The last time I dressed up for a Halloween party must have been when I was a Freshman in college. Long before I realized I could be sexy. While girls like, Jenna were dressing as seductive cave women, Dorothy with a short gingham dress and high heeled ruby slippers, I was somewhat infuriated by the sexual power a woman could hold and certainly scoffed and avoided the idea of me being sexy. Instead, I was complimented by my ability to get ready fast, with little makeup or fuss. My clothes came from places like the Gap, sweaters occasionally from Ralph Lauren.
“I look like the type of girl who can make a really good meatloaf!” I would sometimes say.
My sister would respond back, “The only thing is you don’t cook!” I would nod, shrug my shoulders and depending on the decade, would slip on my Timberland hiking boots or my Lands End wool clogs and look out at my parents’ land that I loved so much. After college, Halloween was spent at Ross Park for their Boo at the Zoo Celebrations. One year, we made up a mad doctor skit where I pretended to have my leg hacked into a thousand pieces, requiring one scream after another, until small children left crying. Other than the small children crying, it was fun. I understood fear, my life had been fabricated on its foundations so, when the thought of children’s nightmares was too much, the next year, I volunteered to run the “Monster Mash” station and wore the most benign looking monster mask I could find. And the year after, Shawn helped me sit in the woods and blow fire extinguishers at unsuspecting visitors, Shawn and I gossiping in the woods, had to be my favorite. After Tim left the zoo, Halloween became more domestic. Living in our small village, in my Grandmother’s old house, we were able to give back to our community and easily supply four hundred kids with sugar crack. In my memory, unseasonably high temperatures characterized those years with friends from Norway sharing our front brick steps, as my high school-ers, who were far too old to be trick or treating, came to claim my best candy.
I suppose I have never been much on Halloween. Maybe because my Mom makes it very clear she doesn’t like it, and I suppose our attitudes about Halloween and Christmas decorations all stem from our Mothers. Her dislike of Halloween is interesting given the fact that she always made a costume and always encouraged us to be creative, Amy agreed. We were never princesses, our mom’s mottos centered on, “Pretty is as Pretty Does.” And little clout was ever given to our looks. Instead, I, could be an apple made from a cut refrigerator box, ribbons slipping over my shoulders to carry the flat, apple shaped cardboard, carefully painted red, a small hole cut to fit my arm which would be covered with a green sock and given eyes to be a worm. Do worms even have eyes? Ames' mom used the cardboard to make a mailbox. Neither one of us were ever a Disney character or a princess.
Jenna, Amy and I had spent weeks thinking of what costumes we could wear. My clog wearing days had ended and Amy laughed when I insisted I needed to at least be a little cute. No to a zombie, no to a brioche!
“Why? That would be sooo funny! Brioche? Come on!”
“That is just admitting singlehood forever!” I responded back.
“No! NO! that lady… that lady….. the one who moved to San Francisco, she met her husband at a Halloween party and she was dressed as a falafel.”
“I don’t want to be a brioche” as my hand went to my double chin, something I am doing a lot more of these days.
It was on that walk around the city that Amy came up with idea of becoming a roller derby girl. Ugh, that is good, what on earth could I be!?
“A brioche.” She repeated, “Come on, it would be fantastic.”
“NO!” Silence.
The thought did occur to me that maybe Paul Wicks would dress up with me. He had saved our Christmas party by learning a Christmas carol in just three days. Maybe he would be game to be a famous singing duo or something. My constant state of melancholy had led to listening to Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond’s rendition of “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers”. The song from my childhood had re-entered my life my first year in Italy when Amy and I would sing on the path, synchronizing our ipods to play at the same time. My ipod played a Judy Collins version, hers Barbra! So when I said, “Barbra and Neil”, Amy thought it was a great idea, mostly because she thought I was admitting the defeat of Judy.
“I do have the nose!” I said, as my hand went to the bump, I have had since infancy, at the entrance of Decathalon where Amy hoped to find skates. We soon saw the only double wheeled skates they had were kids’ primary colored plastic ones that strapped and adjusted over your sneakers. As Amy was attempting to shove her size 10 foot in one, I finally exclaimed, “I want to be a roller derby girl.” arms crossing.
“I am going to have to duct tape them on, but they will work! Don’t you think?” She said, her toes curling over the edge, as I looked on pouting.
