Pennington Lane was a quiet, tree lined street that the sun seemed to always shine down upon - where little boys rode their bikes and enjoyed a game of stick ball in the park while little girls jumped rope, played hop scotch and reveled in the amusement of their Barbie dolls and threw casual tea parties, often torturing the boys to join them. Everyone knew each other and holiday and summer get-togethers all seemed normal. It was the perfect, peaceful street to raise a family - where nothing ever happened, that is, up until ten years ago. They say that change is a good thing, if and when it happens. But is it, really?
Mrs. Davenport was always known around here as being a wee bit strange and because of it the kids really didn't like her. I guess they really didn't understand her as I did. They didn't understand that putting plastic over your windows would keep out those cold weather drafts or freezing soup could preserve it for later use or buying those dented, unlabeled cans of mystery mess that end up piled high in supermarket shopping carts can save you money. There were many Saturday mornings that saw about a dozen women walk out of the Stack-n-Pack a little bruised and a bit battered. Those grab carts were always brutal but at the end of the day, they would all get together to play Bingo and have a laugh about their shopping adventure, and whose bruise was the biggest.
Mrs. Davenport always used to meet me at her gate as I was on my way to catch the school bus. She would be there every morning and call out the same thing, 'Albert, I have a bag of fruit for you'. I never really wanted to stop but I did, 'Thank you Mrs. Davenport, but my mom packed my lunch and I'm going to miss the bus, so I gotta hurry'. I would take the bag and run to the corner, where the bus was usually just about to pull away. I'll bet you're wondering if I caught it. I ran like the wind.
To the families that lived on Pennington Lane, Halloween was like Christmas. The decorations were always abundant and fun to look at- from eerie and ghoulish to out right horrific, it was harmless and everyone had fun. As the neighborhood was preparing for the night, so was Mrs. Davenport. You see, Mrs. Davenport wasn't into the tradition of giving out the chocolaty, gooey candy that sticks to your teeth. She gave out such delights as toothpaste with mini toothbrushes, trail mix and brown lunch bags full of oranges. I thought trail mix was the stuff in paper cones that they fed to the sheep at the zoo but apparently it's a people food, too. Mrs. Davenport was just looking out for the kids. They didn't understand her like I did.
On the Eve of Halloween, or Mischief Night as it was known, some of us would set out to wreak havoc on one house. It was me, Patrick, Justin, Cameron and Marty. Marty was the one that would try anything once and was more daring than the rest of us. We would secretly raid our refrigerators for eggs, quietly hit the medicine cabinets for our father's shaving cream, swipe a few rolls of toilet paper and pocket a bar of soap. We'd pack up our back packs and head out to meet at Captain Jake's. Captain Jake's used to be a bar over on Grover's Pike, just three streets over and across the railroad tracks. It was where my mother and father met, as did most of the parents on the block. That's until old man Crowley, better known as Captain Jake, was found dead in the apartment above the bar. The police said that it wasn't foul play, just that his heart gave out, and the fact that he was 93.
Since he didn't have any family, the bar was closed. A landmark in town for over 60 years, closed just like that. We had taken a board off of the window in the back and used an old milk crate to climb in just after the sun went down, so that nobody saw us. I guess you could say it was like our own private clubhouse. We had some old car seats and rickety old beach chairs in there and we would bring in some snacks and sodas. Once inside we'd discuss whatever was going on that day. But on Mischief Night, the discussion was do we throw the eggs first or do we soap up her windows and then toilet paper the trees. Yeah, these were the important decisions that we had, and I went along with it. Why did I do it? I really don't know. Mrs. Davenport never did anything but be different. You really can't convict anyone for dancing to their own drummer, can you?
The night came. We met at Captain Jake's, laid out the game plan and left to begin the chaos. We split up in order to gain all angles of the house - we were very strategic. As I approached her house I spotted her standing on her porch talking to - my mom! What the hell was my mom doing talking to her? Then I saw it. Mrs. Davenport handed my mom a shopping bag. I knew all to well what was in that shopping bag. As my mom reached in, she pulled out - an orange! Oh no, she's handing out oranges again. I never said anything to the guys about the exchange. I had seen Patrick peek around the Jackson's house and I quickly waved him back. Justin and Cameron were across the street, sitting on the ground behind Mr. Flattery's '76 Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser, which we called 'The Tank'. The car was huge and the joke on the lane was that every Halloween, Mr. Flattery would go on a killing spree and he'd haul all of the bodies down to the gravel pit known as 'The Dump' and bury them before their families had ever known that they were gone. What imaginations we had!
