Geisha Got Her Groove Back

I've always loved dressing up for Halloween. Digging through closets and rummaging through drawers to find various odds & ends - anything that might help piece together some inventive costume. And then the thrill of rushing out into the darkened streets, hunting under the moonlight. It always felt so wild and deliciously wicked. Putting on a mask or a costume is like putting on another persona - a you that rarely gets to come out. You feel a sense of abandon and freedom to be someone you're not - or perhaps more truly what the deepest part of you is.

I have prided myself on the fact that every Halloween since birth I have dressed up in costume - save for one year. The Halloween that I was 13 I thought I was too kool for skool. I stayed in and talked on the phone all night with friends, thinking I was too old for make-up and funny clothes. It wasn't until Midnight, when I heard the last of the mischievous cries of "Trick or Treat," that I realized that I'd missed out on a custom I truly loved. So I made a vow to dress up every year since then. And I kept it effortlessly...until this year.

I was enjoying the more low-key customs of Halloween - hitting the pumpkin patch, carving my Jack-o-lantern, boiling peanuts and watching scary movies. But I wasn't planning on dressing up. For some reason, it just seemed like too much work. For the first time since my 13th year, I felt too old for the tradition again. And I had given in to this concession, ready to settle for the little comforts.

But as I mentioned my plan to longtime friends, they're reactions shocked me. "But you ALWAYS dress up!" "You love Halloween!" It struck me hard and I felt a pang of disappointment in myself. But still I pushed it aside, thinking I'd simply entered a new, more settled phase of life. I was resigned...but the truly frightening part was that I was actually fine with that resignation.

Finally the night of Hallow's Eve came. I sat on my couch eating pasta, cuddled up for a warm night in. Flipping through the channels, I saw a TV special on vampires - the one fabled creature that has always held a special place in my heart. Something to do with the combination of hedonistic spirit and decadent eccentricity. I immediately thought of Anne Rice's Vampire Lestat. "What antics would he be up to this evening?", my imagination wondered. And that's precisely the moment that the spirit stirred within me. Faster and faster it spiraled up and outward, tingling my skin. And all those exclamations from my friends returned ringing loudly in my ears like echoed hauntings. Suddenly it wasn't enough to stay home. I needed to be...ALIVE!

And then I was mad. Rushing to the garage to fetch my costume box. Flinging paints and wigs and fabrics in every direction. I guzzled vodka with plastic spiders in the glass. I cranked up Michael Jackson's, "Thriller," and did a little jig. I tell you I was possessed! So much so that I made not one but two last minute, makeshift costumes that night. A secret, private one for me which never made it out of the house. And a more simple, fun one for the madness of the Boulevard.

That night, as I walked the crowded, howling, bleeding streets. I laughed to myself and gave a little wink to the moon. For I realized that my childish heart had prevailed yet again.