“Rebecca,” finally noticing my completely selfish actions. “So be one! Hey we could be on opposing teams and I will completely beat you up!” So that is how it happened, one pout, an empty threat and the roller derby extravaganza began.
Amy immediately started looking up names of derby girls on the internet, I didn’t really do anything except look at my butt in the mirror and wonder if I had any business showing it off in derby girl fashion. Amy also started lecturing me about keeping our costumes a secret, which was basically to the tune of “keep your big mouth shut”. I tend to be the talker, but in this case it turned out that Amy was the one who couldn’t keep it in.
“WHAT!? I realized I don’t like surprises!” she said with a laugh, as she caught my mouth open, as I caught her exclaiming to Jenna's entire birthday party, "Guess what we are going to be!?"
Jenna, hearing our excitement and loving Halloween herself, had taken to nightly skype dates with us that included a fashion show of costumes.
“I could be a stewardess.” Turning around in her tight pencil skirt and little white and red jacket, the scarf tied neatly at the neck. I can say quite seriously Jenna does not look like she has ever seen meatloaf, let alone tried to make it. Donning a sexy white dress next, “I could be Cleopatra? If I got a wig?”
The following night, she answered the call in a red shirt, tiny blue shorts and opened not with “hi”, but, instead that look where she scrunches her face, tilts her head, lifts her shoulder and said “Wonder Woman?”
“That’s my vote!” I responded.
For Amy and I, Wednesday afternoon would be costume-hunting day. Amy came to my room and my day ended as it always ends, with me saying goodbye to Justin on g-chat, closing the windows, shutting the lights off, as Amy and Mike wait impatiently in the hall. Once out in the parking lot, a bird flew over Amy and pooped on her jacket, as I laughed and she reminded me that maybe I should stop laughing and help her get it off. Oops.
So, two vintage stores and a stop at American Apparel, had landed us with outfits we were quite happy with. One more stop, Decathalon to pick up the skates we had seen two weeks ago and our costumes would be done and we could focus on getting the food we were now starting to desperately crave. Amy had worn heels all day, and had started to grow quieter with each advancing minute and she is never loud. I could tell she was reaching her limit when talk of McDonalds didn’t cheer her up. So, once in Decathalon we opted for the escalator over the stairs, and realized in the two weeks since we had been there last the skates had been moved to their winter position in the corner of the store.
“This… this is going to be a problem.” I said, immediately noticing the 1 and ½ pair of primary colored plastic skates hanging from the hook next to the hot pink and black roller blades. Amy had taken one pair and upon closer examination had realized they were adjustable and her toes no longer curled over the edge.
“Ames, this is going to be a problem.” I repeated a little louder and with that she looked up and saw the one lone skate hanging. Instantly deflated and switching to the doomsday, ‘I have been shit on by a bird’ mode she exhaled, groaned, her shoulders tilted to the ground, “I knew we should have bought these two weeks ago!”
After considerable coaching, she asked two workers the status of the plastic skates. The second worker was more helpful and when he asked if he could practice his English with us, I was instantly elated, as if I was now part of the game.
Amy: Do you have anymore of these?
Worker guy: nope
Me: Do you know where we could get some?
Worker guy: Maybe another Decathalon
Amy: Is there another in the city?
Worker guy: Yes, near Fratelli.
Amy: What metro line is that near?
Worker guy: Oh, you are without car?
Amy: Yes
Worker Guy: ooooh, that is going to be uncomfortable. I guess you could try a toy store, I mean that is what these things are, TOYS.
Me: How about, can I buy this one skate?
Amy (whisper): You can’t ask that?
Me (whispering right back): Why? I could wear just one. I could be a cheater roller derby girl!
Worker Guy: (Shaking his head no)
Me (a little louder now, voice heading to my throat, perhaps a little whiney): But what are you going to with this one skate?
Worker Guy: Well, umm….
Amy (really whispering): Stop it you are being belligerent.
Me: Seriously, how much? How much for one skate?
Worker Guy: You can’t buy it. We might find the other one somewhere in the store.
Amy: (shaking her head disapprovingly at me.)
Me: What!? I want a roller skate.
Worker Guy: (walks away)
Me: I am going to look for the other skate, it has to be around here somewhere.
“My feet hurt”
“Let’s look!”
“No, I am done.” As she sat down on a bench and underneath her breath said the key to it all, “It probably didn’t make the move.” With that I was following the path the skates had taken from their summer spotlight to their new winter home and there it was, on the floor. I jumped, I think I armed pumped, I might have even done Annie’s imitation of Nadia Comaneci winning the gold medal in gymnastics for Romania in 1976.
