OUR FALL WAS SCARY

OUR FALL WAS SCARY

But he made it fun

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 Because I was eight years old and the only girl in the neighborhood at that time, my ten-year old brother always let me tag along with him and his friends.  (taken from my story, The Iron Man The Iron Man | Families)

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 Whether it was playing baseball with the boys or climbing the trees in the park or climbing on the statues to just sit and look at the people passing by, Frankie was sure to include me.

 Frankie was tall and lanky for his age and I wasn’t. Huh! While I never looked malnourished, I was still a skinny, little thing. At age eight years old, I was still wearing a size 6 in children’s clothes– and even they were a tad large.

 The only time our parents ever asked anything of my brother was when he insisted I “tag along” with him. “Please watch her. Don’t let her get hurt.” Frankie would roll his eyes as if he’d be careless with his little sister. But mom worried.

 Yes, mom worried more about me than they did about Frankie. Not that they didn’t worry about him but, as I said, he was tall, lanky, and rambunctious. He loved to explore, experiment, play sports, all the normal things boys did at the age of ten.

 Climb a tree? “Come on, Sis. I’ll help you up!” Play baseball? “Come on, Sis. You take this position here and all you have to do catch the ball.” Of course, the position he gave me was more in the “left out field”, than out field. I was part of the team but at a safe distance.

 If he and his friends went to the park, Frankie would hold my hand as we crossed the street.

 There was not one of his friends who thought Frankie’s devotion to his little sister odd. In fact, they were like big brothers who also looked after my fun and safety.

 As the months turned cool and Halloween approached, all the boys discussed our costumes. Most of the boys would dress as well, who knows what we dressed as. Our costumes consisted of old “dungarees” that were now too short for the boys, most of then ripped or worn at the knees, an old flannel shirt and, drum roll, please …. they’d get a cork, burn the end, and then smear the dark soot all over their cheeks and chins. Not to be undone, they did the same to me.

 Each year, we dressed the same. Except for one year.

 The year my brother turned thirteen, he let his imagination run wild.

 Visiting our local five-and-dime store, he found a skeleton mask. Before leaving the store, he walked down the paint aisle and found a small can of “glow-in-dark” neon yellow. Not just any neon yellow, it was very pale, almost white.

 Not saying anything to anyone but his friends and me, using a small thin paintbrush, he painted the entire skull but left the surrounding dark areas dark. In a dark hallway, all you saw was a floating skull – just the exact image he wanted.

 He asked his friends and me to stand back a bit and allow him to ring the bell first.

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 I really need to describe where we lived.

 We lived on a street in Brookly NY where most of the houses were three-family walk-ups. There was only a small handful of private homes in the area, but they were too well-lit. The hallways to the apartment houses were always very dark.

 Now, back to Halloween!

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 Most of our neighbors were caught off guard and slammed their doors while a few of the women screamed as my brother threw a dark cloth over his mask making the floating skeleton skull “eerily” disappear.

 After he was done scaring the neighbors, as a group, we’d go back to those houses, Frankie, now without his mask, and scream “Trick or Treat”.

 I really doubt anyone knew that it was my brother’s high jinx that almost terrified a few neighbors. He never told anyone and neither did we – until now!