Tater was fat. He tried to eat less but that didn’t work. He tried to run, just from his house down to the corner store and back and he nearly killed himself doing that. The problem was not that Tater wasn’t motivated, it was that eating was the only thing that made him happy. For a long time, food was Tater’s only friend.

Tater hated school. The kids there always pointed and laughed. They said awful things to him. Called him fat-face, Pillsbury and Tater-tits. They threw things at him when the teachers weren’t looking. Not that it mattered, all of the adults at school seemed disgusted by him too. Tater was 13 and in the full throws of puberty. He had horrible acne due to is pale, oily skin. It was worse where the folds of his fat came together in a greasy crease. He smelled bad even though he showered two or three times a day. And if it wasn’t for his Mama, Tater would never have wanted to leave his house at all.

You see, Mama called him a fat-fuck and lard-ass even though she was well over 400lbs herself. Tater was often confused by his mother. He loved her, deep down beneath the thick fat that encased his soul and his heart. But he couldn’t understand why she hated him. He didn’t treat her like the kids at school treated him. So why did she dislike him so much?

Tater did everything for her because she had such a hard time getting around. He cooked and cleaned, activities which he loved because they were solitary affairs in which no one could cause him to feel bad about himself. He waited on his mother hand and foot. She pestered him, poked at him, prodded him with her pointed finger, “You ah a fat-fuck aren’t you boy? Now bring me ma damn remote and get to those winders, they’re filthy!”

It had gotten to be a little too much for Tater. Sometimes he had thoughts. He imagined himself back-talking his mother. “You’re the fat-fuck, not me!” He imagined storming out of the house and letting her fend for herself for a few hours, “Cook your own dinner, Mama!” He imagined destroying something of hers, “YOU SEE, YOU SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! I HATE YOU TOO, MAMA!!!”

But Tater had tried to be a good boy. He pushed those ugly thoughts away every time one crept into his head and he made himself think about good things. He thought about how much he loved drawing when his chores and homework were done for the day. He thought about how he loved to pet Felix, his cat, every night when the little guy crawled into bed with him. But most of all, Tater liked to think about Missy.

Missy was skinny, 15, nearly six feet and as thin as a post. She had a lisp and a terrible habit for dropping things. Missy was in the same school as Tater, just not the same grade. He really liked Missy, more than anyone else he knew. And that love that he felt for his mother, wadded up and stored in the corner of his heart, well it was nothing compared to the way he felt about Missy. Sometimes they held sweaty hands under the lunch table so no one else could see. Another time she had kissed him on the cheek when no one was looking. And lately, they had talked about going to the Fall dance together. Oh they wouldn’t dance, they would just sit there and watch everyone else.

Missy and Tater ate lunch together every day at the loser’s table. They sat there with Chauncey, the only black kid and unfortunately for him, the smartest kid in the whole school. They also shared their table with two girls from the special class. They never talked much, just giggled at each other. But Missy and Tater paid them no attention and were thus, given their privacy by the others. Of course sometimes the cool kids came over to terrorize the table. Usually it was Buck the football player or Sarah and her pretty cronies. Buck dumped a carton of chocolate milk on Chauncey’s’s head one day. The poor boy got up as if his pants were on fire and ran out of the cafeteria. He knocked over three kids and their trays full of food while tripping a half a dozen times on his way out. The rumor was that Chauncey had crapped his pants. On another occasion Sarah and her crew tied used tampons to the pigtails of the special girls. The girls just giggled like always, but the sound was a little different, sadder maybe. And one time Buck the football player had set his targets on Missy and Tater.

“Well if it isn’t Pillsbury,” Buck said and then in his best lisp. “And his thhhhkinny athh girlfriend!”

Tater and Missy immediately stopped holding hands under the table. The cafeteria was watching them.

“Jezz, she doesn’t even have tits!” Buck said groping Missy’s chest with his big hand.

The cafeteria filled with scattered chuckles.

“But hey,” Buck said putting his other hand on Tater’s chest. “At least yours are bigger than hers!!!”

The whole room erupted in laughter.

Missy turned about ten different shades of red. Tater, for the first time in his life, got mad. He smacked Buck’s hand away with a loud pop. The cafeteria moaned with a low, “Ooooooooh!”

Buck looked at Tater in shock, but this was quickly replaced by rage. Buck tackled Tater right off of his seat and started driving hard fists into his soft body. The abuse was too much and Tater vomited his lunch all over himself and Buck. Two teachers pulled Buck off of Tater and drug both boys to the Principle’s office. Tater had just enough time to look back over his shoulder at Missy. She mouthed the words, “I love you.” Tater could have died right there.

And so the night of the Fall dance had arrived and all Tater had left to do was feed Mama. Missy’s dad was going to stop by and pick him up in ten minutes.

“Goddamn it Tater! Where is ma dinner!?! I’m hungray!!!”

