Every year on the 31st of October, the dead walk among the living and the things that go bump in the night come out to play, but it wasn’t just another dark and gloomy O’Hallows Eve. On this Halloween, the moon was full and ran red and the night was pitch black as if the stars never rose to light up the skies. The wind howled like the creatures of the night. The limber trees haunted homes as they screeched against windows and walked among us. Even the bravest of children dared not to stay out too late, not even for the sweetest of candies, for the Llorona and the Cocuy roam the streets.
These monsters and bogymen weren’t the only things bumping in the night. Cops stationed on every street corner on full alert; not for Michael Meyer wrecking havoc on white suburban teens but for a cryptic wild beast running on pure instincts prowling the streets of Laredo. The dog-like creature stared into oncoming traffic lights with his large, black, emotionless eyes. It stood there confused by the bright lights and the fading sounds of the car horns. Cars swerved and curved to the right and left as the brown-fur covered creature roamed down main streets. Pedestrians could only describe a pointy-eared creature with fangs drenched in saliva. A “Were-Wolf” they called it.
The following morning, after the havoc the creature caused, the sun rose unlike it never had before. The sun burned brighter than ever and its rays pierced the skin and heated the ant-infested sidewalk like a kitchen skillet. The now very human were-wolf awoke behind an abandoned house sunburned by the rays of the sun flashing through the trees and to the bites of ants.
Now here is where the story takes a turn towards the Ripley’s Believe It Or Not! The so-called “Werewolf” was nothing more than a drunk roaming the streets in costume. It would have made a hell of a narrative if only it wasn’t me.
Every story has a beginning and mine begins neither in the streets of Laredo or passed out behind an abandoned house but at home after a close encounter with by-the-book bitch of a RA, Britney and her throbbing vein with what she claimed was a party complaint but the Roman Gladiator, his Goddess, the half-naked Spartan with a Trojan Condom helmet, the Werewolf, his Goldilocks, and Bob rejoiced as the music boomed and drinks were drank either way. The night did not end there nor did it truly start till after ventures to Tonic, the oasis for minors and putas…mmmm…..Putas, how I love them. We stuck out like white kids in the ghetto, well it didn’t help that we did have two white kids, a half-naked Spartan, a goddess, the hairball bob and the werewolf. We must have been the only guys there without Polo boots. The music boomed, bumps grinded, and for some reason we played football at the club. But just as all good things come to an end the clock struck 2 and the club stopped the music, turned on the lights and stopped serving alcohol but the night was still young. We loaded the cars and pushed the petal to the metal because the Gladiator was able to obtain bracelets to the most anticipated party of the year, La Hacienda Halloween After-After Bash.
As we arrived, the parking lot was insane, overflowing with cars spewing drunks like crazy. I can honestly say not a single car met the parking standard of the Texas Department of Motor Safety and every individual would had been arrested for Public Intoxication. As we made our way towards the doorway filled with stumbling drunks, the colorful character began to emerge, provocative sailors, manly pirates with eye shadow, playful demons, sinful nuns, honest crooks, manly women, innocent bunnies, drag-queen pharaohs, apples, bananas, and typical ghouls and goblins mixed in with drunks and whores. On that ghoulish night, La Hacienda ballroom was cloaked in white linen, but you would have never noticed with the rave-ish light machine. The room was submerged in reds, blues, greens, yellows, and even purples. The image was surreal and trip-like, but the effects of alcohol began to take a toll. I decided to step outside to smoke a cigarette to calm my nerves but being the maschismo I am, I told the half-naked Spartan to keep an eye on Nicky, my Goldilocks. I don’t need any chulos hitting on her.
As I ventured out toward the real world, the effects of the too much, too drink hit me. The nicotine bull-rushed me altering the drunkenness. All I felt was relaxed, free from stress, and one with the world. I was Atlas and Hercules had lifted the earth’s burden from my shoulders. As I strolled back to the hysteria of the party, I could feel my face overload with sensation as the wind brushed upon my face. I could see the electric charges sparking within my brain. Signs, fast food logos, and fading headlights of passing cars, all flashed and streamed together in a frenzy of streaks of vibrant colors meshing like a living Van Gogh. It truly was a Starry Night. Every step was effortless, almost like floating or walking on water.
Once again I found myself at the entrances, drowning in a sea of drunks. I swim-moved maneuvered like a lineman through the crowd only to discover myself alone in the color prism ballroom. I stood still surveying the room of chaos and frenzy. The half-naked Spartan and my Goldilocks were nowhere to be found. Ironically, the harder you seek an object, the harder the objects hide within plain sight. Then I spotted them. They were dancing on a platform, the last place I ever imagined them to be. I stood there like a blemish to the world unnoticed by the human eye as time simply slid away. What were mere seconds felt like an eternity. They danced and danced merrily, the speaker boomed to the regetton beats of Daddy Yankee and Don Omar, the lights flashed in every color of the rainbow and melted in your mouth. Whether it was the alcohol, drugs, or the subconscious finally breaking, a spark ignited like a silent rage bubbled within me, consuming every sense of logic leaving a void in its path. My teeth grinded against each other and my fist clinched as my presence went unnoticed and they gaily danced as if the world was butterflies and rainbows.
