entire

The Ghost of Angry Jack

Grandma Baker and I stood out in the pouring rain, milling over our choice for a potential Jack O’ lantern carefully. I picked up various pumpkins, feeling them for heft and softness. Once I found the perfect one, I showed it to Grandma Baker and carried it to the checkout stand, already set up near the entrance to the pumpkin patch! Mr. Gravy wore blue jeans and an oversized Kent State Hooded sweatshirt.

I paid for the pumpkin and carried it to Grandma’s pickup Truck. It’s purple exterior served in contrast to its leather interior. Grandma cranked up the heat. I started sweating. I had a shirt rolled up at the sleeves, whereas Grandma wore a big bulky coat.

The music of the windshield wipers lulled me into a pre slumberous state. I was eleven at the time. The radio started playing country, but I changed that to some good old rock n roll. Most kids my age were into hip hop or rap, or worse, that awful pop music. Not good stuff like from the 80’s. We’re talking about Demi Lovato, Miley Cyrus type garbage.

People that listened to that crap were sort of the dregs of society. Yeah, I was not the most popular kid in seventh grade. I was and still am a loner. The music kind of washed over me and I started to daydream. Only a Midwestern boy could fully appreciate a daydream. Midwesterners were sort of the daydreamers of the United States.

Many of them usually found their existence to be extremely repetitive. There was a circular motion to life in the Midwest. They got up every day, went to the same job, kissed the same wife, blah, blah blah. East Coasters had the opposite problems. They were too free. There was no need to be responsible, therefore they usually offed themselves with drugs because they felt unfulfilled. Later on, I would become a big shot novelist, but at that point in time, I was an anonymity, devoid of any form of identity. I found myself to be some faceless clay, hoping to be molded into something great. I pictured the highway patrol men telling my grandmother we would have to turn away because our neighborhood had been invaded by alien bacteria and it was turning everyone in town into crazed zombies- craving human flesh.

Grandma Baxter snapped me out of my daydream. ‘’That Julie girl will be stopping by the house tonight.’’

‘’Really?’’ I asked, trying to sound cool and not at all desperate. ‘’Any particular reason?’’

‘’I promised I would make a costume for her Halloween Party tonight,’’ Grandma Baker replied.

‘’I see,’’ I said.

‘’She’s awfully pretty: don’t you think?’’ Grandma Baxter eyed me.

‘’I shrugged. ‘’She’s okay I guess.’’

‘’Oh come on,’’ Grandma Baxter’s voice came off a bit accusatory. ‘’I’ve seen the way you look at her. And I’ve seen the way she looks at you too.’’

‘’Really?’’ I asked, allowing my cool guy façade to drop a little.

‘’Grandmother’s intuition, kid,’’ Grandma Baxter stated, ‘’Grandma’s intuition.

The rain made its pitter patter against the truck, and yet, in my imagination, the skies were clear and I was sitting under a big oak tree, hand in hand with Julie, reciting love poems I had written for her. In reality, to those who knew me, would probably balk at this, because my poetry was slimy and creepy, but, I had never been in love before. So who knew what love would do to my poetry. Another scenario I imagined, was Julie and I holding hands on a haunted hayride and whenever a monster popped out and scared her, she would bury her head in

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.10.2015
ISBN: 978-3-7396-2052-7

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
A young boy invokes an angry spirit when he takes home a pumpkin from a pumpkin patch