Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear. Aye, me. It's that time of year again. October 31st. All Hallow's Eve.
What does that name mean, anyway? I never really understood what Halloween is all about. Witches, haunted houses, scariness all around, all culminating into a glorious night of Trick or Treats when you're a kid- or whiny brats when you're under the Snyder tyranny.
When I was a kid I loved it. Really. I would bob for apples and everything. I went Tricker'treating till I was... holy hell, fourteen. Unbelievable. I was a five-foot-tall candy-devouring Xander. I take that back; not even Xander would Trick or Treat in eighth grade.
Okay, having established the fact that I was a serious Halloween geek we can move on, since I desperately need time for my hotly flushing cheeks to cool down. October 31st used to be a time of innocence. That much I can say pretty much about my whole childhood.
But then Merrick happened, and Sunnydale happened, and Giles happened, and God created vampires. The year I was fifteen I was scared as hell at Halloween. I actually spent the night at home, pointedly not watching horror film marathons but instead an old Winnie the Pooh tape. It was the one where Eeyore has a birthday and he thinks they've all forgotten, and he floats in the river all depressed and his tail falls off but in the end they surprise him at the picnic table with the party hats...
Right. Moving on.
Dum, dee dum dum dummm... Why aren't there any Halloween songs? I vaguely remember hearing some once but it's nothing as catchy as, say, Jingle Bells, etc. No thanksgiving songs either, huh. No, wait: there's "Turkey in the Barn." And also "One little, two little, three little Indians," although come to think about it it's sort of racist and not very PC. Or maybe they could turn it into "ten as-equally-sized-as-the-rest-of-the-population Native American boys," but that would totally ruin the rhythm or tempo or whatever you call it.
So why do I say "aye, me"? First of all, to make things clear, no, I have not decided to go into acting ("Wherefore art thou, inner Claire Danes? ") like a certain someone else that we know. Oedipus was bad enough, thanks. Halloween is just a very messed up time in the Buffy Calendar. Not exactly messed up, more like...
Well, I can tell it's coming by how quiet things get. It's the greatest feeling in the world, having almost a full week with no slayage, knowing that you can relax and the world will continue to orbit. My life enters a different rhythm: instead of fast-paced and high-strung it's more laid-back, lazy. Almost, dare I say, normal. And the only spooky things around are gutted pumpkins (which I admit are fairly freaky, but not nearly as much as, blach, Belthazar).
Hmm. It's strange. Why do the creatures of the underworld stay in the underworld on this of all nights? Spike mentioned it once. I don't exactly remember what he said, because he seldom has my full attention, but it had something to do with old curses and stuff. Like, the original purpose of Halloween was to keep the demons away. I personally think it's more of a 'demon conspiracy to do irrational things thus weirding out Watcher Council' kind of thing.
So, demons stay in, Slayer goes out. Or stays in, depends if she likes I Know What You Did Last Summer. Point is, it's my choice. Of course, Slayery crisis's have occurred on Halloween occasionally in the last couple of years, but the general atmosphere is peaceful. Last year Xander and I got so bored we sat around making up Halloween-Sunnydale tongue twisters. Dracula Dreads Dead Dwarfs. Mummies Make Money. Rich Witches Wear Wristwatches. Spooky Spike Scoops Speckled Spider Soup. It was fun boredom. Happy nothingness. Enjoyable monotony.
Which leaves me lots and lots of time to think. During the average Slaying week, whenever I don't feel like dealing with stuff, and I have *lots* of issues, I can usually fix my schedule so that I have no free time. If I'm busy, I can't wallow. If I have too much free time on my hands, I turn into Angel. Obviously not in the sense that I grow pointy hair drink blood, but I can be one hell of a brooder if I have good reason.
At Halloween I have free time. A few days when I have time to sit down and think. Aye, me, I sigh. Aye karamba, babalu, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye. Bloody hell, don't know what I'm saying, but I'm fairly alarmed about the fact that I've just thought 'bloody hell'. Maybe I've been giving Spike more attention that I thought.
My mind keeps drifting off too far-off and uninteresting lands of Spooky Spikes and 'Turkey in the Barn's, when actually there's only one subject I dwell on and 'aye' over on Halloweens. The same guy it always comes down to. A single moment pinpointed as the exact beginning of a chapter in my life: one incredibly sweet kiss that took place on October 31st, 1998.
I won't say it was the best kiss of my life. It was a bit awkward, and I was still embarrassed about the whole 18th-century sissy girl thing, and I had just brushed my teeth so my tongue stung from toothpaste. But despite all these, it was... musical. It sang inside my head. Not a grandiose hallelujah chorus, but instead a happy little Irish tune with a flute or a guitar, and fairies flying all around the room. And me. Flying.
And looking back, I never know what to think about it. How different things could have turned out if it weren't for that kiss. I can't feel regret for it, I don't feel guilty about it, even if it did start a chain of events that eventually led to people getting killed. And though I love Angel deeply, I can't honestly say that I would have kissed him anyway if I'd known what would happen. But I also can't say that I wouldn't.
You can't change the past. For once, I'm glad. I *didn't* know what would happen, I *did* kiss him, and I treasure the memory. What I feel, oddly, is nostalgia. Homesick, for that black-and-orange autumn night when I found love.
Oh, shoot. We stayed out pretty late with all the fighting. We might have actually kissed only on November first.
Everything gets quiet around Halloween, and I have time to reminisce. I think not about heartache, grief or pain but about the anniversary of a sweet, caring kiss. And I know that whether it happened five minutes before or after midnight, every Halloween when it gets quiet down in LA, another person thinks about it too.