I made my way towards the bar to do what any other belligerent alcoholic would do: grab a beer. Well for me at least, alcohol was Jesus Christ, my savior and answer to all my problems and prayers. Ever since my first heartache at the age of 14, I found refuge and sanity within the comforts of alcohol. At least for that day, just how a year is never short of days, I was never short on alcohol. It was simple, rise and repeat; it was the circle of life, my life. Well, on this particular night, the amount of alcohol and the severity of my anger denied me my happiness, like a slippery slope, it was all downhill.
As I shuffled through the faceless faces, I derailed off-course amongst a scenic route with two beers in hand, one for now and the other for later. No matter where I ventured, the half-naked Spartan and Goldilocks were never far from sight, there they stood like giants high above on the platform among the common people. But even the scenic route came to an end and so did the beers in hand, and once again as if by the power of some spell, I stood cloaked unseen by joyous frolickers. I had already endured two lifetimes unnoticed, the silent rage broiling within morphed into a supernova burning hotter than the hottest sun. I plowed through the ghouls and goblins to comfort the “heartburn” with an ice-cold beer. Before I even asked for one, I had a beer in hand and at that moment I fell in love with the bartender, like a brother of course. Now I don’t remember the bartender’s name so let’s call him…”Jesus” for the sake of the story. I drank and drank and drank some more. Not once did Jesus allow me to have an empty cup, as if he transformed air into beer. Now that is what I call a “modern day miracle”. Never in my life had an event such as this ever transpired.
“Where have you been silly?” said a voice.
I nearly spilled my drink as Jesus popped into the air. Jesus doesn’t seem like the type of person to scare easily. That damn golden-lock Nicky blindsided me and Jesus with a smile of course. Why wasn’t I surprised? How wasn’t she aware of my feelings even though I wear them on my sleeves? Could she really be so na’ve?
I looked her straight in the eyes and took a drink. I said nothing to her as Jesus casually refilled my cup.
“Well!” she said, “apparently I did something.”
I looked her straight in the eyes, took another drink and said nothing.
” I’m just gonna leave…be careful and I love you, “she said.
I just stared into the cup of my bubbly amber joy and returned to the feeling of being unnoticed. I wonder if a lifetime flashed before her eyes waiting for a word, any word, and yet I was unable to say those three little words she desperately sought for, let alone any other word. I did mumble what seemed to sound like a bye. With her arms folded amongst each other she gawked directly at me piercing my soul with the “fucking-asshole” face. Even Jesus stood paralyzed as she disappeared amongst the ghouls and goblins, drunks and whores. As I drank my never ending cup of beer, a zillon thoughts rushed through my head. Guilt began to set in…
They were only white people dancing…
You didn’t say anything AGAIN…
You shouldn’t have smoked out…
It’s all your fault…
Did you overreact…
All these things and many others ran through my head. Then, fear hit me like a fastball to the face.
You let her walk alone…
We parked over a block away…
It’s fucking Halloween, douche bag…
And full of cholos…
My imagination, overactive and graphic in nature, ran and ran like a Kenyan. And oh boy did it run. I envisioned a brutal mugging, vicious rapes, never-ending murders, the twisted metals of what was her car and for some reason, death by Velociraptor.
“Thanks Jesus.” I chugged my beer and ran. I couldn’t let any of those cholos or raptors touch a single golden strand my Goldilocks’ hair. I swam like a Nose-Tackle in a sea of infinite linemen but instead of crushing the Quarterback, I was saving my Goldilocks. I emerged from the chaos and dashed through the parking lot like an All-Star Runningback: spinning, jumping, juking, and, if you could even imagine it, I swear to God I might have even stiff-arming a random cholo in slow motion like a cheesy 90’s montage. I high kicked it through the parking lot untouched and determined as I hear an all too familiar scream. My imagination ran wild and got the best of me, all I could think about is that damn raptor. My heart pounced faster and faster nearly breaking free from my torso. With an additional burst of adrenaline, I rounded the corner crashing into a Gay Pirate. I paid no attention to the pirate but my senses staggered from the collision. My vision wasn’t blurry but multiplied and once the three compositions aligned, a rage unlike any other rage I’d ever constructed erupted like Mount Saint Helen. A rage more potent than that of a cheating lover’s confession, more potent than the hatred for my father, more potent than the jealousy for my brother, a rage more potent than all of these combined for my eyes deceived me. My eyes beared witness to Nicky grasping the half-naked Spartan’s arm, giggling the night away. And here I had worried for her sake and feared of raptors.
For the first time in my life, I erupted like my father and like the drunken madman he was/is, I yelled from the top of my lungs. “Hey!” My lungs burned in scorching pain. “Hey!” I yelled again. The blazing fire flares into a wildfire as my advances go unnoticed. The wildfire flares higher and higher and with one last yell belched from the pits of my stomach I launch another “Hey!’
This time around I do not go unnoticed, the ghouls and goblins, drunks and whores, the half-naked Spartan and Nicky all acknowledge the madman as the alleyway went silent. My vision is tunneled like a horse with its blinders and all I see is bloody red and the victims of my carnage to be.
