Jessie's Journal (11/1/26) (Patreon)

Dear Journal:

I’ll probably have to divide this post-Halloween party entry into multiple parts.  Too much happened to write about all at once.  Some of the details are as hazy as the IPA I was drinking, but I’ll do my best to recount the good stuff.

And there was SO MUCH GOOD STUFF!

I started getting ready at 7:30.  While sissy was downstairs passing out candy, I snuck into her closet and borrowed a pair of red pumps.  They were tight, but they matched my devil costume perfectly.   Then I did my hair and makeup.  I looked a little like one of the girls from those old rock videos.  You know the ones with white faces, red lips, and slicked, jet-black hair?  And my costume looked even better than it did on my trial run. 

“Wow!  You look great,” Sissy said when I came outside onto the porch.  I could tell she meant it by her death grip on the giant candy bowl in her lap. Fortunately, her jealous judgment didn’t reach my feet. 

“Thanks for filling in,” I said, poking my plastic pitchfork toward the candy.

And for filling out, I thought.

“No problem,” sissy said.  Her hands teetered on the edge of the bowl, like jumpers contemplating suicide.

“Well,” I said, doing a little pirouette as I skipped down the walkway.  “Don’t wait up!”

That did it.  The last thing I saw as I turned the corner was sissy’s hand plunging into the sea of fat and calories and fishing out a Twix.

Since I don’t get invited to many parties, I’m not up on the protocol.  I didn’t want the awkwardness of being the first guest, but I also didn’t want to be rude and arrive late.  So I got there about twenty minutes after, which I thought was a good compromise.

Apparently, the 8 PM invitation was for second stringers because, by the time I got there, I had to park a block away.  It wouldn’t have been a big deal ordinarily.  I’ve been waking a lot and my stamina’s improved, but I was wearing heels and the Wilson’s home is at the top of the 7th and highest hill in their esteemed Seven Hills community.  Plus, it was unseasonably warm and humid.  By the time I reached the porch and rang the doorbell, my feet were killing me, my neck was wet with sweat, and my eyes stung from dripping mascara.  

“Everyone’s in the basement, dear.” Mrs. Wilson said when she opened the door.  She was holding a crystal punch bowl filled with full-sized KitKat bars.  I LOVE KitKats.   I wanted to take one, but I didn’t want to be rude since I wasn’t there in a trick-or-treat capacity.

Anyway, she wasn’t kidding about the basement.  Everyone who is anyone at Denton High was there.  I should point out that this wasn’t some dingy cellar.  It was almost as big as our entire house!  It was fully finished with multiple bedrooms, a bar, and a giant central TV room with Scream playing on a 72” flat-screen.

“Jessie!” 

Gretchen wove through the crowd toward me, a red solo cup above her head to keep it from jostling.  She wore a bedazzled green Tinker Bell leotard that flowed into a skirt stitched together with leaf-sized bits of felt.  Behind her, wings made of wire and iridescent cellophane bitch-slapped guests.

“Glad you could make it,” Gretchen said once she reached me.  She blew back a strand of blond hair that had betrayed her character’s bun and, after looking me up and down, huffed, “There’s not going to be any trouble, is there?”

I had no idea what she was talking about.  That happened a lot at the lunch table, too.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” she said, gesturing at my devil costume.   Then she waved a small fairy wand in her non-cup hand.  It looked like a chopstick covered in tinfoil.  “Don’t make me use this.” 

I chuckled nervously.  “No, no trouble.”

Gretchen leaned in close.  Too close.  The beer on her breath confirmed the party had started without me.  “I probably should’ve invited your sister, but I thought it might be awkward.”

Once again, I was out of the loop.  “Because of her weight?” I guessed.

“Oh, God, no.”  Gretchen looked mortified.  Like I had kicked her dog, or something. “Do you think I’m that big a bitch?”  Her blue eyes narrowed.  “I invited you, didn’t I?”

Ouch.  That hurt.

“No, because she’s graduated,” Gretchen continued, giddy again, the alcohol mercifully sweeping any lingering resentment under the drug.  “She’d be the only graduate here.”

That made sense.  Most of the Class of 2026 was away at college.  Sissy had planned to earn some money, get a few core classes under her ever-widening belt, and then apply next year with newfound fitness and determination.  Instead, she was sitting like a lump on the porch, mindlessly munching chocolates between trick-or-treaters.

The thought made me smile.

Gretchen poked her elbow against my side and shot me a conspiratorial grin. "Wanna beer?" 

"Yeah," I said, returning it. “Definitely.”

That’s when things really started getting good.  More to come…

--Jessie