Costumes (a piece of flash fiction)

We were on the phone, like usual, and I was defending my Halloween costume. I mentioned being a scarecrow and thought about how wonderful you’d be as my scared crow. You laughed that surprised laugh you do when you think I say something particularly amusing, like you’re impressed. I can’t stand that.

Anyway, I only shared my idea because you said you might visit for Halloween. That you could leave Friday after your last exam. Travis (the friend who broke track records in South Dakota with his four-minute mile) could drop you at the airport. You’d catch a flight home from Cleveland. Quick weekend trip. Not bad at all, you said. You’d just stay with your little brother. He’s just like you only with less wit and more height.

I wanted to ask if I’d really be able to see you, or if the old girlfriend you got back together with but didn’t tell me about would be in town. We don’t talk about that, but friends are supposed to. So I made the costume comment and deflected my own anxiety, the truth, and all that jazz.

You laughed that laugh again, said I was too proud of my idea. But I was only normal proud.

“Jack said it was genius,” I teased.

“Does he want to fuck you, too?” you snapped.

Well, I didn’t know what to say after that, so I just sighed and you said sorry. Suddenly, after your apologies and your backtracking, you were eager to know if I’d received your letter yet. I hadn’t. Then we hung up, and I’m still not sure what custome we’re wearing.