Before Brian, I loved to dress up as my alter ego and go out dancing for Halloween. But towards the end of those Halloween costume party years, I was growing tired of drunks spilling drinks on my shoes, stepping on my costume and maneuvering to avoid flying cigarettes. Like New Years, it became amateur night.
Now for Halloween, I wish I had a great big house in a neighborhood full of kids, where I can turn the house into a haunted mansion. I'd invite all my friends for a dinner party, with gruesome looking dishes, and insist everyone dress in something scary. I'd light all the candles, turn on the sounds of the Headless Horseman and attempt to scare the kids as they reach for large bars of candy. I love looking at all their costumes, especially the littlest ones.
Where we live now, tucked in an odd pocket of country in the middle of Santa Rosa, not many kids go trick-a-treating. We often go to McDonald Avenue, where three long blocks of historic Victorian homes put on one large Halloween bash for the kids. As I stand in front of their homes, as Brian rushes to their creative haunted display, I wish I was them. Brian just loves all the candy.
Usually on Halloween weekend I stay home to avoid the craziness that ensues. Saturday night was no different as by 8:30 pm police sirens began to ring through the streets. It seems to go on constantly for hours. I feel like I am in the middle of New York. I hear sounds of a party around the corner. When I go to blow out the candle in the pumpkin I notice some couples going to the party; they seem older and dressed fairly nice. It looks like it will be a low key party.
The first noise that awakens me from my writing chair is the sound of a man yelling at someone. I open my back gate to see him screaming and banging on a truck, telling the people inside to let him in. I move our pumpkin and shut the gate. Shorty they let him in the truck and recklessly speed off down the street. I shut everything down and go to bed.
At 1am I am jolted awake in my bed to the sound of a group of men yelling and screamingat each other out on the street. It is the kind of fight one hears before someone is shot. I race to my robe and run to grab my cell phone. I open my back door, step out and look over the fence. To my shock around the corner where the party is going on there is a street brawl happening with about 25 men. I have never heard anything like this in my life. Fear overtakes me, as the negative energy from the event is exploding through the neighborhood. I keep thinking "Please God don't let someone die, and why have I not allowed a man to be here so I don't have to always do this alone?" I am attempting to call 911 on my cell phone in the dark. My hands are shaking so hard in fear, as the fight is escalates with rocks. None of my neighbors are out - what is wrong with this neighborhood.
Some of the men have pipes and are screaming at such a shrill they are hard to understand. A large group of the men run up the hill towards the other group (like a charge), away from site. I can't remember the name of the street around the corner and open my gate to try and see if I can figure it out. My neighbor across the street comes to her door and yells to me to stay put, they have called the police. It seems the men are threatening to kill each other and are fighting further up the hill. The sound of a group of men fighting is an eerie sound. The next thing I know they are jumping in vehicles and taking off, with others following in pursuit.
I pray to God Brian is never stupid enough to be involved in such an event. You have to be really careful of the friends you chose to hang around. Add alcohol or drugs and a simple evening out can turn deadly.
Within seconds a line of cop cars are coming down my street, lights and sirens blasting. By now most of the men are gone. The police are rarely where they should be to stop violence. I remember one of the worst fights my x and I had. He kicked in the bedroom door. Luckily our neighbors called the police. When they arrived, the police treated me like somehow it was my fault. I remember staring at them thinking Brian will never be a cop. I took Brian and went to stay at a hotel.
Now as I stand on my back porch, I wonder how this horrid fight broke out between older men at what looked like a pretty tame party. Nine police cars converge on our neighborhood. I shut my gate and go back to bed. An hour later I hear some of the vehicles coming back. I hear yelling, and within minutes the police are back. Why they just didn't leave a police man parked on the street I have no idea. People always return to the scene of a crime.
Could you imagine being a guest at that party? Or how frightening to the people who live in the homes next to where the fight was occurring. I'd really like to move Brian and I back into a house and out of this tiny condo place we live in. I'd move to another city, but I can't until Brian is done with school ... or my x husband .... no I won't type that.
I certainly hope that was NOT my sign...
Until next time-
C
