Tranquil Silence

“Kit-Kats? For dinner?” 

Marty held out a handful of dirty Kit-Kats in front of my gagging face and I squirmed away. 

“I’ll pass,” I laughed and uncapped my half-empty water bottle. 

Most people spend Halloween night trick-or-treating, or maybe at a party, or even just watching a scary movie. Not me and Marty though, we host annual sleepovers in graveyards. 

Not to be melodramatic, but our sleepovers could probably top every other holiday celebration. We start around 4 pm by setting up camp next to an old White Oak tree. We reserve the early night to run around town, maybe scare a few kids from bushes, and just mess around town. Nightfall brings out scary Netflix movies from our phones, and just hanging around. Early morning is dedicated to toilet-papering someone’s house (maybe even some egging), and we end off our adventure with firecrackers at the lake. Of course, my parents think I’m just sleeping over at Marty’s house, and his believe he’s at mine. Growing up, our nights lasted into sunrise because of our bicycle transportation, but this year Marty has his own car. An old, used 2014 white Honda, but the car seemed like an airplane to him. Just a few months ago, he drove me down every street hundreds of times. I’m not sure why he loved driving so much, maybe it was the feeling of control or the rush of sensations. 

“Shoot- I don’t have any toilet paper,” Marty mumbled to himself before turning to face me.

“That was yours to bring,” I responded to his eye roll.

“Let’s go to Kroger then. Maybe we can also get a lantern or a flashlight.”

I nodded and pulled my pillow out from my backpack. At this point, I’m surprised we’ve never gotten in trouble with the town officials. But then again, no one really monitors graveyards on Halloween night. 

This Halloween would be “one of a kind”, a full moon, a weekend night, and warmer weather than normal. Marty and I usually freeze into human popsicles, but the weather would be around 60° F, pretty warm for a New England fall. 

“I feel like this Halloween is going to be better than all other years,” Marty declared out of nowhere. 

“And why do you think that?”

“I don’t know, call it a special feeling I guess.”

Marigold-colored Oak leaves floated to the soft dirt, and I caught one in my palms. The edges were sharp, yet the colored part of the leaf was smooth. I remember learning the parts of a leaf; the petiole, leaf-base, lamina, lobe, vein. 

“So I guess our journey shall now begin,” Marty announced in a mockingly tone.

“I guess it shall,” I giggled. 

I strapped my black backpack across my back and we headed down the cold, gray stairs of the graveyard. We turned the corner, and stopped in front of Marty’s beloved car. Silence was starting to fill a gap between us, but I had no idea why. Marty and I had been friends ever since band in fourth grade. He was a trumpet player, and I was the only girl drum player. I honestly can’t explain why I had such a deep fascination for the drums. Maybe it was the amount of volume that could be filled with noise, or all the components involved; drums, triangles, cymbals. Of course there was that awkward period in middle school where everyone thought we “liked” each other, but Marty and I had always just been friends. Sure he got a little cuter when he ditched the glasses, braces, and enjoyment of math, but to me he was still the short trumpet player in fourth grade. Maybe not so short anymore, as he towered above me at 6 feet.

The car lights beeped as the doors unlocked. I opened the passenger seat and slid in, grabbing a stick of cinnamon gum from the little compartment on the door. Marty always kept packs of cinnamon gum there, only cinnamon.

“Want to hear a joke?” Marty broke the silence. I smiled and nodded.

“Why did the frog leap into space?”

I drummed my fingers on the dashboard, I had never heard this joke before.

“No idea, tell me.”

Marty started the car and shook his head, “No, because then the joke will be ruined. Just think about it.”

I rolled my eyes and stuck the gum into my mouth. Silence once again consumed us, and I watched the surroundings out my window. 

