Tamara likes Halloween. I can't blame her. As far as holidays go, it's not too bad, with the free candy and all. She was very excited this year for the Eve of All Hallows. She bought a little pumpkin and some decorations to help entice the trick or treaters to ring our bell in quest for candy.
Yesterday afternoon I came home early, as I do every Monday, so Tam can fill in a few hours at work while I watch The Bean. As I approached the front of our apartment, I was presented with a ghastly display of cobwebs and spiders and all around ghoulish Halloween pageantry. And there, sitting by the flower box, was the little pumpkin. It was carved up ever so lovingly by my wife, and it sat as a Halloween beacon welcoming all to partake in our bounty of freely distributed confections.
I was pleased by the transformation of our entrance, but my good mood turned to dismay. I knew in my heart that the little pumpkin's sentry in our Halloween vestibule would be short lived. It was only a matter of moments before the school down the street would let out and unleash the throngs of students kept idle at their desk for eight long periods. The horde would flood down our street demanding retribution for the hours of algebra and pop quizzes thrust upon them. Our little pumpkin, merely a innocent bystander, was in mortal danger.
I felt a pang in my heart for the little pumpkin, and for my wife who would suffer the pain of the pumpkin's loss much greater than I. I was determined to warn her of the danger, and to beg her to remove our little sentry, at least until tomorrow evening. Yet, I had arrived home late, as usual, and Tamara was in a rush to get to work. There were babies to change and important messages to be relaid to an incompetent father. The thought of pumpkin mortality slipped my mind.
Tamara left for work, and I settled down at my desk to try and get some work done as The Bean began an afternoon nap. Pumpkins couldn't have been further from my mind. A while later, Uther, der gute hund, began barking at the front door. I assumed it was the upstairs neighbor fetching their mail. Little did I know a more heinous act was occurring. A few hours later Tam returned home. To my dismay, she found the pumpkin was gone. Tam fretted over the missing gourd, and she returned to the street in search of it. I tried to tell her it was pointless. The pumpkin was gone, but she searched in vain.
Why would someone lash out at a pumpkin so gentle, so noble. What cruel and heartless being could strike out so senselessly. I sat and stared out the window.
Tam couldn't accept that her little pumpkin had been smashed, and I just didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise. Today, while walking Uther down the street, she spotted it in a pile of leaves. Its skull was smashed. Maybe she needed to see it to help her move on, to help her realize that there are other pumpkins in this world, other jacks to be our lanterns.
Tam and Julie found three new pumpkins at a little market down on Garfield Ave. We carved them up. As we worked we didn't speak of the little pumpkin. Tam waited until after 4:00 pm, at least an hour after the school up the street let out, and then she set out the three new jack-o-lanterns to welcome the weary costumed wanderers to our safe respite of confection and cobwebs.
