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A haunting Halloween omen

An innocent remark while wearing a hastily improvised costume leads to an unsettling coincidence.

By JUDE BAGATTI
Published October 30, 2005

[Times photo: James Borchuck]

Jude Bagatti showed up at a Halloween party years ago dressed as the angel of death. Not every guest thought her costume amusing.

It happens every October. An ominous foreboding seeps down my neck like sweat under a stifling rubber mask. What will I be for Halloween? It's no lighthearted question anymore, not since that prophetic choice I made one night.

Decades of intervening masquerades have not erased the uncanny, sobering memory. It rises, zombielike, from the past to stare into my psyche.

In Coconut Grove, where I lived for 20 years, friends and I put hazy heads together in clever collaborations for Halloween. We would form entourages like a band of stoned ghouls, or a sultan/harem/eunuch coterie, and sashay to the Grove's big street party.

Other Halloweens, I paired with my man of the night, once as an Italian nun crowned "Miss Vatican," in sashed swimsuit, arriving at a house party atop a motorcycle driven by the pope.

Another year and another man, I paraded as a sneering dominatrix with all the black trimmings and whip, yanking a submissive rabbi by a neck chain. I've been a roller derby queen; a wigged and stiletto-heeled Tina Turner; a bald Sinead O'Connor; a silvery moon maiden; a bone-bedecked, spear-wielding savage; an accented, fortunetelling gypsy; even a half-man/half woman anomaly. So you see, I'm no novice at assuming personas.

But one Halloween stands out. Across the street from my apartment, a coral rock house had been restored and given historic designation. Connie, a thirtysomething real estate agent, moved in with Leonard, a man some years her senior. They planned a Halloween social. Our mutual friend, Marilyn, invited me. The twin prospects of meeting new people and viewing the home's interior excited me. I pondered what to go as. Then, bad news.

Leonard had suddenly taken ill and was in the hospital. I didn't learn what ailed him, but it didn't sound serious, just inconvenient. The party would probably be canceled. How disappointing.

Then, on the day it was scheduled Marilyn said it was back on! I was pleased, but didn't have a costume ready. As fate had it, late that afternoon, I spied a discarded pair of wings near our Dumpster. They must have come from a party at the school next door. I examined them. They were in good shape, white, lightweight and with shoulder straps big enough for an adult.

What luck! I could be a fairy, insect or whatever, depending on what my eclectic wardrobe allowed.

Darkness fell. Witches, monsters, assorted vamps and vampires were emerging to creep into the night. For once, my costume was plain: a filmy white dress to match the wings. In contrast, my face, heavily layered with multihued makeup and glitter, was a cross between exotic and grotesque. I gave no thought to naming who or what I represented. Perhaps I should have.

The house looked elegantly lit and decorated. I could see people inside. I crossed the street, climbed the porch stairs and rang the bell. Leonard opened the door. He was smiling, looking fine, none the worse for his recent indisposition. He wore no costume, nor did many guests. For the Grove, this crowd was atypical. It was almost sacrilegious, not to dress up for Halloween.

I greeted Leonard by name with a mischievous, jack-o'-lantern leer. Maybe it was the makeup. Leonard didn't recognize me.

"Who are you?" he inquired, puzzled but still smiling.

I wish he hadn't asked. It dawned on me I must look like an angel, but with such weird makeup, not a benign one.

Impulsively, I blurted, "I am the Angel of Death!"

Leonard did not react as expected. His smile didn't widen to a grin. In fact, it disappeared. He blanched and stared at me with an odd expression, saying nothing.

"He doesn't get it," I thought. A stiff, uptight business type, obviously not accustomed to Halloween fun or the Grove, either. Probably thinks I'm outlandish.

A bit deflated, I went inside, realizing no customary Halloween craziness would be happening here. I recall tasteful finger food, imaginative decor, muted conversations and a mood more sedate than festive. The house was easily the life of the party. I explored its nooks and admired its charm. When I said good night, it was early enough to continue partying elsewhere, but by then I, too, felt strangely subdued. I deposited my wings back at the Dumpster.

The next morning, Marilyn stunned me with the news. Leonard was dead. It was a heart attack around 2 a.m.

Who played the ultimate Halloween trick, Leonard or me?

-- Jude Bagatti is a freelance writer and poet who moved from Miami to Gulfport in 2002. She holds sociology and law degrees from the University of Miami, is a member of the Florida Bar, licensed reiki massage therapist, fine art photographer, is active in community theater and enjoys travel.

[Last modified October 28, 2005, 10:04:55]