Seems it’s time for some fun … here’s a memoir initially drafted and revised over several days in front of fifth graders, who chose the topic from several I gave them. Today I dust it off with an appreciation, greater than ever, for the power of improvisation …
Mom hung up the phone. “That was Diane’s mom. There’s a costume party at church and Diane asked if you want to go.”
“YESSSSS!” I shouted.
“That’s what I just told them.”
I loved dressing up. I used to do it for book reports in my fifth-grade class. Once I was Aslan from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which was really fun, except that my tail kept falling off. How exciting to have another opportunity to be someone or something else! What will I be? Maybe I can talk Grannie into taking me shopping for a gypsy costume, or maybe a cowgirl …
“Here’s the thing,” Mom went on. “They’re coming to get you in about an hour.”
“Oh, no!” I cried. “I don’t have a costume! What will I wear?”
Mom smiled. “We can think of something.”
She had improvised before. When my sister and I were maybe six and eight, we went trick-or-treating dressed as a little old lady and a little old man. Mom found a flowery dress for my sister and suspenders for me. She drew wrinkles on our faces with a brown eye pencil, dusted our hair white with baby powder, and even sketched a little mustache above my lip. When I saw the photos later, I didn’t recognize us; I even asked, “Who are these short old people?”
Now Mom went down the hall to the linen closet. She came back to the kitchen with a white sheet.
“M-o-m-m-m,” I moaned, “that’s lame. I don’t want to be a ghost.”
“Who said anything about being a ghost?”
She somehow twisted the sheet around me until it looked like a long white robe. She pinned the part around my arms so that I had long, floppy sleeves. She followed me to the bathroom where I looked at myself in the mirror.
“What am I supposed to be?”
Mom said, “You figure it out.”
She walked off and left me there.
I could not go to the party like this. I didn’t look like anyone or anything; I just looked silly. This was worse than being a ghost.
In the mirror, I contemplated my long brown hair, which came to my waist. What I could I do with it?
Suddenly I wanted to look really creepy. I grabbed Mom’s comb and hairspray. I teased my hair until it was wild and looked like I’d never combed it a day in my life. Kind of cool, but not enough. I fetched my watercolors from my room. Back at the bathroom I painted big, black circles around my eyes. Better, but I still didn’t feel finished yet.
Mom came back to check on me. “How’s it going?”
“Ok. I need something more. I don’t know what.”
Mom studied me for a minute, then disappeared from the bathroom. She returned with a bottle of white shoe polish. “This might do the trick!” She proceeded to sponge my arms, hands, face, and neck with the shoe polish. The thick white liquid dried fast and started cracking. My skin looked like old plaster beginning to flake off. It was awesome, like a zombie or something.
My sister came to investigate. “What in the world ARE you?”
“You better watch out,” I said in a raspy voice, holding my hands up like claws in the air. “I am DEATH.”
“Whatever.” My sister rolled her eyes. “All I can say is you look better than usual.”
“Get out of here!” I snapped.
Right then, the doorbell rang. I ran to throw it open: My friend Diane, of course, looking very beautiful in a fancy Snow White costume. She even had short black hair like Snow White with a red bow tied in it.
She stared at me for a minute. “What ARE you?”
“Death,” I replied. “Bye Mom!”
When we got to the fellowship hall at the church, I saw princesses, cowboys, astronauts, cheerleaders, football players, Superman, and a mummy. All night long these characters came up to me, asking, “What ARE you?”
“Death,” I said.
“Coooooool,” they all nodded, except for the mummy. He said, “That’s weird. Death is something that happens. It’s an event. Not a person. How can you be Death?”
“You’re a mummy,” I told him. “You figure it out.”
I had fun creeping people out with my wild hair and my crackly skin, which someone said looked “ancient.”
Then some grown-ups worried that the shoe polish might not wash off.
Uh-oh. I hadn’t even thought of that … had Mom? How long would I be stuck looking like this?
I was worrying about it near the end of the party when my name was announced for having the best costume. Unbelievable! No one but Diane knew that I had slapped this together at the last minute, without any kind of plan. You never know what you can do until you have to. Then I went bobbing for apples and not only did I win that contest, I set the record for the fastest time: one second! I held my breath, dunked my head in the freezing water, pinned the apple to the bottom of the tin tub so I could get my teeth in it, and came up with it so fast that my long hair flung cold water across the crowd, making all the costumed characters scream and laugh.
“Hey, Death, hey, Death,” they called, “your scary face just got washed away!”
I was just me again.
And secretly glad.
Photo: Ghost (cropped). TCtroi. CC BY-SA