Last Wednesday I took Hanley back to dance class after a summer hiatus. I miraculously got her off of her trampoline, into her white tights, black leotard, and pinned her hair off her face, and into dance school on time. Inside the lobby Hanley saw the other kids and stopped in her tracks. One girl had on a princess dress. So did another. A boy was dressed as a pirate. Everybody was in something sparkly, fantastical, and–oh, shit. It was Halloween. The light dawned and her head whipped around to my direction. She stared at me with white hot anger so fierce I wanted to call someone in Hollywood and suggest a remake of Firestarter.
I bit my lip and said, “I suppose this isn’t the time to tell you that I forgot your ballet slippers at home.”