The Bean was a fire fighter. (“With suspenders,” as he would tell everyone.) Sprout was Strawberry Shortcake, whom she refers to as “Strawberry Girl.” Two days before, I told the Bean that it was almost Halloween. He gasped. “It is??”
The Bean began to instruct Sprout in all things trick or treat. “You knock on the door and you say ‘trick or treat.’ You pick out your candy. Sometimes they will just give you candy and you can’t pick. After you say ‘thank you’ and you go to the next house,” he patiently told her. Sprout nodded her head and seemed to get it.
By the third house, she really got it. Though she was struggling to keep up with the Bean. We had met up with a few friends in the neighborhood and the Bean was running a quarter block ahead yelling, “Come ooooon guys! Let’s gooooo!”
Sprout lasted a half hour on the mean suburban streets, dragging her oversized bucket filled with candy lethargically behind her. The Bean and I stayed out for an hour. It took fifteen minutes more to walk back to our house. It took me nearly that long to convince him that it would be okay for me to carry his heavy candy bucket.
The next morning, I awoke to the sounds of rustling. The Bean and Sprout had overturned their buckets and were surrounded by piles of sweets. They were rifling through their spoils, sorting them by color and smelling the candy through the wrappers. Together, they plotted which pieces they would eat that day and what they would eat the day after.
I watched them from a distance, smiling and thinking of the post-Halloween mornings I spent with my sister doing the exact same thing.