“He try to tell you what you want

Try to tell you what you need”

-Tracy Chapman, Crossroads

“Way back in the old-ass day,

down the way,

three boys lived on the corner stop all day—

Then come that October Friday…”

“Jamal, Tealy and Simpton, boys of about nine, hooked up at dusk down at Peterson Lane and Marley’s Quarters, each with their trick or treat, ain’t been beat, bag.

“Jamal was dressed up as Wilt Chamberlain, kind of freezing his butt on this cool night. Jamal was a super tall boy and had college basketball aspirations. He was not, however, the brightest of boys.

“Tealy was dressed up like Mingo from Daniel Boone, a cardboard tomahawk in his hand, a feather in his mamma’s stolen wig, and a scalp made out of his grandmamma’s wig smeared with ketchup, which we—they, I mean—all thought was right cool. Tealy was the leader, the creationist with the personality.

“Now Simpton, that boy was wretched—put upon something terrible by his hard-drinkin’ mamma—Daddy not even a memory. He had aspirations of his own, had already planned on selling his treat candy to buy books for extra school is what he called it. He was a regular Booker T. Washington wannabe.

“Now Tealy had the bright idea to straight-up bypass trick or treat in the hood to avoid being mugged. So them boys crept through the park just after dusk and descended on the City when the night was right, gliding like three ghosts.

“At length they come to this nice white family’s house. The man—the actual daddy, it appeared—came out on the porch drunk, and said if we wanted treats we had to do tricks. So we did; Tealy did his scalping grandmamma’s wig war dance; Jamal dribbled the basketball; and Simpton recited a passage out of Up From Slavery—speaking of which he was dressed up and even wearing fake glasses to look like Booker T. That man gave them boys each a big bag of candy.

“More streets were walked and crossed, tricks done and treats given, some folks even leaving plastic pumpkins full of candy for the taking. Then they come to the house of a well-to-do black family—and don’t you know, that man slammed the door in our face!

“Resolved now to only entertain white folks, the three boys from Peterson and Marley, made their way down to the Medicine Man’s house. This man lived in a house attached to the pharmacy. He was not the pharmacist—but rather his clerk, who sold medicine on the cheap to people from the hood. He was kind of the caretaker of the place. He was a babysitter too, it was said. But we did not believe a man—much less a white one—would be a kid sitter.

“There was all kind of spooky stuff on the man’s porch, plastic ghosts, skeletons—that looked real—carved pumpkins with candles inside. Tealy rang the bell, and there he was, a skinny little white man, in a white shirt, white slacks, white tie and white hat. The man invited them in and they went, not thinking that he might be a bad man. The man gave his name, which they all later forgot somewhat on purpose, and invited them to sit at a table set with cakes, and soda pop, and glasses of chocolate milk—dishes of candy and plates of cookies all about.

“The man seated them and then stood at the head of the table and held up a red-painted milk box like the kind back in the day that the milk man would leave your milk in. There was a hole with a mean mouth of teeth painted around it, which he pointed to and explained that the boys—in order to get a treat—had to stick their hand in and pull it out. In the meantime, while they was each getting their treat the others could feast on the cakes, cookies and candy, taking as much with them as they wanted.

“Tealy declared, that as the leader he would go second, and as the runt, Simpton would go last, and so Simpton sat, eating the cakes and cookies and candies as he watched the tricking and treating of the trick-box, which he thought was the aluminum version of the devil in any case.

“Jamal stepped up eagerly, his basketball forgotten on the porch, and slid his hand in the box, grimacing and reaching around within. His hand came to rest on something, he smiled, and he pulled out a chocolate Easter bunny which was heavy, filled, the man said, with grape soda syrup and waiting many rabbit months to be eaten. Jamal was thrilled, set aside his plate of cake and then began to gnaw on the small chocolate bunny, a dark syrup wetting his chin and sticking to his fingers and, by the look upon his face, tasting mighty right!

“Tealy then stood and declared his eagerness to place his hand within the trick-box. He jammed his hand in far and fast, having guessed where the best treasure must have been, then, with a jerk, and a clink, and the sound of a wrench turning, Tealy’s eyes lit up with fright! His hand was stuck. He pulled and pushed and pulled, and the skinny white-suited man stood up and looked at the box as if surprised that something had gone wrong and said, “Don’t hurt yourself, my beautiful boy. Let me assist you.”

“The white-dressed white man then examined the box and was unable to open it, declaring that Tealy’s thrashing had somehow damaged the lid mechanism, and that he would have to take Tealy downstairs to his work bench to take the box apart. Simp, thinking something was amiss, said, “No, don’t go. Let’s leave. My granddaddy has a wrench.”

“The man regarded Simpton with evil eyes piercing under his creepy black brows and at the same time said nicely to Tealy, “Now, Tealy, you are not afraid, are you? I will show you how to use my tools and work bench and one day you will be a high-paid mechanic, as soon as we get this box off your hand, which needs to be ready for the other children who are soon to arrive—not taken off to some boy’s granddaddy to be damaged beyond all repair.”

“Tealy nodded his agreement, frightened about the box and too proud to seem afraid, and allowed himself to be lead downstairs through a thick wooden door, like the doors they have in school. As the door shut behind the man and boy, and Simpton heard it latch from the other side, he darted eyes of knowing fear toward Jamal, who was greedily, and in languorous slow motion, eating the bunny feet, grape syrup dripping—no drooling—from his chin as his eyes glazed like a zombie of the damned!