Halloween in the mid-90’s, it was better than actual Christmas. Addams Family and Munsters marathons ran on the TV. Recess Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers, and Tootsie rolls, melted inside a ghoulish pumpkin basket. Witches on brooms, spooky owls, space aliens, and more pumpkins, carved with distinctive designs, characterized Halloween camp. This was my Star Wars era, where I dressed as Luke Skywalker. Secretly, I wanted to dress as Princess Leia, which my parents said no, the heteronormative 90’s.

Gay Christmas became an endangered species in the mid-90s. Gone were the days of classic ghoulish television, kitschy décor, and tasty sweets. Outside our modest home in Red Bank, were boxes and boxes of Halloween decorations. While I walked up to the stoop, I listened to the Smashing Pumpkins (on my Walkman). Sadly, actual smashed pumpkins along with boxes of sad witches, space aliens and spooky owls, lined the sidewalk. My mom stepped down the stoop and caught my face in dismay. Her hair in curlers and a blue robe gave the illusion of a Halloween costume.

“Our church is having a Hallelujah night.”

“Ma, I think I want to puke. I still fit into my Luke Skywalker costume. Let’s go trick or treating,”

“Halloween is Satan’s holidays. It’s for Satan worshippers and Pagans.”

“But, ma, I’m pretty sure Easter is derived from the Pagans.”

“Are you questioning Jesus?”

“It’s history, ma.”

“No Halloween, Felix. It’s Hallelujah night, or you can stay home.”

I was doomed. My mom became the fun killer. My room turned into a refuge from the strict takeover. Eventually, I hid the Dia de Los Muertos art, still dreamed of dressing like Princess Leia, and secretly recorded Monster Mash from the FM radio.

A decade plus had passed since the Halloween ban. My mom had passed away. Several years later, I graduated with an Art History degree from Rhode Island School of Design. After college I moved to New York City Eventually, my advertising job ended up in a layoff. As an unemployed twenty-something living on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. This made me “The Scrooge of Orchard Street.” Coffee houses were a refuge from reality, especially the Cake Shop on Ludlow. The coffee house’s old rock band posters and funky, brightly colored furniture stimulated my caffeine infused existence. It made me less of a Scrooge.

Randomly, the Monster Mash blasted on the coffee house speakers. I stared at the date on my laptop. As predicted, it read October 31. Halloween nostalgia came to mind. I still hadn’t achieved my dream of dressing like Princess Leia. As night fell, New Yorkers walked by the coffee house window. They dressed in many interesting costumes, from Dinosaurs to Andy Warhol to Batman.

“Who puts that much effort into one stupid holiday?”

After a coffee house excursion, I walked up my tenement building’s five flights of steps.

My apartment had the most narrow door. The door was decorated with stickers and twinkling lights. Inside, the apartment was silent, a rarity. Quickly, I warmed up Mac n’ Cheese and ran to my bedroom.

My room was tiny, but brightly decorated with art. Turning on the television, New York 1 News Channel, had a special on Halloween art. How original on Halloween, except this art revolved around Dia de Los Muertos. It made me reminiscent of the art my uncle gave me, which was embraced every Halloween. Nostalgia kicked in, obviously.

While reaching the end of the Mac n’ cheese container, happy revelers shouted outside my window. Stepping onto my fire escape, Halloween came to life below. The need to escape became more apparent. Rummaging through my closet, I found my ideal Halloween costume. Thanks to my own self-consciousness, it had been collecting dust, not the fun, fairy dust either. After my wig was put on, I applied makeup. Quickly, Grabbing my pea coat and beanie, my Halloween costume was concealed until reaching my destination, Union Square.

Headed toward the pavement, I was off for my very first Halloween experience in New York City. Somebody que the Star Wars theme. My beanie was taken off. A blue peacoat became unbuttoned to reveal a glorious costume.

“Hola Union Square, meet the Cuban, Salvadoran, and Mexican Princess Leia.”

Hair buns, white dress, and a lifesaver, I felt quite ready to lose all sense of embarrassment and embrace my inner camp. With a Latinx/Sci-Fi vibe, I made my way through the colorful crowds. Drag queens, football jocks, fluffy bunnies, beatniks, and even a few Cousin Its, many subcultures were represented. There were people wall to wall, mostly dressed in costumes. Music blasted. Walking down 14th Street, the people traffic intensified. Every approaching avenue brought more people traffic, until the Halloween parade route appeared.

“Shit, I forgot I fucking hate crowds.”

From a dose of claustrophobia to full on panic, nerves went bananas. I was trapped and couldn’t get out of the sea of merry revelers. Retreating back to my Scrooge ways, anxiety 4 slowly kicked in. There had to be somewhere to escape. I could hear my ma’s voice attacking my bad decision.

“You can’t escape the crowds and you can’t escape my Catholic guilt.”

Claustrophobia and anxiety became more persistent, I found a store front. Huffing and puffing, safety was found in a store front’s confines. The people traffic happened to worsen. I was trapped. My mom’s voice still haunted me. Rather than giving into guilt and anxiety, a strategy was worked out in the chaos. Pushing my way through crowds, I almost felt victorious. Darth Vader appeared. He grabbed me by the shoulders. Darth Vader must’ve read my reviews of the latest Star Wars films and was pissed.

“You bumped into me and didn’t say excuse me.”

“Are you going to behead me with your colorful lifesaver ?”

“My mom’s resonated in my head, “may the force be with you.”

I looked Darth Vader in the eyes. Fear drifted from me. Soon a smile came across my face.

“If you don’t get out of the way, I’ll kick you in the balls.”

Darth Vader intensified his grip. So, I did what any good Jedi would do. He was kicked in the balls. As he screamed, people around me clapped. I quickly continued a more aggressive push through the crowds. Paranoia quickly took me over.

“Oh, shit, I hope I’m not accused of assault. Oh, well it was just a little self-defense.”

Running towards Fifth Avenue, the crowds slowly dissipated. The Halloween parade served as the Death Star, metaphorically. The Flatiron Building became a symbol of escapism. Taking off a Princess Leia wig, signaled my transition back to my old self. I felt pretty as Leia, but realized claustrophobia wasn’t for me. Gay Christmas would fade into memory, without assault charges.

A year later, Gay Christmas returned. My scenery changed. Lower East Side tenements were replaced by Central Harlem brownstones. Rather than traveling into downtown chaos, I strolled Lenox Avenue, once again dressed as Princess Leia. The hair buns also made a comeback. Finding comfort in a cozy coffee house, I sipped a cappuccino. My Princess Leia then locked eyes with a Hans Solo clone, the Latinx version. He smiled at me, and vice versa.

I yelled, “may the force be with you!”

Latinx Hans Solo shook his head in solidarity.

“Here is what I actually wanted to say. Hey, Mr. Solo, are you gay? Inquiring Jedis want to know.”

Anthony Alas is a nine-times published author. His works have appeared in the Pacific Review, In Parentheses, Scribble Lit, Inlandia, Azahares Magazine, Sandstorm, Twisted Vine, and Defunkt Magazine. After many years in New York City, Mr. Alas now calls California’s Inland Empire home again. He holds a Master's degree in English literature from CSU San Bernardino.