After about 10 minutes my mom and Mrs. Davenport said their 'goodnights' and we made our way toward the unsuspecting home. I often wonder if she really was unsuspecting or just let us do that to her house. Marty was usually the one to start off the festivities. Her car windows were soaped and then the shaving cream was sprayed, and if it was cold out that stuff was like chiseling ice the next morning. Me, Justin and Cameron tossed the white rolls of toilet paper into the trees and over the bushes that lined her lawn. Then Patrick threw the eggs and we ran up the street. We never stuck around to see if she opened the door or not. All I remember was the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. She gave my mom oranges. All she ever did was be different.
Halloween night came and every kid on Pennington Lane was out. There was Batman and Robin, Spiderman, cowboys and Indians, pirates, hobos, clowns and ballerinas. They were all out and accounted for, with the moms following closely behind. This year I was an Indian. We always had a great time and the moms usually gathered together to gossip. By the end of the night, none of us wanted to go to Mrs. Davenport's, but our moms would shout, 'Guys, go to Mrs. Davenport's and then you're done'. We looked like five misfits, with our shoulders slumped and our heads down, walking up the steps of her house.
Patrick knocked on her door and we all just stood there, shaking and thinking whether or not she knew it was us that did all that stuff to her house last night. What does she have in store for us? She opened the door with a smile on her face, 'Oh, look how adorable you all are. I have a treat for you'. We looked in shock and amazement as we saw her reach in and bring out a yellow bowl. What's inside? As the bowl was brought closer to us, our eyes grew wide as we couldn't believe what was inside - it's candy! She smiled and told us to take whatever we wanted. We looked at each other in wonder and then we did what any kid would've done - we dipped our hands into that bowl and grabbed handfuls of Snickers, 3 Musketeers, M&M's and Good-n-Plenty. We took off down the steps to tell our mother's what had just happened and they said, 'see, people change'. I guess they do.
The next day we usually met at Captain Jake's to trade off the candy that we didn't want or like. As I was leaving the house, I noticed Justin's mom and dad crying on their porch. Then I saw Patrick's mom crying. What happened? My mom looked at me and told me to go back inside as she ran over to Justin's. I did as I was told but kept an eye through the window. Hours later, my mom returned, her eyes red from crying herself. 'Mom, what happened?' She sat next to me and told me, as softly as she could, that my friends were dead. They had apparently ate some bad candy, 'Did you eat any of your candy?' she anxiously asked me. 'No mom, I didn't eat any, why?' 'The police have asked for it. Where is it?' I looked at her and watched the fear wash over her, 'It's over on the table'. She walked over to the table, grabbed the bag and headed back out, where a police officer was waiting. My mom gave the officer the bag and they raced off.
They loved 3 Musketeers bars. You always knew that they were around just by the silver foil wrapper they left behind. The official report was death caused by insulin shock. Being diabetic I know all to well about insulin. Mrs. Davenport asked my mom to buy her the candy. She never knew that the candy was tainted. I hated how they treated her. I guess they'll never torture Mrs. Davenport again. She never knew that it was me.
'Hello Albert, I brought you a bag of fruit'. 'Thank you, Mrs. Davenport. That was very nice of you. How have you been?' 'I'm fine. I can't believe that it's been 10 years, Albert.' 'I know. I've had time to reflect on my actions and I'm not sorry for what I did. They were a bad bunch that I unfortunately got involved with. I could've done something before it got out of hand, but I didn't. Maybe it was because I wanted to fit in - I wanted to be like the others. I didn't ask to be diabetic - I just wanted to be like a normal kid, and I felt like I wasn't.' Mrs. Davenport looked at me with sadness in her eyes as she asked me the question that everyone had been asking me since I was sent here, 'Albert, why did you do it?'
As I lowered my head, my heart dropped. I raised my head and, never having cried the entire time of being locked up, I felt a tear roll down my face. I wiped it away with my hand and gazed at the salty wetness on my fingers. I glanced at Mrs. Davenport and grinned, shrugging my shoulders, 'I just wanted them to like you...and I wanted them to be like me.' The guard came and I stood up, knowing that it was time to go back to my cell and I looked at Mrs. Davenport, showing her a small smile, 'I have to go. Thank you for coming, Mrs. Davenport.' And as I walked with the guard to the door, I stopped and turned to her,
'I guess people do change.'
