Present Perfect (3 page)

Clearing my throat, I looked him straight in the eye. “Please, talk to Mom and tell her to let me be a cowgirl for Halloween.”

“Now Amanda, you know how your mother is once she gets an idea in her head. Besides, from what I can tell, it’s a pretty cool looking costume.”

Sweet baby Jesus,
please don’t let insanity run in the family
.

“But Daddy, you’ve only seen it laying on the coffee table. It just looks like a pile of feathers.”

“You know, Amanda, you are very lucky that you have a mom who loves you enough to make you a Halloween costume. There are children in China who aren’t that lucky.”

“Do they even have Halloween in China?” I asked.

“I’m sure they do.” His attention headed back to the TV as the volume rose.

I leaned across the arm of the chair, twisting my body so I was looking up, trying to redirect my dad’s attention back on me. “Maybe we could send them my Tweety costume and I could be a cowgirl?”

“That’s a nice idea, but they don’t know who Tweety is in China. They don’t get Sesame Street over there. Now, let me finish watching the news.” His eyes were focused straight ahead.

I pushed off of the armrest and stood. “That’s a different bird, Dad,”

Standing up straight, I stared at him for a few seconds, but he had already lost interest in my problem. I huffed loudly and pursed my lips together before turning and walking away, knowing I had lost another battle.

Halloween day finally arrived. We were allowed to wear our costumes to school for the party that day. That morning when I walked into the family room, I found Mom bent down picking up a pile of feathers that had fallen off my costume. This had become a daily ritual that made me smile and gave me hope. If the feathers didn’t stick, there’d be no chick. Maybe my cowgirl dreams would come true after all.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Mom, would it be okay if I didn’t wear my Tweety costume to school? I don’t want to get it messed up before tonight.”

She placed the armful of feathers on the coffee table, stood up quickly, and turned in my direction, trying to hide the pile of feathers behind her. She didn’t want to admit the fact that Tweety had a serious molting problem. She hesitated for a moment, running her hand behind her neck a couple of times as she glanced back at the pile of feathers.

“Sure, that would be fine. It will give me time to spruce it up a little before tonight. How about you go to school as a cowgirl. You mentioned about being a cowgirl, right?”

Only about one thousand times.

When the time had come to get ready for trick or treating, Mom had secured all the feathers back on the leotard. My cowgirl dreams had been dashed.

The rest of the Tweety costume consisted of an old pair of fuzzy bedroom slippers, spray painted gold for my feet. A few extra feathers were left over, so Mom decided Tweety needed a headband. Then she brought out this sizable jar of greasy neon yellow makeup that I was sure was laden with toxins. It looked like something she had from the 1980’s, when apparently, it was cool to smear your child with poisons. The last bit of humiliation to be added was a handful of glitter that she poured over me, coating my head, arms, and chest. I looked like the love child of Big Bird and Liberace.

The time had come. I tried to delay going outside for as long as possible, waiting for the sun to disappear completely from the sky. I figured darkness would be my friend. It was a warm night, so Emily and I didn’t need to wear our jackets. I was willing to risk a high grade-fever in order to hide this yellow-glitter- incrusted nightmare that I was wearing, but Mom wouldn’t hear of it.

Emily and I always trick or treated together. It was her job to hold my hand, ring the doorbell, and say trick or treat. All I had to do was collect my candy. This year, since she was 10 years old, Emily wanted to go with her friends. Mom made, what I felt was, a very poor parental choice when she allowed Emily to go with her friends instead of staying with me and continuing this sacred family tradition. Didn’t she think of me at all? Didn’t she understand that I would suffer a severe candy deficit, without Emily by my side
?

We were standing at the bottom of the Dean’s driveway, I swallowed hard as I watched my sister walk away with her friends to another neighbor’s house.

Mom must have sensed my fear because she drew me in close to her side and whispered, “You can do this, Amanda. You’re a big girl now. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your sister was five when she started going up to the doors by herself. I’ll be right here.” She let go of my hand and took a step away from me.

