A Wish for Ashley

It was 1991.  Halloween night.  We lived in New Hampshire back then.  My sisters and I dressed up in our costumes. I was a ballerina cow.  Seriously. It was a custom made outfit.  We each grabbed our orange plastic jack-o-lantern buckets and hurried out the door to begin collecting candy.  “Wait! Make sure you grab a bucket for your brother!” my mom called.  I doubled back to the kitchen counter and scooped up a second bucket in my spindly seven-year old arms.  My brother was only 15 months old, but boy, he loved candy.

My mom drove us 15 minutes- my sisters and I could not be convinced to walk the 100 yards between houses on our streets in the biting cold, so my mom shuttled us to the nearest condominium complex.  5 feet between doors. Awesome.  Yeah, spoiled much?  When we arrived at the complex we tumbled out of the minivan and my mom told us to slow down.  We danced in place- partly out of impatience, partly out of need to stay warm- as my mom strapped baby Ryan into a sling on her chest.  As we approached the first door, my mom handed Kayla my brother’s bucket and reminded us to make sure we asked for candy for him.  We nodded and reached up to knock.  “Trick or treat!”

The kind adults dropped one piece of candy into each of our buckets, as my mom watched- cautious as ever- from 8 feet away on the sidewalk.  They were usually just about to close the door when either Tara, Kayla or I would remember Ryan’s bucket and pipe up: “This is for my brother,” and we would gesture back to my mom and Ryan strapped to her chest, “he can’t walk.”  The adult’s eyes would widen. And my sisters and I watched, confused, as they proceeded to empty their baskets into Ryan’s bucket.  How is that fair?  We each get one piece? And he gets 20?!  We’re doing his work for him!

And so it went door to door.  Us girls earning one piece of candy with each enthusiastic trick or treat.  “Oh and this is for my brother, he can’t walk” we would repeat over and over.  And each time his bucket filled up with handfuls of candybars.  We were nearly done for the evening and my sisters and I were fighting over who had to carry Ryan’s bucket, as it was chock full and heavy,  My mom noticed and asked, confused, why Ryan had so much more candy than we did.  We shrugged.  “Well what are you telling the people when you ask for candy for him?”  “This is for our brother.  He can’t walk,” nine-year-old Kayla told my mom.  She started laughing.  So much so that tears came into her eyes.  We were baffled.  “Girls, when you say he can’t walk, they probably think he’s handicap.  Not that he’s a toddler.”  We laughed all the way home.  And 15 month old Ryan had enough candy to last him to his 15th birthday.   

Words are interesting things.  They can heal. They can hurt. They can be misinterpreted and create funny situations.  They can be misinterpreted and create chaos.  Words have always fascinated me, for their power to break and to unite.  So when I say things, I try to make sure I mean them.  Before I say things, I try to think about how those words will be interpreted.  Ashley, I hope that day we can once again exchange words, you’ll know that mine can be trusted.  I hope that we can communicate in such a way that neither of us will be misinterpreted.  But if ever our words are, I hope they will create laughs.  Maybe we’ll end up with a bucket full of candy to laugh over for years to come. 

Happy Halloween to my amazing A Wish for Ashley-ers. Happy Birthday to my amazing Boyfriend.  I mean it when I say thank you so much. I mean it when I say I love you so much.

With love (and too much candy left over- how is it that we only got 8 trick-or-treaters?!!),

Audra