text: Lon Richards grabbed his car keys out from the drawer of his desk as he got ready to head home for the night. Putting on his coat, he crossed another day off his calendar. October 31st. It was Halloween evening. Frankly, Lon would have liked to be totally unaffected by it. The big game was on tonight, and he would be damned before he let anything stop him from watching it. He felt justified in his thinking that Sarah was just going to have to get off her ass and answer the door for the neighborhood kids. His commute home was made longer by having to weave in and out of all the groups of little shits running around on the streets and sidewalks. One boy, in a costume that was supposed to make him look like some superhero from a movie that came out over the summer (but, in reality, made the kid look like a giant cock), ran into the middle of the street, forcing Lon to slam on his breaks lest he might run the little shit over. Rattled, Lon brought an unspoken negativity with him into the house when he got home. The first thing he did was change into his “big-game” jersey, number 26, and his big game shorts. Then he sat down, cracking open a beer. Next thing he knew, the fucking doorbell’s ringing. “Sarah,” said Lon. “Sarah! Get that fucking door! The game is about to start.” He could scarcely make out what his wife was saying from the top of the stairs, but there was one word he was certain she had spoken, and even more certain of the way she had spoken it. You. Sarah was feeling argumentative like she had been for the past three nights, and Lon simply wasn’t in the fucking mood. “Sarah, get off your fucking ass right now and answer that door.” “--- you answer it.” Ever since he was a young boy - just about the age of the kids currently trick-or-treating through the neighborhood - people knew that Lonnie was a bright kid. He was the type of kid that, growing up, most of his friends came to for answers. He was one of those guys who was just generally good at things: he was smart, he was good at sports, he was always fucking hot girls. All of this came to him naturally. He was able to do all of these things without even trying. And so when he eventually graduated college, and landed a well-paying job at the agency in the city, and married Sarah, no one was really surprised. It all seemed to fit in place. But inside Lon’s head - deep in a place that contains information he is far too proud to admit to anyone - Lonnie knows that he could have - should have - tried harder. The things he could have done if he only tried harder. Those thoughts haunt him every day of his life, and tonight he just wanted to watch the big fucking game in order to drown the thoughts out. Isn’t that something he’s entitled to? Isn’t it his right to forget about his failures for a couple of hours by drinking beer and watching the big fucking game? After the doorbell rang five or six more times, he finally ascended from the couch and grabbed the well-decorated basket of candy that Sarah picked out. There was a group of eight, maybe nine kids on the front porch. “Trick-or-treat!” the kids yelled. “Boo,” Lon replied, not knowing (or caring) what the fuck to say. Each kid gratefully took a piece of candy, not forgetting to say “thank you” on account of the fact that three parental chaperones were waiting patiently behind them. One of those chaperones, the only man of the three, was staring at Lon aggressively through the whole transaction. “Next time get to the door a little quicker, asshole,” the man said, causing Lon to feel a sense of shock that was quickly followed by what seemed to be an intense rage building in his upper abdomen. Doing his best to hide that rage, Lon said “what the fuck did you just say to me?” Already having taken several steps towards the next house, the man cupped his hands and pressed them against his mouth so as to ensure that Lon would hear his words. “I said next time don’t be a jag off, and get to the door quicker.” Realizing that the situation could only get worse, Lon slammed the door as hard as he could, even though other groups of trick-or-treaters were approaching. He made it back to the couch before the doorbell rang, taking solace in knowing that he wouldn’t be getting off the couch for the rest of the night. Fuck Halloween, he thought. Fuck trick-or-treaters, and, most of all, fuck that asshole. Who the fuck does he think he is? The doorbell rang and rang. The doorbell, combined with Sarah’s incessant bitching from the top of the stairs, and eventual appearance at the door to pass out candy (during which she bitched louder and more annoyingly than ever), made it difficult for Lon to focus on the game. But, he was able to watch the blowout loss nonetheless. His team was eliminated from the playoffs, and Sarah bitched and bitched for the rest of the night, which turned into the rest of the week, which turned into the rest of the month, which turned into a divorce that resulted in Lon losing his house, car, kids, job, and pride. Three years later, well after old Lonnie had - to put things mildly - “worn out his welcome” in the old neighborhood, there was an encounter on the sidewalk. Lon and the man from that Halloween ran into each other for the first time since that day three years earlier. “Hello” said Lon. “I’m sorry?” said the man. “You remember me? I’m Lon Richards” The man had not remembered Lon on appearance alone. Lon had a scraggly beard at this point that made him look exactly like what he now was - a homeless man. “Oh my god... I’m sorry,” the man said in a bit of a half joyous, half disgusted guffaw. If only Lonnie had tried harder.