Please, just take one

"Why are you being such an ass?"

I knew mom was pissed. Anything beyond 'darn it' was ample warning for impending disaster, a burst blood vessel or even a stroke. At least that's how I interpreted the ashes and sackcloth she always seemed to wear during such imaginary crises.

"Because I'm fucking tired from midterms and I want to hang out with the gang. You know, a little mindless fun? Without my sister?"

"Frank, watch your mouth! Janie is sick, all I'm asking is for you to take Melissa out trick or treating. Two hours, you'll be done by eight. Then you can hang out with your friends all you like."

I sighed, one of those perfectly constructed sighs that, while announcing capitulation, rang with the bitter tang of adolescent defiance. We all have our own martyr complexes.

"C'mon, sis, hurry the hell up."

"Frank!"

Shooting my mother a disapproving glance, Melissa grabbed my hand the second she bounced around the corner. With room and board costing too many body parts that I could ill afford, I had convinced my parents to let me stay home for a semester or two in order to bolster the coffers. I hadn't counted on being drafted into babysitter service as often as I had. Muttering my naive displeasure to no one in particular, my sister and I left for an evening of free candy and ample practice avoiding scattershot, sugared-up rugrats.

Stories abound about how Halloween is becoming a holiday for adults, but with the influx of younger families into our neighborhood, it seemed that more lights were on now than even when I was a kid. I didn't recognize most of the faces, nor did Melissa, but when the only objective is candy, it didn't matter whose rubber claws were passing out such delicious gifts.

One thing that hadn't changed was teenagers out and about trying to score a high fructose fix amidst telephone poles and railings lashed by cornstalks, everything awash in a flickering orange gleam and boy, did I sure recognize a few of these faces. And a few legs, too.

I felt a tug on my jacket.

"Alyssa wouldn't give you the time of day last year, what makes you think she will now?"

Caught off guard by my sister's astute commentary, a response eventually stumbled out. "Because I'm in college. And when did you become so smart?"

"When you were busy looking at girls."

"C'mon midget, only a few houses left, then it's back home," I said, continuing to be busy until Alyssa and her companion disappeared into the darkness.

"I bet I'll be taller than you," she said as she ran towards a brick bungalow. The porch light was on, but there was no one attending the plastic jack o' lantern resting crooked along a gentle crack in the top step.

"Frank, it says 'please, just take one.'"

"Then just take one," I said, walking towards my sister. "Don't be greedy." I paused for a moment before my hand snatched two Milky Ways from the pumpkin.

"I thought you said don't be greedy."

"This one's for Janie and this one's for me. Besides, you know damn well some punkass kid already grabbed a handful."

"But you aren't wearing a costume. You can't have any."

"I'm going as a college student. Now, hit these last two houses and then we're done."

Still seeing Melissa in the corner of my eye collecting her last pieces of candy, my sight began to shift its focus back on the brick bungalow, completely dark, save for the soft glow of the illuminated steps. The muffled sound of worn soles on concrete getting louder, I instinctively held out my hand, which my sister promptly took in mid stride and we sprinted back home.

Hours passed in a blur and I eventually stumbled back some time after one, sober enough to keep mostly upright. Everyone was asleep, the only noise a crumpled candy wrapper under my shuffling feet and Janie's labored, congested breathing. Exhaustion began asserting itself and I all but crawled up the stairs to my room. Scratching my forearm as I haphazardly pulled off my watch, I dropped it on the table, simultaneously flopping onto my bed like a dying fish.

My eyes opened upon a ceiling still under the fading, yet potent, thrall of night. I tried turning my head to look at the alarm clock, but it wouldn't move. Nothing would move, as if my entire body had been dosed with Novocaine. I couldn't recall having that many shots. Whatever I had, it must have been something nasty. 6:33. My eyes still worked. That was a good sign.

Slouching upright proved to be too difficult, as did swinging my legs off the bed. Now I began to worry. What was wrong with me? I looked at the clock again. 6:36. Too much alcohol, too empty a stomach, all on a brain too tired to properly direct my faculties. Yes, that had to be it, the simplest explanation. 6:40. I'll just lie here for awhile and everything will be fine. 6:42.

Am I paralyzed? 6:56.

Then how the hell did I get home? 6:59.

Pain shot through my arm. Tears began to well, a strong cocktail of physical reaction to this fresh agony and a joy that I was feeling something. God, how it fucking hurt. Mustering all the energy I could, I scrunched my back and managed to force myself upright. Stretching out my arm to grip the table for balance, the sheet fell off my limb, and I fell to the floor, in shock.

Disbelieving, I looked again, and vomited.

The alarm clock was wrong, it had to be. I was still asleep, stuck in a nightmare. Equilibrium trickling away, I battled for my watch, and read the typed note lying next to it.

I just took one. You should have, too.

Numb, I gazed at the sewn-up stump where my right hand used to be.