18 October 2009

dead pumkins

When I was three, while we were in the US waiting for my baby brother to be born, we had pumpkins carved for Halloween out on the porch. Some bigger boys in the neighborhood came by and smashed them on the road. I was terrified of the dead pumpkins in the road. I could barely stand to drive past them, let alone walk anywhere near them. I remember the horror I felt back then, because I knew that the pumpkins had been alive, with thoughts and feelings, and now they were dead and broken. Even long after the pieces of the pumpkin were gone, I could feel their presence in the middle of the road.

I don't remember when I stopped believing that pumpkins were alive, or that my stuffed animals had feelings and would be hurt if I didn't sleep with every one of them on my bed, taking turns snuggling each one. Somewhere along the way, though, in the last 27 years, I did stop. Inanimate objects are just objects now, and now, when I see the broken pieces of a pumpkin on the road, it is just orange rind, not the remains of a dear friend.

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