Halloween Night And The Groper

At dusk you could hear the excited voices of children yelling, “Trick or Treat!” throughout the neighborhood. Parents hung back as children crowded open doorways listening to occupants complimenting their costumes before handing out handfuls of candy.

“Did you say thank you?” a parent would ask.

“Thank you!” the child trudging through the orange and yellow leaves, would yell to the silhouetted figure in the open doorway.

“You’re welcome,” the occupant’s reply would echo into the night.

The activity began to die down as my youngest son and I dressed to go out, too. Even though he was in the fifth grade, I insisted on going with him as he trick or treated.

I had made a belly dancing costume from gold lamé, black and gold lace and gold sequins for a prior photography assignment about fantasies. I dressed in the costume, combed my long blonde hair into a pony tail and applied sparkly eye shadow and rouge. I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror.

“I’m glad I work out,” I murmured as I turned to check out my backside. “I look good!”

I was enrolled in a Liberal Studies program at the local community college. I always took more units than was required for full time status. I’d found that taking physical education classes helped to keep me alert, relaxed and focused on my coursework. One of the classes I took was free weights. It really toned my body and made me strong.

“Mom! Are you ready?” my son yelled.

I opened the bathroom door. “I’m ready.” I said.

My son stood in front of me wearing a ratty T-shirt and holey pants. He had smeared dirt on his face and was holding a metal baseball bat and a pillowcase. He had told me he was making his own costume.

“What are you?” I asked.

“A bum,” he replied.

“Oh. Uh…okay.” I answered. I wasn’t going to complain. As a single mother of two boys, I had experienced some pretty tight times. If his costume didn’t cost me any money, I was going to accept it.

We walked out into the night, smelling the decaying leaves trampled under our feet. I walked my son down our street and up to each lighted doorway. After the fifth house, a young man walked up to me, smiled and licked his lips, before walking past me. He had no children with him.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as gooseflesh traveled from my shoulders to my hairline. I gripped my flashlight, tightly.

I leaned down and whispered to my son. “Let’s wait until he’s not looking and then give him the slip.”

“Okay,” whispered my son. “What do you think he’ll do?”

“I don’t know, but he creeps me out.” I said. “Let me hold your bat.” I took the metal bat and handed him the flashlight.

Moments later, we slipped down an alley illuminated by porch lights. We walked quickly to the end and came out one street west of where we lived. We started the trick or treating process again. I carried the bat between the houses and handed it back to my son before the occupants opened their doors to treat him.

My son knocked on the door of the house at the end of the block. He turned to hand me the flashlight and take the bat. The young man we had given the slip, came walking rapidly towards me. He grabbed my gluteus maximus and squeezed hard while walking past.

“How dare you do that in front of my kid!” I thought as my anger exploded.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” I roared, swinging the metal bat as hard as I could. I heard a crack as I made contact with his upper arm.

My son burst into tears. The door of the house swung open as the young man started running away.

“Excuse me,” I said to the woman standing open mouthed in the doorway. “Some guy just grabbed me and I nailed him with this.” I held up the bat with my left hand as I comforted my son by putting my right arm around him.

“Oh,” the lady said. “Would you like to come in and call the police?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I said to her.

I leaned down to look in my son’s teary eyes. “I’m okay. He just grabbed me. I think I hurt him worse than he hurt me. The police will get him.”

My son calmed down and we entered the lady’s house. She guided me to her sofa and handed me the phone. My son sat on the carpet at my feet, stunned. The lady looked up the local police phone number and recited it to me as I dialed it.

A police woman took the report over the phone. She told me that I was the second person to report being groped by the young man. The other person was a fifteen-year old girl.

“You might want to check emergency rooms for him. I think I broke his arm.” I described my angry reaction to his grope.

She chuckled. “I guess he grabbed the wrong person.”

After I hung up the phone, I thanked the lady who had invited us into the safety of her house. Then we stepped out into a much colder night.

Are you ready to go back to trick or treating?” I asked my son.

“No,” he said. “He ruined Halloween for me. I want to go home.”

We walked home. As we walked up the driveway to the house, I said, “Get in the car.”

“What?” asked my son.

“You’ll see.” I said.

I drove to 7-11. We went in and I had him pick out $5.00 of penny candy. We returned to the car and he poured the bag of candy into his pillowcase.

“Wow. This is better than going door to door,” he said. “And I got the kind of candy I wanted.”