Andrew, sneaking out of his foster home (it wasn't really sneaking, they'd already left with their biological children for trick or treating) with a white t-shirt he'd drawn on with a faded black sharpie - zebra.
Another t-shirt, tied at the sleeves and neck to seal them off gripped in his hands. His bag.
He goes trick or treating. No one asks why he's alone, there are enough parents and adults on the sidewalks to not set off alarm. He amasses a sizable collection of candy.
He hides at the park. If he takes the candy back to the foster home they'll take it. Tell him he had to ration it out (they really believe in vegetables) but he won't be there that long. He can tell. And the social worker won't let him take the candy with him. Waste. Loss.
He eats all his candy, alone, under the moonlight. Hard candy first - jolly ranchers and suckers crunched under the force of teeth (he doesn't have to time to linger). Softer fruit flavors next - skittles and gummy bears. Chocolate is saved for last. Savored for the end. The grand finale. He feels a tiny shred of peace, licking chocolate off his fingers so as to leave nothing left. Nothing wasted. Nothing lost.
Candyless, he lingers a little longer. He knows he doesn't have to focus harder to remember better. He'll remember with perfect clarity anyway. He always does. But maybe he can find a way to make this memory special somehow. Hoard it. Keep it separate from all the others.
In his mind, he builds a shelf. Keeps all the other memories away. Takes this one, this night, and gently sets it there. The smell of sharpie and trees. The taste of chocolate. The ache of sugar coated teeth.
In a moment of deep bravery, he cycles through his memories, looking for another nice memory he could put there. So it isn't so lonely in its solitude. After shivering from ancient fear rather than night chill, he finds one of a stray cat who let him pet it before darting away. One soft touch, one quick purr. He cut off the part of the memory where his foster parent scared it away. Just the petting. Just the purring.
Andrew returns to the foster house. It's late, and everyone is home and asleep. He sneaks back in with little ceremony, and no one asks about his night the following morning.
origamiaround
gummygunk
jacobvanloon
janainaart