“Pintale ala chingada!” I bull-rushed them sensing their fear and confusion. The Spartan simply retracts into the darkness. I turned to little Miss Goldilocks thinking :
Was my love too hot?
Was it too cold?
Why wasn’t it just right?
I saw my reflection in her eyes full of fear, overbearing and belittling her in stature. Her eyes watered up like a misty morning ready to rain and encase themselves in gloss. Her lip quivered as if she was about to burst into tears. The thing about Nicky was that she wasn’t Goldilocks walking in the wild committing felonies. Nicky was a delicate flower in a world filled with sunshine, rainbows, butterflies, and every other gay thing you could imagine. There were no raptors in her world unless it was a British raptor candy-coated in pink with fairy wings and a Toto. Her parents never once laid a finger on her, let alone raise their voice at her.
All that followed was Tex-Mex gibberish that I, myself, could not understand. Nicky, stuck in a state of shock driven by fear, stumbled to answer my pleas and staggered mere mumbles. Her inability to answer me added fuel to the fire. In a sudden burst of rage, I returned to old habits and swung at the wall, piercing two layers of sheetrock and a layer of restroom tile, three layers in total. My arm, from my fingers to the top of my shoulder, lay covered in white sheetrock/tile dust tainted by the blood from my knuckles.
“Dime ala chingada!”
She says nothing, and only releases a whimper. At the moment, her world is destroyed and for the first time in her life, fears for her life.
“Dale!” I grabbed her by the wrist and yanked. She flops like a rag doll. She tries to run away but with every step her heels sink into the ground and all she does is cry.
The fires that burned hotter than hell are subdued, but only for a moment. The fire slowly rekindles to the brink of its last breath as the reality settles in. The fire roars, sending wave after wave unlike anything I’d ever experienced before destroying everything within. I became the man I sought never to become. A man who was only present through his absences, and just as my mother predicted I had absorbed his traits and flaws like a sponge. It was as if he led me by the hand, teaching me his way. The prophecy had come full circle. I was my father’s son, and I had broken my most valued sacred vow: To never lay a finger on a woman.
In another burst of flaring rage, I pierced another hole through three layers of thewall. My hand reemerges in bloody sheetrock dust with shards of tile lodged in my fist. The pain is almost non-existent and my mother’s voice plagues me with the images of my father’s violence and abuse.
“Get away!” she yelled, “Just leave me alone!”
I attempted to escort her to the car to no avail. She only walked faster toward her car as if it was the base in a game of tag and she ran as if it was for her life.
It’s ironic how I never imagined these outcomes in my overactive imagination. There was no mugging, rape, murder, car crash, and no raptors. Just me and a shard-infested fist. I did what seemed like the right thing to do and drink my sorrows away. Plus, Jesus would know what to do, but Jesus said and asked nothing. He only continued to serve me beer after beer. That cup was never quite as empty as I was, no matter how much I drank. Everything in the room lost its shimmer and shine. The colors became hues and tints merging into one. The ghouls and goblins and every character became nothing more than random people that lost their illusion of fantasy. There was a time when I was one of many. I was amongst a Gladiator, his Goddess, the half-naked Spartan, my Goldilocks, and even Bob. Now I was one of a few left alone with no friends or a lover by my side. For the first time that night, I walked to the door untouched for a breath of fresh air, and what was supposed to be a breeze became a 5 mile walk to nowhere.
Now we find ourselves in the beginning of the story, except we now know the truth. There was no werewolf, no raptors, no provocative sailors, manly pirates with eye shadow, playful demons, sinful nuns, honest crooks, manly women, innocent bunnies, drag-queen pharaohs. There weren’t even any apples and bananas or ghouls and goblins, but rather just drunks and whores and lost souls. As I roamed the streets of Laredo, I prayed to be struck by a drunk driver and to be delivered from this misery but no such driver fulfilled my desires. Cars bombarded me with their car horns as they swerved and curved, nearly hitting me.
“Dude, are you OK?” strangers would ask as they cruised alongside me. “Get in…there are cops on every corner.”
“Call lem…let lem callmmm…”
If I couldn’t get hit by a drunk driver then I would get arrested. But no such cop came.
In the end, I continued to walk like a stray with no destination in mind until I stumbled across a message from God as I literally fell in front of a church. I made a promise as I dropped my mask and continued to walk with a new hope in sight as the frigid cold began to settle in. For logics unknown to me, I intended to break into my mother’s old house but to no avail. I simply passed out in the backyard losing the one I loved, only to awaken in the hospital with Goldilocks by my side.
On that O’Hallows Eve the moon was full and ran red. The night was pitch black as if the stars never rose to light up the skies. Whether it was the alcohol, drugs, the breaking of the subconscious, or the full moon, a monster from within emerged and nearly destroyed my life. Even though I promised God I would never drink again, He took matters into his own hands and I awoke a new man with a golden-lock angel by my side and kidney damage from years of drinking. Just as every story has a beginning, it has an end but in my story’s end there was no life after death with goblins and ghouls or even raptors, but rather a new beginning.