Marty and I have been best friends for years, but haven’t talked too much in the past few months. I’m not even sure what had happened, we just kind of broke apart. A collection of small problems got between us; a rude text, a lie, some guy, all stupid things. I wasn’t even sure we were going to do our annual sleepover until he texted me last week: hey, it’s been awhile but we should do our halloween sleepover. i think it would be fun. I guess the text had rekindled something between us, and now we’re here.

“You want to get some food?” he asked as we stopped at a red light.

I shrugged, fast food was not normally part of our schedule, but I’m always open to new traditions.

“What about Dunkin’? I could really go for a hot chocolate right now.”

“That sounds good,” I replied, while observing the black car move in front of us. 

I wasn’t watching Marty, but from the corner of my eye, I could see him peering at me. He looked at me for a few seconds until the light turned green. I pretended not to notice. 

We pulled into the parking lot of Dunkin’, right in the middle of a massive puddle. Marty closed the car door and yawned as he looked into the sky. It was around 5 p.m. now, and the fall sky was turning into a velvety painting of pinks, oranges, and yellows. He turned to face me and his blue eyes lifted a wide smile.

“So I was thinking, what if we toilet-papered the house on the corner of Madison and Birch? I’m pretty sure that house is practically haunted, or at least that’s what some people say,” Marty remarked.

“Sure, maybe we could also egg something. Maybe we could just do the driveway though, for cleaning purposes,” I added.

“Since when are you considerate about cleaning?” he chuckled.

I laughed and his static, ocean eyes met mine. For a few seconds, it was like nothing had changed. Marty cracked a smile and I returned it. 

We stopped in front of the doors of Dunkin’ and we both reached for the doorknob. His hand brushed against mine and I pulled my hand back quickly.

“Calm down, I’m not contagious,” he joked, brushing off my swipe. I awkwardly laughed, and we walked through the glass doorway.

Soft aromas of cinnamon, pumpkin, and coffee filled my lungs, and I looked around the scenery. Fake leaves hung from all the windows, and two large, electric menus sat above the racks of donuts, bagels, muffins, and pastries.

“Find us a table, I’ll get us food,” Marty murmured in my ear.

“No, I can cover,” I replied to his raised eyebrow.

“It’s alright, I got it,” he responded before heading over to the cash register.

I awkwardly slid into a booth and the back and fiddled with a napkin. I forgot Marty was one of “those” guys, never eager to let others pay. I guess it was flattering, kind of. 

I finished crafting a small swan from my napkin when Marty came back. He carried two small paper bags, and two steaming, styrofoam cups. He sat down across from me and slid over one of the bags and a cup.

“Thanks,” I softly said, while peeking into the bag. A small apple-cider donut, my favorite. 

I took the lid of the drink, and a haze of steam floated away. 

“How have you been?” Marty asked, while following my cooling method.

“Alright, I guess. You?”

“I’ve been okay.”

“You playing basketball this winter?”

“Maybe, I’m not sure. Are you?”

“Yes.”

After the end of the band era, Marty and I had picked up basketball. Marty was probably the most unathletic kid in the entire country, but he put a lot of work into his sports and somehow came out on top. 

“Want to know what the answer to my joke is?”

“What joke?”

“The one about the frog in space.”

“Oh, sure.”

“There is no answer, I just thought it was funny.”

I let out an ugly snort and Marty chuckled. I watched him dip a piece of his donut into his cup, same procedure from fourth-grade.

“How have you really been?” he questioned as I broke apart a piece of my donut.

“I’ve been okay.”

I really have just been “okay”, nothing wrong seemed to be happening in my life. It was a strange question, but I could tell he wanted me to return the inquiry.

“And how have you really been?”

He paused for a moment, holding his palm above the rising steam.

“I guess I’ve actually been alright. Football’s going well, and my grades are fine. I’ve missed you though, you know.”

I nibbled my donut, not sure what to say. Marty looked up at me, clearly wanting a response.

“Me too,” I softly answered. 

He smiled and we both looked at each other for a few seconds, letting the happiness of silence overcome us.