When I was 6-years-old, I made my mother sew together a devil costume. When I was 7, I made her buy me a Peter Pan outfit. By the time I was 16, I decided to buy my own costume in the form of a fake ID so I could go out to the bars as Alfonso Jones, a 21-year-old college student.
Flash forward to last Saturday, I found myself in costume again, this time as a metrosexual pussycat with pierced cat ears and a furry leopard print tie that took two Marilyn Monroes and a Tigger to properly tie. It was in the midst of my preparation for the Halloween costume party that my friend Owen gave me a call, having been spooked by a revelation about his now ex-boyfriend.
"My ex-boyfriend did porn," he bemoaned. "Just when I got over him someone decides to send me a copy of it." He paused. "I’m sending you a clip."
Two minutes later, I found myself seeing Owen’s boyfriend in a new, albeit poorly lit light.
"Do you think it’s really him?" he asked me.
"The whole leather mask thing kind of makes identification difficult," I sighed.
"I can’t believe he did porn," Owen sighed. "He didn’t even like getting his picture taken."
"Apparently he got over that in spades," I giggled. "Who knows, maybe this can be a whole new venture for him. I mean, his acting is a little wooden and he comes off stiff in front of the camera, but that might be a plus in the porn industry."
"You’re getting far too much enjoyment of this," Owen hissed. "This is going to haunt me forever."
Owen quickly logged off and then I found myself suddenly confronted by one of my own demons: The Russian
"How are you?" I asked as I adjusted my cars.
"The world sucks," he replied. "I’m depressed and I don’t want to talk to anybody about it."
"Well if you need to talk to somebody I’m here for you," I said to him before logging off and heading to the party.
A few hours and a game of UV lemonade pong later, I was out on the back porch of the costume party with my friend "Julia," telling her about The Russian.
"What bothers me the most about all of this is that I care at all about how he feels," I sighed.
"It’s like I need a Russian exorcism."
"We can do that as long as you promise not to puke green pea soup," she giggled.
"I can make you no promises," I laughed.
At the bars, surrounded by angels and devils and cowboys and other things that go hump in the night, I kept thinking about those ghoulish figures that continue to haunt all of our lives.
"A drink for each one of you," the bartender said to Julia and myself, pointing down to the end of the bar.
There he was, Julia’s ex. Apparently, I wasn’t the only being haunted.
"He’s like Casper but with a bar tab," I smirked, waving hello to him.
Several more drinks and more hours of dancing, include some sweet moves from a Napoleon Dynamite impersonator, I decided to drag my pussycat tail home.
Before I went to bed, I decided to log onto messenger to see who was online. I smiled when I saw a particular name lit up as bright as a Jack-O-Lantern.
"Hey there," I said.
"Hi," he replied. "How are you Jon?"
"I’m good," I answered.
And even without spells or a witches’ brew, I still somehow had managed to revive a seemingly dead relationship.
"How are you Mr. Ridley the Rugby Player?"