When I was a freshman in High School, my brothers were seven and five years old. Halloween had always been a big deal when I was their age, and it was still for them. A lot of effort was put into their costumes, when they didn’t just want a store bought one, and every year we would carve jack-o-lanterns that were made to the best of our ability with a knife.
It was always the same knife, the pen knife with the fake pearl handle that stayed in the kitchen to cut open packaging or the top off of milk cartons. When you unfolded the blade out of the handle, you could see how its shape had been changed from the sharpenings. Some day after school we would take our pumpkins on the back porch with a sheet of newspaper. I’d plunge the blade in the top of the pumpkin and work it around to cut out a lid, being careful to angle the cut enough so that the lid wouldn’t fall in, but not so much that the blade wouldn’t fully penetrate. Once the lid was off, we’d go to work on scooping out the insides and the seeds and laying them out on the paper. Some years, we’d have to take a break and go inside to stick our numbing hands under the water running from the cold tap. I always wondered at how it felt so warm. When we were done emptying them, we’d each draw our designs on them with pencil, and I would follow with the knife, taking pieces of pieces out to complete each design as drawn. By the time I was done, Mom would have finished roasting the seeds. I never really liked them but as a part of the whole event.
Finally we would put the candles in and light them. More often than not I would singe a finger, holding the match as the flame burned lower, waiting for it to complete lighting the candle wick. A bad blurry picture would be taken, with the jack-o-lanterns arranged on the front porch.
Later that night, after my brothers were finally asleep and long after the front light had been put out, I was in my room reading. The window of my room was right next to the front porch. I heard a car screech outside, and doors open. Footsteps ran up the walk under muffled laughter, followed by footsteps running back away. “There go the pumpkins,” I announced. My Dad was out in the hall, and ducked his head in.
"What did you say?"
"Someone’s taking the pumpkins."
He looked out the window. “Oh no they’re not, grab your coat and come on.”
I pulled my coat on as I ran out the door and jumped off the porch. I pulled the passenger door shut as my Dad pulled away from the curb. The tail lights of the other car were just at the top of the hill, moving in no particular hurry. As we approached them from behind, Dad told me to roll down the window. He pulled up alongside at the next stop sign.
"Is that your idea of fun? Stealing little kids pumpkins? Assholes!"
They took off fast after that, and we chased them all around our end of the county, trading expletives for minutes before finally heading back home.
There was a knock at the front door about an hour later. My Dad answered it, while I stayed in bed and listened. There was some sort of quiet exchange of words. When it was over, Dad opened my door to say that the pumpkins were back. He had called the police and the father whose car it was had brought his son over to apologize.
I went out the front door on my way to school the next day, to see three jack-o-lanterns on the porch, none of them I had ever seen before. Still, the principle of the thing, and all that. By the time I’d gotten to school, I’d forgotten about it.
I got reminded at lunch. Two of the biggest senior guys found me in the library. They wanted to “talk”. One of them was the guy who had to come over and apologize the night before, and he was in trouble at home over it, and he wanted some payback. He had brought his friend along just to be clear about how bad it was going to be.
"If I ever catch you out by yourself, there’s going to be trouble."
"Why, just because you’re an asshole?"
"Listen, we’ll drag you out of here right now."
"No, you won’t be." It was three of my senior teammates. "If we find out anything happens to him, and that it was you, there’s going to be trouble for you."
I don’t know where they came from, or how they knew to be there at that time. I didn’t even realize they knew who I was in particular. I wouldn’t say we ever became friends.
Funny how people can surprise you with what they do: my Dad racing around chasing pumpkins, or some guys not willing to stand aside. None of them had much to gain, except in how they saw themselves.