Tater sighed and plopped another ladle full of chicken and dumplings into Mama’s bowl. He pulled her super big gulp thermos out of the freezer, she liked her milk ice cold and he brought her dinner to her on a stained and slightly bent TV tray.

“Wut is this here, Tater?”

“Chicken n dumplins, Mama.”

“You put some pepper on them dumplins?”

“Yes, Mama. Twelve shakes just like you like it.”

“You season that chicken good?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Wut chew all dressed up far?”

“Remember Mama? The dance is tonight.”

“Dance? You ain’t goin to know dance, boy.”

“But Mama!?!” He said much louder than he had intended.

She turned her massive head toward him, her eyes glaring. It was the first time he’d ever raised his voice to her. She lifted her massive arm off the discolored arm rest of the couch and slapped him hard across the face. The wet smear of her hand print hung to his cheek like tar.

“You ain’t goin no ware,” she said lifting a heaping spoonful of dumplings toward her mouth.

“But . . .”

That is when the unthinkable happened. Mama leapt up from the couch with a great roar. Tater had never seen his mama move so quickly. Her face was twisted into a mask of anger. Tater just stood there, bewildered. She clubbed him over the head with her thick forearm and Tater went crashing down to one knee. With her other hand she whipped the TV stand upwards and smashed it into Tater’s face. He fell over onto his back, his lower leg bending painfully under him. Mama then jumped on top of him, blowing most of the air out of Tater’s lungs. She straddled his chest and wrapped her hands around his ample throat.

“Don’t you eva talk back to me, boy! You jus like your father. One big fat-fucker!” Then she started to squeeze and everything went dark for Tater.

2

Tater woke up to hear Mama crooning over Magnum PI. He picked his spinning head up off the carpet and looked over at his mama.

Mama caught him out of the corner of her eye, “Gimme some ice cream, Tater. Magnum’s on.”

“Mama?” Tater noticed the clock on the wall, he’d been out for over an hour. “I gotta go . . .”

Mama measured him with a stern glare, “You ain’t goin no ware with that heffa.”

“What?”

“Oh she an her daddy come to tha door lookin fo you but I toll em my son ain’t goin no ware with no heffa.”

Tater’s heart plummeted into his big belly. The only person who liked him, Missy. His Mama had sent her away, calling her . . . , calling her a . . . , Tater was mortified.

“Gimme ma ice cream, boy.”

Tater drug himself off the floor and stumbled into the kitchen in a daze. Missy. Poor Missy. She’d never talk to him again. Never in a million years after what his Mama had said to her. He started to cry. They’d never hold hands again. She would never peck him on the cheek, he’d never . . . never hear those words that she’d mouthed to him that day in the cafeteria.

Tater carefully opened the freezer and pulled out Mama’s tub of ice cream. He opened the microwave and stuck it in.

“What chew cookin in thare Tater? I wonted ice cream!”

“It’s coming,” Tater said in a voice that did not sound like his own. He fingered his sore neck, the skin felt raw and inflamed. The microwave dinged a few minutes later and Tater removed the tub with an oven mit.

“Whare’s ma . . .!”

“Here it is Mama,” Tater said matter-of-factly. He handed the tub to Mama who had her eyes glued to the TV. Tater smiled in anticipation.

Mama screamed as the tub burned her hands and dropped the boiling ice cream on her lap. She screamed again and fell off of the couch in a sticky mess.

“YOU FAT FUCK! YOU FAT MISERABLE FUCK!! I KILL YOU, BOY!!! I FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!”

Tater smiled miserably at the wounded animal in front of him.

“I hate you, Mama.”

Tater walked outside and into the night.

3

Tater was surprised that he wasn’t crying. His chest felt a little shaky and his stomach was a bit uneasy but other than that, he was fine. He heard his Mama yelling inside but he ignored her. She’d taken something very special from him and so he didn’t feel one ounce of remorse, not one.

Tater wandered over to his Dad’s old tool shed. He’d never known his father. Daddy had died when Tater was only a little thing. All he knew about his Dad was what was in this old shed. There were pictures of his Daddy in army fatigues with some other men. One of his Daddy holding him as a baby. They were hung on the walls. An old guitar sat in the corner, supposedly his Daddy had been a great musician. Toured with Kenny Rogers a bit and had even appeared in a back-up band on the old country music variety show, “Hee Haw.”

Tater often wondered why his Daddy married Mama. She was a mean, horrible person who didn’t deserve someone as nice as his Daddy. But then Tater remembered that little ounce of love he kept in his heart for his Mama and felt the pain of his lost love for Missy. Maybe he did understand why his Daddy gave up music for his Mama.

Tater rifled around the shed for awhile waiting for his Mama to fall asleep in front of the TV. He came across an old passport that belonged to his Daddy, some scratch paper with measurements written in small careful script and an old knife, the kind that you have to flip open. On the handle was a gold eagle and his Daddy’s initials, G.P. Gordon Purvey. Tater smiled and put the knife in his pocket. He quietly closed up the shed behind him, Mama hated for him to go in there and headed for the now darkened house.

