel me?" He brought a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit up. "Hey, how come you moved to that
gabacho
school? Don't you like us losers?"
Marisa thought fast and conjured up a lie. "My mom made me. She said I was messing up."
"I'm messing up, but my mom don't move me." Joel giggled. "But that's smart of your mom, caring about you and everything." He sucked on his cigarette and let out a wafer of smoke. "The word is you're all stuck-up, too good for us." Joel's face became slick with meanness, his teeth like rows
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