The One With the Halloween Costume Anxiety

Date: 7/25/2024

It’s Halloween. I’m with a group of people I’m apparently friends with in a mansion of sorts. I realize that I never got costumes for my family. I’m suddenly frantic because I don’t want to have dropped the ball on the twins’ first Halloween. I end up walking through the top floor of the house, which is cluttered with life-size Star Wars figures — one of which is Jar-Jar Binks — and end up in a large costume-housing area. I walk around with one of the girls I’m here with and look different costumes we could use. She points one out and says, “You could be Wonder Woman!” I politely say, “Yeah, that could maybe work… Brody could be Superman.” Secretly, I don’t want to do this costume at all. I think hard about what group theme could work for us and the babies at the same time. I continually feel more and more panicked about not finding something to wear in time. We keep walking until we reach an enormous aquarium in the house. The girl shows me large, cartoonish looking fish with glazed-over eyes. She explains that “these fish are doing math.” I make a goofy face and laugh, amazed by this. I then see large, striped fish that are shaped exactly like turkeys and seem to be glowing. I’m both disgusted and awestruck by this, certain that they’ve been engineered to look like this … I’m standing near what looks like a tennis court at night. I look down at my phone and see that someone has sent me a slideshow that includes a Live Photo of Mrs. Jacque screaming at James to stay away from her and a selfie of Mrs. Jacque and Renee together. I read a long text and realize it’s Renee telling me and my mom what happened, and how she helped protect Mrs. Jacque from James. I respond, “We need to get her a Birdie!” (referring to the self-defense alarm I have). I keep looking at my phone and come across a picture of Brody and the twins the day they were born. They’re all sitting in the OR with masks on their faces, apparently to help with their breathing. I realize that one of the staff must’ve taken this photo. I press on the picture and it shows a very long live version. As the camera backs up, I see myself sitting up in a hospital bed in the background, presumably moments after having my incision closed. What looks like a polar bear head starts thrashing around at the door of the bed. Blake comes in and asks if I’ve cried yet, to which I quietly say that I have.