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meeting is somewhat subdued, what with Walter's dismemberment and the emotional residue from his attack. The first real rain of the season doesn't improve the mood. That and Carl didn't show up for the meeting.
    Carl's missed meetings before. We all have. Except tonight is Halloween, so we're a little paranoid. It's bad enough that we've all been transformed into the ghoulish archetypes that children use to frighten themselves and each other with on the spookiest day of the year, but then you hear stories about Breathers driving around on Halloween, dismembering stray zombies or stuffing firecrackers into their orifices.
    Still, that hasn't prevented everyone from observing the occasion. Putting on a costume can be therapeutic and empowering by pretending to be someone or something you're not. It's also good camouflage. Who expects zombies to get dressed up for Halloween?
    Helen is dressed like a fairy godmother, complete with blue hair, wings, and a tiara. On the chalkboard behind her, beneath HAPPY HALLOWEEN! and a couple of cartoon bats is:
    HOPE IS NOT A FOUR-LETTER WORD.
    “Continue to breathe deeply,” says Helen, leading ourguided meditation. “With each exhale, let go of all of your fears and concerns.”
    Jerry has fallen asleep in the chair next to me. His costume is nothing but red sweatpants, a red long-sleeved T-shirt, a red knit beanie, and a pair of devil horns held on with elastic. He's painted his face red, but it's hard to tell where the paint starts and the road rash ends.
    “Empty your mind of all thoughts,” says Helen as she walks around the room, her voice a soft, maddening whisper. “Imagine nothing but a blank screen or a canvas devoid of images.”
    We're supposed to keep our eyes closed during meditation to help us focus. I keep opening one eye to see what everyone else is doing. It's not that I don't respect what Helen is trying to do, but all I can focus on is the rain drumming against the roof of the community center and the sound of Jerry snoring.
    Rita is sitting directly across from me. She's wearing a black one-piece bathing suit, bunny ears, and Satin Red lipstick—most of which she's consumed during the meditation. A white dog collar and leather wrist cuffs conceal her scars. She looks just like a Playboy Bunny.
    Once the meditation has ended, Helen rings a little bell and I nudge Jerry to wake him up.
    “Would anyone like to share how they feel about what happened to Walter?” asks Helen.
    “It sucked,” says Jerry. “I say we go kick some fraternity butt.”
    Naomi, who is dressed like a pirate with a head scarf, a black-and-white striped shirt, and a patch over her empty eye socket, nods her head in vigorous agreement. “Right on.”
    “Really?” says Tom.
    Tom is painted white with a toga draped over his shouldersand a laurel wreath around his head. When he sits or stands completely still, he looks like a Roman sculpture.
    “No, not really,” says Helen. “As soon as someone spotted you, they'd call the Sheriff's Department and the next thing you know, you're all in restraints in the back of a van on your way to the SPCA.”
    “Or Dr. Frankenstein's,” says Rita.
    That would be appropriate, since I'm dressed up like Frankenstein's monster. Mom bought an old suit from the thrift store and even did my makeup. I'm pretty convincing, which doesn't exactly thrill me considering the monster gets torched by a mob of angry townspeople.
    We spend the next thirty minutes trying to lift one another's spirits while discussing what action we can take and how we can help one another deal with the loss of one of our own. Though this isn't the first time we've lost a member. We had a burn victim in the group, a young guy named Spencer, who got drunk one night when he was still alive and thought it would be fun to try his hand at pyrotechnics with a lighter and a can of Raid. Nearly burned his entire face off. He hasn't shown up to the meetings in a couple of months and no one knows