Tre Miller Rodriguez's Blog, page 91

Throwback Thursday: Halloween Hauntings

Alberto hated Halloween.

He dressed up the first year we were married but made it clear that he would not be doing it again.

And the famous Village parade?

Go with your girlfriends, he said. I don’t like clowns.

Two Halloweens ago, when I was Sally from “Cabaret,” we had a fight in this apartment that haunted me even before he died.

He decided he’d rather stay home than go to a costume party in Brooklyn, so I got ready at our place and met up with two girlfriends. Around 2am, I texted him to let him now we were now at a loft party in the East Village.

Come. home. now.

I’m hanging with Mariana, Roberto and everyone else, I reply. I told you I’d be home late, baby.

I’m not asking. 

After the fifth text, I turn off my phone. Whether I go home now or four hours from now, he’ll be pissed. I decide to stay and face the wrath later.

And wrath there was.

The verbal kind.

The written kind.

The not-talking-to-me-for-a-week kind.

The wrath was so memorable that a year later, in an act of conciliation, I sat out Halloween for the first time—ever.

This year, Halloween will invariably mean reliving our 2007 fight.

Sleeping in one of his shirts.

Waking up in our empty apartment with swollen eyes.

Fuck that noise.

I’ve heard Savannah puts on a good Halloween party, so I text one of my West Coast girlfriends and ask if she’s ever been to Georgia.

When do we leave? she replies.

I spend the rest of the night on Amazon.com, in search of the perfect Elle-vis costume.

"I read your memoir in one sitting because it seemed headed somewhere beautiful and uplifting. I..."

“I read your memoir in one sitting because it seemed headed somewhere beautiful and uplifting. I wasn’t disappointed. I will read it again slowly and savor. But I want to tell you that I read your book the same week I broke out of my depression, and I don’t consider this a coincidence.”

- — Anon, America

"You should have included a fuckin’ box of Kleenex with the purchase of your book! (I’ve..."

“You should have included a fuckin’ box of Kleenex with the purchase of your book! (I’ve been reading it on my way to work; people on the train think I am a crazy person.)

My mom became a widow when I was 16 and reading your book brought back memories of the days following my dad’s death. I realized that what you portray in the first part of “Splitting the Difference: A Heart-Shaped Memoir” is probably similar to the pain that my mom went through. I knew that she was sad and cried for years—still does and it has been 13—but, like you, she is a warrior.

P.S. I could not believe you shared with the world—and your parents—the story of your first night with Alberto…thanks for that!”

-

— Cesar, New York

And I love us.

And I love us.

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