Aye, me. Long live drama queens.
What does that name mean, anyway? I never really understood what Halloween is all about. Witches, haunted houses, scariness all around, all culminating into a glorious night of Trick or Treats when you're a kid- or whiny brats when you're under the Snyder tyranny.
When I was a kid I loved it. Really. I would bob for apples and everything. I went Tricker'treating till I was... holy hell, fourteen. Unbelievable. I was a five-foot-tall candy-devouring Xander. I take that back; not even Xander would Trick or Treat in eighth grade.
Okay, having established the fact that I was a serious Halloween geek we can move on, since I desperately need time for my hotly flushing cheeks to cool down. October 31st used to be a time of innocence. That much I can say pretty much about my whole childhood.
But then Merrick happened, and Sunnydale happened, and Giles happened, and God created vampires. The year I was fifteen I was scared as hell at Halloween. I actually spent the night at home, pointedly not watching horror film marathons but instead an old Winnie the Pooh tape. It was the one where Eeyore has a birthday and he thinks they've all forgotten, and he floats in the river all depressed and his tail falls off but in the end they surprise him at the picnic table with the party hats...
Right. Moving on.
Dum, dee dum dum dummm... Why aren't there any Halloween songs? I vaguely remember hearing some once but it's nothing as catchy as, say, Jingle Bells, etc. No thanksgiving songs either, huh. No, wait: there's "Turkey in the Barn." And also "One little, two little, three little Indians," although come to think about it it's sort of racist and not very PC. Or maybe they could turn it into "ten as-equally-sized-as-the-rest-of-the-population Native American boys," but that would totally ruin the rhythm or tempo or whatever you call it.
So why do I say "aye, me"? First of all, to make things clear, no, I have not decided to go into acting ("Wherefore art thou, inner Claire Danes? ") like a certain someone else that we know. Oedipus was bad enough, thanks. Halloween is just a very messed up time in the Buffy Calendar. Not exactly messed up, more like...
Well, I can tell it's coming by how quiet things get. It's the greatest feeling in the world, having almost a full week with no slayage, knowing that you can relax and the world will continue to orbit. My life enters a different rhythm: instead of fast-paced and high-strung it's more laid-back, lazy. Almost, dare I say, normal. And the only spooky things around are gutted pumpkins (which I admit are fairly freaky, but not nearly as much as, blach, Belthazar).
Hmm. It's strange. Why do the creatures of the underworld stay in the underworld on this of all nights? Spike mentioned it once. I don't exactly remember what he said, because he seldom has my full attention, but it had something to do with old curses and stuff. Like, the original purpose of Halloween was to keep the demons away. I personally think it's more of a 'demon conspiracy to do irrational things thus weirding out Watcher Council' kind of thing.
So, demons stay in, Slayer goes out. Or stays in, depends if she likes I Know What You Did Last Summer. Point is, it's my choice. Of course, Slayery crisis's have occurred on Halloween occasionally in the last couple of years, but the general atmosphere is peaceful. Last year Xander and I got so bored we sat around making up Halloween-Sunnydale tongue twisters. Dracula Dreads Dead Dwarfs. Mummies Make Money. Rich Witches Wear Wristwatches. Spooky Spike Scoops Speckled Spider Soup. It was fun boredom. Happy nothingness. Enjoyable monotony.
Which leaves me lots and lots of time to think. During the average Slaying week, whenever I don't feel like dealing with stuff, and I have *lots* of issues, I can usually fix my schedule so that I have no free time. If I'm busy, I can't wallow. If I have too much free time on my hands, I turn into Angel. Obviously not in the sense that I grow pointy hair drink blood, but I can be one hell of a brooder if I have good reason.
At Halloween I have free time. A few days when I have time to sit down and think. Aye, me, I sigh. Aye karamba, babalu, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye. Bloody hell, don't know what I'm saying, but I'm fairly alarmed about the fact that I've just thought 'bloody hell'. Maybe I've been giving Spike more attention that I thought.
My mind keeps drifting off too far-off and uninteresting lands of Spooky Spikes and 'Turkey in the Barn's, when actually there's only one subject I dwell on and 'aye' over on Halloweens. The same guy it always comes down to. A single moment pinpointed as the exact beginning of a chapter in my life: one incredibly sweet kiss that took place on October 31st, 1998.
I won't say it was the best kiss of my life. It was a bit awkward, and I was still embarrassed about the whole 18th-century sissy girl thing, and I had just brushed my teeth so my tongue stung from toothpaste. But despite all these, it was... musical. It sang inside my head. Not a grandiose hallelujah chorus, but instead a happy little Irish tune with a flute or a guitar, and fairies flying all around the room. And me. Flying.
And looking back, I never know what to think about it. How different things could have turned out if it weren't for that kiss. I can't feel regret for it, I don't feel guilty about it, even if it did start a chain of events that eventually led to people getting killed. And though I love Angel deeply, I can't honestly say that I would have kissed him anyway if I'd known what would happen. But I also can't say that I wouldn't.
You can't change the past. For once, I'm glad. I *didn't* know what would happen, I *did* kiss him, and I treasure the memory. What I feel, oddly, is nostalgia. Homesick, for that black-and-orange autumn night when I found love.
Oh, shoot. We stayed out pretty late with all the fighting. We might have actually kissed only on November first.
Everything gets quiet around Halloween, and I have time to reminisce. I think not about heartache, grief or pain but about the anniversary of a sweet, caring kiss. And I know that whether it happened five minutes before or after midnight, every Halloween when it gets quiet down in LA, another person thinks about it too.
Aye, me. Long live drama queens.