“Where is he?” I said, as I took off around the store skipping like my Mom acts when I come through security, I am not sure it is all that beautiful of a sight, let me just say there is a lot of hopping and some high pitched cooing involved.
I lifted the skates to the air, proclaiming for all to hear, “I found them!” and when he didn’t even look up, I put my arms down, took two more giant steps and lifted them again and said a little louder, “I FOUND THEM!” he looked at me and nonchalantly nodded. I turned and looked at Amy.
She said firmly, trying to end the nonsense, “He doesn’t care! Let’s go!”
Once on the street, heading to the taxi stand, I was completely out of my mind ecstatic and Amy was silent. Rambling of my victory, mumbling my jubilation, looking at Amy for her admittance to the grandness of my discovery, she finally interrupted my gaiety and said in a tone that was a little less then kind, “Yes, Rebecca, you are a winner, OK!?”
“I KNOW! Thank you, I don’t know why I needed to hear you say it, but I did. I was so right, I found the skates. YESSSSSS.” I was manic Rebecca, the one whose eyes go a little crazy and a cheerleader bounce and clap enters my step.
Soon we were home and Amy stopped being annoyed and started laughing hysterically with me. Fortunately or unfortunately, she somehow always encourages my mania and my shenanigans and quite honestly loves me for exactly who and how I act. Once safely home, we ran into our respective rooms and raced to get in our outfits, laughing the whole way. Amy’s outfit consisted of pink satin shorts and a mesh black tank top, matching black tube socks to her knees. My outfit: red boy brief underwear outlined in white, over black leggings and red tube socks with a blue and red zip up track jacket on the top.
“You picked your whole outfit just to match the skates didn’t you?” Amy said shaking her head, when she saw me emerge from my room.
“Yeah! Of course!” I said, as if there was no other possibility and a natural thought everyone would have, as Amy’s face said, ‘My sweet Jesus, how are we friends?’.
We were terrible, at skating, atrocious in fact. How could we be so bad? We had spent our childhood skating around our kitchen tables as Sheena Easton’s “Gloria” played on the record player and now we were screaming as we almost fell everywhere. I mean, of course there was the fact that the skates were made for children and we could only get our feet in them if we were in our stocking feet.
Trying to get into my room to update Justin on g-chat, attempting to avoid the cords of our non existent wireless internet, crashing into my door, reminding Amy that before we practiced any further she should perhaps pee, it has happened a time or two, that we have peed our pants three feet from the bathroom. Upon leaving the bathroom her pink satin shorts were pulled to her natural waist in order to be historically accurate and now a knot was tied in her black mesh shirt. She may or may not have had camel toe. As I sat on my computer, trying to update my facebook status and holding my computer in precarious positions in order to get a picture of my new skates on the built in camera, Amy started insisting I count the time it took her to skate from the kitchen to her bedroom. I had not finished my two earlier goals, so I appropriately lied on the first run, looked up and said, “Five seconds.” I gained focus when I realized she was serious about improving her time and started actually counting.
“Ten seconds.”
“BUT, I was totally faster this time!”
“Yeah, well, you might have been. I completely made up the first number. But to your credit, it seemed like five seconds!” Amy finally did get to 6 seconds and my facebook status was updated, “Roller Derby Saturday Night!!!!!!!! Outfits ready...now we just need to learn to skate or ‘A-Cup Killer’ and ‘Rebel-icious’ might go down without a hit. Amy is making me time her on how long it takes to get from the kitchen to the bedroom...what is she planning? btw 6 seconds!”
Soon, we started coordinating our skating with music. Amy playing her favorites from the 90's, which Lisa, Jenna and she had belted at the top of their lungs in our kitchen just three days earlier. Justin, not to be out done, battled across the ocean with his own tunes ranging from Blondie (my favorite) to Soul II Soul's "Back to Life"!
The night ended with pizza at our local Egyptian pizza place Canto VI. I have to be honest, I might be a roller derby girl every Halloween, no matter how big my butt gets! Skating is fun!
P.S. Amy just told me her mom never made her that mailbox costume. “Umm I have a confession, my mom never made me that mailbox costume. I was actually jealous of the mailbox. I figured it was a harmless lie, well unless you wrote about it, and then I would have to confess.”
Haaaa hahaa I love that girl!