Tater let himself in through the back door and tread carefully into the kitchen. The only light was that of the flickering television. Tater could barely make out his Mama sprawled out on the couch, breathing heavily. He padded through the living room on his way to the stairs that led to his bedroom when he heard a click.

“Tater,” Mama said quietly.

Tater looked at her for a long time as his eyes adjusted to the low light. He saw a shotgun nestled in her lap, she was pointing it at him.

“I toll you that I kill you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Mama.” Tater moaned.

“This is your lass warnin, you read me mister?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Doan you think I won’t do it neither.”

Tater only nodded his head.

Mama motioned with the shotgun toward the coffee table in front of the couch.

Tater could see a dark lump there.

“You take that nasty cat o yours an you stay outside tonight. You learn yo lesson.”

Tater’s legs were jelly. He willed himself over to the coffee table and picked up what was left of little Felix.

“I kill you juss as easy as I kill that cat. Juss as easy as I kill any ol fat fuck, you hear me?”

Tater barely nodded as he tried not to fall blubbering to the floor. He backed out of the living room, the shotgun stayed on him.

“Lock tha doa, Tater.” Mama said quietly.

He did and then stepped outside. Tater collapsed on the back porch with Felix in his arms and cried for a long time.

4

Tater was filthy from burying Felix out back and he wandered onto the front porch. He sat down with an exhausted sigh. Mama had put together a fall montage by the front door. A bail of hay, some corn stalks and a pumpkin which were all arranged in a nice tableau. Anger crept into his belly again, Tater hoisted himself up and ripped the corn stalks down. He threw the bail of hay out into the yard and then looked at the pumpkin.

Tater dug around in his pocket for his Daddy’s knife. He sat down again and pulled the pumpkin into his lap. He slammed the knife into the top and went to work.

“This will be a great pumpkin,” he muttered.

5

Tater arrived at school the next day with a great big smile on his face. You couldn’t see it though because of the pumpkin on his head. He went to class and put his casserole dish on a long table. The students were milling about waiting for their class costume party to begin. The students had raised their collective GPA from a 2.3 to a 2.8 and the teacher had promised them a party if they could get to a 3.0 by Halloween. This was close enough she’d said. Especially with idiots like Buck the football player and Sarah in his class Tater had thought.

“What did you bring?” The teacher asked Tater. “Pumpkin pie?”

“No ma’am,” Tater smiled behind the fangs carved into the jack-o-lantern on his head. “Meatloaf.”

The teacher regarded Tater with a quizzical look, “Meatloaf?” Then she grinned, “Did your mother help you make it?”

“I guess you could say that,” Tater replied, fingering his Daddy’s knife in his pocket.

The teacher shook her head uneasily and addressed the students, “Alright class, let’s eat.”

Tater sat at the back of the room and watched Buck and Sarah and all the rest heap food onto their plates. He grinned uncontrollably as they ate the meatloaf he’d spent all night preparing.

“Hey, good meatloaf, Pumpkin-head!” Sarah called out as her cronies giggled hysterically.

“It’s the Great Pumpkin,” Tater replied as he removed the knife from his pocket. “Want to know how I made it?”

“Sure Fat-boy,” Buck sneered walking over to him.

Tater filled the empty space in his heart where the small dollop of love for his mother was once kept and where the giant weight of his love for Missy was housed. He hacked and slashed and filled it full of revenge.

6

Stained with blood and with his jack-o-lantern on askew, the Great Pumpkin walked the halls until he found Missy’s classroom. She saw him coming and opened the door for him. Students and teachers had heard the commotion from Tater’s classroom and were filling the halls.

Missy was covered in thick, drying blood and she smiled crazily at the Great Pumpkin. She removed his head and kissed Tater’s lips for the whole world to see. Tater savored her touch, the warmth and wetness of her mouth and her soft body against his. She pulled away from him with a look of contentment. Tater glanced over Missy’s shoulder into her classroom, the students and teacher were bleeding out on the floor.

“You ready Scarecrow?” Tater asked Missy.

“Whenever you are, Great Pumpkin.” She replied.

Missy led Tater into the classroom as the crowd in the hall noticed the blood, started to scream and run away. Missy pulled her backpack out from under her desk and handed Tater one of her Daddies automatic weapons. She’d hacked her alcoholic and abusive parents to death the night before with a hatchet. Then, on a whim, she’d returned to Tater’s house to find him baking what was left of his mother into a meatloaf for school. It was then and there, that they knew they were meant for each other. They’d used the straw from the bail of hay in the yard to make Missy into the Scarecrow and she had used some of Tater’s art supplies to supply a fiendish green hue to the head of the Great Pumpkin. They didn’t plan or plot, the young couple was of the same mind, seemed to know what the other was thinking without speaking.

And so, the Scarecrow and the Great Pumpkin unloaded their weapons on full automatic into the escaping crowd, smiling and laughing and loving each other more every minute.