But Enrique slaps me on the back as we slow down to a walk. “Stanley, you’re a beast.”
“You too, Enrique,” I say, catching my breath. “You too.”
Chapter 16: THE FUNKY MUMMY AND THE HOT POTATO
I arrive home to find my mother leaping around half-naked, chanting incantations and burning a small bundle of sage, filling the house with sweet smoke. From past experience I know that she’s trying to cleanse the house of evil spiritual influences. Good luck.
The problem is that the burning sage smells like marijuana. The last time my mother and her friends did a sage-burning ritual with a big bundle at the elementary school, the boy scouts were in the building, too. The scout leader called the police. It took a while for them to sort that out, including a call to my mother’s Unitarian minister for a character reference.
Lately my little brother Josh has been giving me meaningful, searching looks. He doesn’t seem to trust me even after our pinky promise. This may have something to do with the fact that his cat Max still hisses at me almost every time I get near him. Or that my mouth waters, that I want to growl at Max and chase him. Josh may be little, but I think he can tell something is wrong with me. But he either doesn’t want to talk to me about it, or he’s afraid to. So it’s all I can do to get him to agree to play a game of Connect Four, but he drives a hard bargain. We have to listen to Raffi while we play. Max, though, isn’t soothed by Josh’s music, or our gaming. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found. My brother may be willing to play, but Max is keeping his distance.
The cat knows I haven’t become some animal-loving tree hugger. I don’t like it, but inside me there’s a predator who wants out. These days, dogs bark at me; cats, squirrels and chipmunks run away.
But I’m not thinking about prey. I’m not thinking about the pills. Instead, I’m asking myself: Should I go to Carolina’s party?
Am I afraid that Karen will be angry? No, that’s ridiculous. She’s made no effort to see me. What would she care? But maybe people will laugh at me. Or I’ll bite someone.
Maybe I’m just scared out of my wits.
At least it’s a costume party, and my costume is wicked funny. I’m a mummy. And not
one of those cheap ones covered with toilet paper either. My mother bought me like forty dollars’ worth of athletic bandage.
So I go. Alone. I’m one more mummy on the cold street, walking the ten blocks to Carolina’s party. Her house is just past the cemetery, on the way to the building site of the new mall.
I tried to get Jonathan to come with me, but he told me had three new anime films he just got through Netflix. I called up Enrique, too, but he told me he had to help his parents at the restaurant. And I don’t think Karen would fit in, even if it’s after dark. Even if she wasn’t avoiding me again.
As I arrive in front of Carolina’s house, I hope Karen isn’t mad at me.
From inside come the muted sounds of music and laughter. It’s the night before Halloween, so I don’t think anyone is going to mistake me for a trick-or-treater.
I need to walk inside now.
I walk up to the door and just stand there for a moment.
Maybe it would be better to go home. If only Enrique had been able to come, or even Jonathan. Anything beats being alone.
Then suddenly, the door opens. Too late. Meredith is standing in the door. And she’s a baked potato.
Either that, or an egg covered in aluminum foil.
“Hi! Wow! A mummy!” she says. “Come on in, it’s one big party in here!”
It slipped my mind that dressed as a mummy, I’d be just another guy to her, anonymous.
The laughter and music from inside is louder now. Some booming bass line makes the glass in the screen door vibrate.
The music vibrates through me and I feel like one funky mummy. For a moment the hunger, the thirst, the fear—all is forgotten. Look out world, I’m ready to party.
Meredith steps aside to let me inside, but it’s hard to squeeze by her costume. We get stuck next to each other for a moment in the doorway.
“This costume is driving me nuts,” she says. “Who are you, anyway? You have nice eyes.”
In my family everyone always says I have my mother’s eyes. Everything else is from my dad or some distant relative. I think it’s my best feature, and it’s kind of nice now having everything else covered.
“I am the funky mummy...” I say, and sure enough I sound like a chain-smoker. It’s hard to believe she can’t tell who I am, but with my whole body covered and only my eyes and hoarse voice to identify me, maybe it’s possible.
“It sounds like the funky mummy needs some punch.” She brings me to a table in the middle of the party.