Carving Contest [FICTION]

“Nothing can keep me from carving the most awesome pumpkin ever,” Earl declares, adjusting his mask one last time.

“We know, Earl.” I glance around at the crowd who have shown up to celebrate the art of pumpkin carving.

The assembled masses don’t come close to the normal turnout for this event, but the fairgrounds don’t provide quite enough room to maintain six feet between the normal amount of pumpkin carvers and fans. Earl grins as he steps onto the stage and inspects his pumpkin. He gives me a thumbs up and picks up a carving knife. I watch him deftly cut around the stem and linger a few seconds longer as he begins extracting guts and seeds.

Then I slip out to see who decided to risk the virus and score a booth at this year’s festival. I grab a bag of chocolate-covered roasted pumpkin seeds, a half dozen pumpkin cider donuts, and lose time over a display of pumpkin-themed jewelry before making my way back to the main stage.

Guffaws and snickers herald my re-arrival to the audience. But they are not for me. I look up at the stage to see what comical face has appeared on one of the pumpkins. What I behold sends my own heart down into my shoes, too ashamed to keep beating in my chest.

I know the comedian is Earl because I recognize his shirt, which he emblazoned boldly with the words, “Pumpkin Pimp” in slashes of black magic marker. A pumpkin, however, sits atop his shoulders. One with a face carved on it that has no place among the masterpieces normally produced during the contest.

I sigh. “What did that idiot do now?” I mumble to myself.

A woman about four feet to my left gives me a sympathetic look before looking away as a snicker escapes from her lips. I try to catch her eye to ask her what happened, but she pointedly keeps her eyes averted. I cross my arms and step toward the stage. A guard shakes his head and waves me back.

“But I…” I start to make my case, but he shakes his head again, raising his eyebrows in unspoken challenge.

I bite my lip and step back, waiting to see where this goes. One of the judges steps forward to talk to the guard gesturing at me as she talks. The guard looks at me and then back to the judge before nodding and stepping over to Earl.

“Okay, buddy, we found your sister.” He announces loudly as he puts a hand on Earl’s arm, “We’re going to have her come up here and help you with this mess.”

Earl gives a thumbs up and then begins knocking on the side of his pumpkin head. I hear muffled giggles from within and roll my eyes. I step toward the stage as the guard motions for me to approach.

“What did you do, moron?” I ask as I step up to my brother.

He giggles and spins the pumpkin until I can see one eye peering at me through the crudely cut mouth. “This time, it really wasn’t my fault.”

“How so?” I ask.

“I was just carving my pumpkin…” He begins.

“Why did you bother, this pumpkin looks like something I would do?” I interrupt.

“Oh, this isn’t my pumpkin.” He assures me. “Can I finish my story?”

I shrug and wave a hand to encourage him to get on with it.

He points to another pumpkin that while much smaller, too small for someone to put their head in. A detailed haunted house comes to life on its orange surface. “That is my pumpkin.”

“Oh.”

“And I won first prize.” He holds up a blue ribbon, waving it in my face as he continues. “One of my competitors didn’t like the fact that I won.”

“Was it that you won? Or did you…”

“I did the dance,” he begins to do it again, shaking his hips at me like a bellydancer on overdrive.

 

I cover my eyes. “Oh, please…”

“You should watch this.” He says.

“I have seen it,” I mutter, but I uncover my eyes a little.

He gyrates his butt at me and dances closer and closer, “Fred didn’t like me getting so close to him. Instead of asking me to back off, he just picked up this monstrosity he called a competitor…” Earl pauses to laugh. “And that is how I got to be a pumpkin head.”

We are another day closer to Halloween. I hope you all have plans that are just the right size for you. And I hope this little treat keeps you from wasting that hard-earned toilet paper on my house.