Lance and the Living Costume
On Halloween morning, Lance woke up, very excited. Ever since his disaster the year before,
he’d been planning, rehearsing, accumulating props. He had come up with what he believed
was the most impressive costume ever! In fact, it was more than a costume. It was an important
work of conceptual art!
This Halloween, Lance was sure that, not only would he get more gummi candy and birch beer
than he’d ever dreamed of, but he’d also go down in history as one of the most important
artists of his time, if not of all time.
Lance called his idea, "The
Living Costume." He would leave his home, dressed as an infant.
Then, as he journeyed from house to house collecting candy, he would actually age --
moving from one phase of life to the next!
His route was carefully laid out. He had even designated certain wooded areas as
"Life Transition Break Spots." He planned to use them as hiding places where he could
secretly change his make-up and costume, transforming subtly from one age to another.
To prepare for this feat, Lance had studied each stage of life, extensively. He had
spent hours imitating the baby next door, taking detailed notes, mimicking his
grandfather’s walk, his scowl, his confused mumbling. And now that Halloween had
come at last, Lance felt that it was time for all of this research to pay off. He
was ready!
Lance spent Halloween day resting, checking and double-checking his bag of accessories,
while his little sister, Mallory, watched. Smirking, she kept saying, "Lance, you’re
so stupid! Halloween’s about getting lot’s of candy! That’s all!"
Lance just laughed. Of course, candy was important, but what about ambition?!
Authenticity! Creative self-expression! Mallory didn’t even know the meaning of
these deep concepts. Once again, she was trick-or-treating as Bo Peep, and once
again, she had secured the dog from next door, pathetically dressing it as a sheep
by wrapping it up in an inside-out, wool-lined winter jacket. Lance granted that
her costume was a reliable pick -- very cute, very lucrative. But there had to more
to Halloween than pandering to the neighborhood’s worst impulses!
Realizing that the conceptual nature of his costume could mean slow going, Lance ate
an early dinner, then left while it was still light out. No trick-or-treaters had
started yet. Lance decided that this was probably a good thing -- it’s best to keep a
distance from mediocrity.
Dressed in nothing but a diaper, blanket and pacifier, Lance crawled out the front
door, dragging his bag of props behind him. He dribbled and flailed about, looking
dazed, overwhelmed. It took him a full hour to reach the house next door, but Lance
was so focused that, to him, it felt like seconds. Lance’s costume proved so
realistic that, instead of giving him candy, everyone gave him jars of baby food.
This annoyed Lance, but he realized that, as a baby, he couldn’t honestly demand
anything else.
After a few houses, Lance decided that he was able to walk. Two houses later, he
began to speak. His first words were "candy" and "gummi." Sadly, the woman of the
house couldn’t make them out. She gave Lance nothing, but she did change his diaper,
which Lance appreciated very much.
Within a few blocks, Lance was a full grown boy. Happy to be out of his infancy,
he ran from house to house. He didn’t even have to stop for make-up, because, as
a boy his own age, he didn’t need any.
Unfortunately, this costume didn’t impress anyone. No one wants to give candy to
a boy dressed as a boy his own age.
A few blocks later, Lance slipped
into the woods for a quick "Life Transition
Break." Using red make-up, he gave himself lots of pimples. He put on a sloppy
wig of long, unwashed hair. He cut holes in his jeans, stood up tall and lanky.
By the time he left, he was a perfect disaffected teenager!
Lance was just about to approach a house, when he realized that no teenager
would go around asking for candy. Once again, proving his commitment to
authenticity, Lance decided to mope around aimlessly, humming rock songs.
Luckily, he’d remembered to bring a prop pack of cigarettes. He lit one and
took a drag. Coughing violently, he trudged on ahead.
Bored by teenage rebellion, Lance eagerly embraced young adulthood. He decided
to give up smoking, cold turkey. It was hard at first, but after a few blocks,
he got used to it. Sporting a dapper, fake mustache, he began to interact with
his neighbors again -- ringing doorbells, making polite conversation. Of course,
he secretly hoped for candy, but he was too proud to ask.
As an adult, candy was even further out of the question. It was more believable
to ask for practical things, like a job or money. Even these were refused him.
Sensing that it was getting late, Lance tried to pick up the pace, but
his cumbersome costume made it difficult. He had a pillow in his shirt
designed to look like a paunch. It kept slipping down into his pants,
forcing him to run into the woods to adjust it. Also, his bald head wig
was much too big, making it hard to see. Worst of all, it began raining,
causing Lance’s make-up to run, his fake mustache to droop and fall off.
Miserable, Lance wondered if he’d made a mistake. All the other children were
probably home, sorting through their candy. Lance was out alone, with virtually
nothing to show for himself. Could Mallory have been right, after all?
"No!" Lance insisted to himself. He must fight such doubts. Candy was just candy,
but his living costume would live on forever!
Encouraged, Lance burrowed into the
woods to prepare for his grand finale.
Using rubber cement, he made his skin all wrinkly. He spray-painted his hair
white, and slid a cushion under his shirt to act as a little hump for his back.
Remembering all that he’d learned from his grandfather, Lance emerged moving slowly,
feebly. He trembled, wheezed, muttered nonsense. But it took so much effort, that
by the time Lance reached the next house, he felt faint from exhaustion. Leaning
against the door frame, he rang the bell, weakly.
A small boy answered. His face was smudged with traces of pirate make-up, and in
his hands was a large, half-eaten gummi bat!
Lance’s mouth watered. He wanted the bat so badly that he couldn’t speak. He
just drooled and sputtered, "G-g-gummi candy. . . gummi candy!"
The boy was so disgusted that he slammed the door in Lance’s face. Quivering,
Lance wouldn’t leave the porch. He just stood there screaming, "Gummi candy! Gummi
candy!!!" until the boy’s mother threatened to call the police.
Staggering away, Lance began to cry. He wanted to just give up, go home. But
suddenly, he realized that he couldn’t. . . . He had no idea where his home was.
He was lost!
Lance searched frantically as it grew darker and darker, but it was no use. Finally,
he fell through a twisted wall of branches and collapsed to the ground. His teeth
were chattering, his stomach growling. He was so tired, so hungry! Desperate, he
dumped out the contents of his Halloween bag. There was nothing but baby food,
but Lance didn’t care. He opened a jar of strained peas. With gnarled, old,
shaking fingers, he shoveled it all into his mouth. He couldn’t taste a thing.
Full of regret, Lance pondered how his living costume could have turned into
such a nightmare. He must have approached it wrong. But where? What could he
have done differently? All Lance knew was that this was a dark, lonely waste
of a night -- the worst Halloween ever!
Snuggling into the mud, Lance closed his eyes tightly, trying to forget, make it
all go away. Next year! he thought. Next year would be better. Next year, he’d
make up for all of the rotten Halloweens of his life!
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