I continued to stand there, frozen. I felt abandoned and alone. I hated it. I was terrified of a monster opening one of the doors. I had never seen a monster in our neighborhood, but there was a first time for everything.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t seem to move my fuzzy gold feet. I felt my face getting warm as butterflies took over my stomach. I was so scared to move. My eyes began to sting from the tears that were building up. Although, they could’ve been caused by the poisonous substance that was smeared across my face.

I took in a deep breath as I looked down, trying to find my courage, when I noticed a small pile of yellow feathers that had collected at my feet. My eyes followed the trail all the way back to my house. The street was covered with so many feathers, it looked like the yellow brick road. When I glanced up I couldn’t believe my eyes. Walking towards me was Andrea Morgan dressed in a full Dorothy costume with her little dog too.

I looked over my shoulder at my mom, then up at the Dean’s front door, then back at my mom.

“Go on, Amanda. Don’t be a baby,” Mom said.

Tears began to trickle down my face. I needed to make a decision. Time was of the essence. I needed to suck it up, walk up to that door, and get some candy before the rest of my feathers flew off, leaving me naked as a Tweety bird.

I looked back up at the Dean’s house. I saw my friends walking down the driveway, with their bags overflowing with deliciousness. Deliciousness that I wouldn’t be getting if I didn’t get a move on.

Then I saw him, my knight in plastic armor, with his light blue eyes peeking out from under his hood along with just a little bit of his dark brown hair.

I got excited every time I saw him. Noah was a lot taller than I was. I was pretty short for my age. A few kids at school liked to tease me about it, but not when Noah was around. He never let anyone be ugly to me.

He was coming down the driveway, by himself, and headed straight to me. His bag was loaded with candy.

When he got to me, he took the sleeve of his shirt and wiped my tears away. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not getting any candy tonight. My feathers are falling off, and I’m going to be naked in the street.” I was sobbing so hard that my words came out like hiccups. We both glanced behind me. “See all the feathers?”

“Open your bag up.” Noah started filling it with handfuls of candy from his bag.

“Noah, you don’t have to give me all your candy.”

“I’m not giving you all of it. I’m giving you half.” He smiled at me and I knew everything was going to be alright.

After we made the candy transfer, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the Stevenson’s driveway. I jerked my hand out of his and stopped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take you trick or treating and show you there’s nothing to be scared of,” he said.

I looked up at Noah and gazed into his trusting eyes. I reached out my hand timidly and he led me to the next house.

Noah walked me up to the front door and rang the doorbell. My heart started beating faster and my palms got sweaty. The door slowly opened and Mrs. Stevenson stepped out, dressed like a big fat cat. She made me laugh. Noah dropped my hand long enough for me to hold my bag open and for him to wipe his palm off on his costume. Mrs. Stevenson gave me
two
sour apple Blow Pops because of my bravery that night.

After a few more houses and my bag filled with candy, Noah and I walked hand-in-hand down the last driveway. Stopping at the bottom, I turned and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, Noah.”

He smiled. “I’ll always take care of you and make sure you have candy, Tweet.”

It was the first time he called me by the nickname that would stick with me forever. And despite my total disgust with the Tweety Bird costume, I didn’t mind being called ‘Tweet’ at all by Noah. In fact, I loved it.

The unpredictability of life sucks. One minute you’re riding high with the wind whipping through your hair and the next minute you’re flat on your ass with a face full of gravel.

I had always had a passion for cycling. From the very first moment I sat on my red tricycle I knew bike riding was for me. I had gotten my first big girl bike for my eighth birthday. It was the most amazing bike ever made. Most of my girlfriends had pink bikes. Mine was yellow. I had recovered completely from the Tweety trauma, and yellow had become my favorite color.
Go figure.

My bike was beautiful and different. No one else I knew had this color bike. The tassels on the handlebars were made up of white, yellow and silver threads with glitter. The wicker basket was white and silver. The white banana seat had silver specks that looked as if they lit up when the sun hit them. The spokes of the front tire were adorned with white and silver beads, and the spokes of the back tire had a noise maker that sounded like a motorcycle. Yeah, I was a badass on a yellow and silver bike.