Greetings, Ripplemakers

Where Witches Go
by
Pamela Jenkins

Halloween was one of my favorite holidays when I was a child.  My brother and I looked forward to All Hallow's Eve with as much anticipation as Christmas.  We liked the chance to play dress-up and gather candy and sweets in the cool, Autumn night.

There were no store bought Halloween costumes for our family when I was a child.  My mother would raid her box of hand-me-downs and cast off clothing from her closet and we would create our own designs.  It might be old flapper dresses and costume jewelry, or my Dad's work clothes topped off with a Mexican sombrero.    

Our mother would then set us down and paint our faces.  Usually it was just her own cosmetics she used but with artistic flair she would create a masterpiece of disguise.  We would giggle and laugh, and pose for pictures before we left the house.

My parents would drive along slowly and follow us through the neighborhood while my brother and I knocked on doors and yelled "Trick or Treat!"  We danced with excitement in between the houses, hurrying along to try to fill our pumpkin buckets with as much candy as possible before our parents would declare it was quitting time and drag us protesting back to the car for the ride home. 

The year I turned four, I wanted to be a magical witch for Halloween.

Somehow we managed to pull together a witch's costume complete with a cape and little broom.  My mother painted my face a funny green and drew warts and big bags under my eyes.  I was very proud of my look as we left the house couldn't wait to run out that door to a world full of free candy.

After an hour or so, my dance of excitement turned into a dance of another kind.  In my hurry to leave, I had forgotten to take care of necessary business.  It wasn't long before my small bladder was causing me a lot of anxiety.  I knew if I mentioned my problem to my parents, they would leave right then and take me home.  No more trick or treating for the evening.  What a predicament!  If I were really magical, I thought, I would pop myself home and then be back here in a jiffy.

Finally my Dad noticed the problem and whispered, "Do you have to go?"  I nodded with tears in my eyes.  I had waited so long I wasn't even sure I would make it home without embarrassing myself.  But Dad has a solution.

"Let's step across the street to Dwayne's house.  He might let you in to use his bathroom."  Dwayne was my Dad's coworker and we had visited there before.  I knew right where their bathroom was located and the idea seemed like a blessing.

Doing a fair imitation of an Irish jig while I stood next to my Dad, I waited while he rang the doorbell of Dwayne's house.  Just then another group of children ran up the sidewalk.  By this time I wasn't worried about getting more candy.  My mind only thought of making it to the facilities in time.

Dwayne opened the door to a chorus of trick or treat chants from the other children.  I didn't say a word, however.  I just bolted past his legs and ran through the house like a witch on her way to a fire.  I heard Dwayne's wife give a startled gasp.  I'm sure the last thing she expected to see was a tiny witch, cape flying, racing through her house and slamming the bathroom door.

A few minutes later, much relieved and with dignity intact, I made my way back to the front door where my family was waiting.  By this time darkness had fallen and I knew our candy scavenging was over for another year.  Dwayne and his wife were very gracious about our unexpected visit, though, and gave my brother and me extra homemade cookies before we left.

Back in the car, my mother groaned, "We'll never be invited there again."  It seems that I had caused a bit of an embarrassment and many apologies were given while I was out of earshot.  Dad just looked back at me and winked.  I knew that he understood.

When you gotta go, you gotta go, even if you're a magical witch!

by Pamela Jenkins
bunnies-n-birds @ juno.com
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Pamela Jenkins lives on a small farm in Oklahoma with her husband of twenty-three years and their four children.  She is the office manager of a veterinary clinic and enjoys writing in her spare time.  She is a coauthor to such books as Chicken Soup for the Grandparent's Soul and Chocolate for a Woman's Dreams.
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May you be blessed today.
Bob Johnston
Editor / Publisher

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