Features

A few tricks-or-treats ago, I had an unforgettable experience. That night, I was all set to attend a party with my friends, but I had forgotten the most fundamental aspect of Halloween—the costume. We were all going to get ready at Kimberly’s house. Some friends dressed as the usual sexy devils, while others were basic cats. Well, everyone except Kim— she opted for a witch with a mustache, a peculiar but respectable touch. Quickly, I began regretting not figuring out my costume ahead of time, though looking back now, I was likely self-sabotaging to avoid drawing attention to myself. Although I’ve always been an introvert by nature, the accident amplified my social anxiety. I had an incident in which a dog bit my face. I had to get surgery, and it left a scar. Despite learning to conceal it with makeup, the mark it had left wasn’t just external. 

Pacing around Kim’s house, I noticed the door to her brother’s room was open. I should’ve known by now not to let curiosity get the best of me, but I peeked inside anyway. To my surprise, I found an astonishingly intricate collection of Star Wars memorabilia. It blew my mind seeing all the things Kim’s brother had: stacks of comic books, hordes of action figures, posters all over the walls, and various colored light sabers. 

Of course, the Chewbacca costume he had on display attracted me the most. It was furry and surprisingly realistic, just like the one in the movies. He must have spent a fortune on that collection, yet the only thing he was still adding to that collection was dust. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a good ten minutes. 

“Would Kim let me wear it?” 

“I guess it doesn't hurt to ask?” 

I built the courage to ask, then ran back to find her. To my surprise, her brother no longer lived there. 

“Do you want to wear it?” she asked casually. I couldn’t believe my luck. 

As I put the costume on, I couldn't contain my excitement. The idea of people not knowing who I was or whether I was a boy or a girl felt thrilling and empowering. Peering out the eyeholes, I made eye contact with my reflection and cracked up. I was fully prepared to go to this party costume-less, but now I was nowhere in sight. 

Still laughing, I must’ve drawn attention as I walked out of the room. Everyone around me suddenly matched my laughter. It was only fitting to make Chewbacca’s signature growl. My friends found it hilarious that I wanted to wear that costume. Some busted their Phones immediately and were the first to take photos of me, which would later end up across all social media platforms. The night was in its early stages, and I was already having the time of my life in incognito mode. 

Getting into the Uber was quite challenging in the costume, and seeing through my hairy mask was problematic, but I was on a mission to leave my costume on until the end of the night. “I won’t break character no matter what,” I thought, as if my life depended on it. 

As we neared the party, a flash of nervousness took hold. I saw all the girls going inside the club from afar, dressed in their cute and sexy outfits while I was sweating and hyperventilating inside my costume. A salty drop rolled down my temple into my mouth. Blegh. What were people going to think of me? Was I a clown for dressing like this? 

I rolled down the window to catch my breath, watching my dim reflection disappear into the car’s door. I realized I was feeling this way because that was my usual way of being in public: self-conscious, constantly second-guessing myself. I took another deep breath and told myself, “Tonight is different. Tonight, none of that matters.” Not only was I with my best friends, but no one could even tell who I was. 

My nerves faded after my first interaction with people. Connecting with others was the most fascinating part of the experience. We didn’t even make it inside when three people asked to take a photo with me as if I were a mini-celebrity. 

Once we stepped inside the venue, I was immediately mesmerized by all the action. I couldn’t focus on one thing; string lights ran across the place, illuminating the area in a glowing spider web. Sky dancers hung from the roof, and people dressed in their best costumes crowded the massive dance floor. The DJ was going off - some bizarre yet unique blend of electronic music. Only one thing left to do on the agenda: dance my furry ass off. 

There I was, getting down like there was no tomorrow in the middle of the dance floor, which I typically wouldn't do surrounded by strangers. But people loved my Chewbacca groove, so I let out one more ‘bacca growl to be one with the force. I felt connected to the people around me in a careless moment. It was a beautiful feeling to let my guard down. My world grew saturated with joy, like the feeling you get when you do something for the first time. I was in contact with myself, feeling free. Time flew by, and I didn't want the night to end. 

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see the venue representative standing in front of me. 

“We’re having a costume competition, and you HAVE to compete! Are you in?” 

In the spur of the moment, with zero forethought, I nodded yes. She wrote down Chewbacca and told me they would soon call me onstage. At that point, my nerves came rushing back with an extra layer of doubt. Though I was excited, I was also terrified to be on stage. I decided to fight my feelings and not think about it. 

I ran to tell my friends, and everyone began hyping me up, which helped calm me down. 

“Whether I win or lose, this will be fun!” I tried to convince myself. 

Not long after they called all the competitors to the stage, I looked around to gauge the competition. I thought to myself, “damn, their costumes are amazing.” Next to me, a guy was wearing the funniest hot dog costume, and next to him was a guy who made for a very convincing Slash from Guns N Roses. There was an intricate skeleton and, my favorite, a sour patch kid. 

They lined us up and explained the dynamic. 

“It’s simple,” said the host, “all you have to do is win the audience over, and whoever gets the most cheers wins.” 

As I anticipated getting called, my heart began racing again. “I don’t think I’d be able to do this if people could see my face,” I thought while inspecting the room. I was shaking as I walked on stage, glad no one could see me shiver beneath the costume. Under that mask, I was fighting an inner battle. 

I tried making eye contact with my group but didn't spot them in the sea of people. I could only hope they would cheer for me. A few steps in, the lights began blinding my little eyesight. I waited patiently for my turn. I was the last one up, and when my turn finally came, I froze. For a very brief, still moment, everything went silent. I was speechless and could feel the panic creeping in.

“Breathe,” I said to myself. I closed my eyes. Deep down, I had always blamed myself for the day that dog bit my face. If only I had not ignored my mom when she said, "Don't go to your friend's house. Even if it’s a block away.” She must have felt something— mothers tend to have a sixth sense regarding their children. I should’ve listened to her. 

Suddenly, my friends started cheering loudly for me, which helped me finally spot them in the crowd. Then, another group joined in, cheering for me, some more, and everyone. It felt like a stampede of horses running my way. They began chanting, “Chew-ba-cca! Chew-ba-cca!” 

Yet here I was on this night, the center of attention in a beastly costume. The irony wasn’t lost on me—it was a moment like no other. 

I couldn't believe it. Everyone supporting you is a feeling you don't experience many times in a lifetime. Even if my name isn’t precisely Chewbacca, they were still rooting for me. Right then and there, the host lifted my hand and said, “Chewbacca wins!” 

I began jumping up and down in complete glee. My self-loathing vanished in that moment, and a sense of relief put me at ease. Of course, when I realized what the prize was, I almost fainted. 

“You win . . . an all-paid trip to Ibiza!” The host said. 

My jaw dropped inside my mask like a PEZ candy container. 

“A trip to Ibiza! What?!” My group was going apeshit. 

I couldn't wait to celebrate with them, so I ran off the stage and shared a group hug. We danced until they kicked us out. I saw the sun come up on top of Kim's roof. It was a big celebration, not just for winning a trip but for letting go of my fears, and no one else knew that. They didn't need to. I shed a tear for six-year-old me. 

Fast-forward a week later, I went to the same club to claim my prize. Once there, I was given two choices: taking the trip to Ibiza (two weeks from then) or a cash prize of 3,500 dollars. As a high-schooler at the time, I had never touched that kind of money before— the choice seemed obvious. I gave my friend Kim some money and thanked her for lending me the costume, and not too long after, I bought my first car—a white Nissan Sentra with a tan leather interior. 

Yareth Lechner's personal essay won second prize in the 2024 Humanities & Sciences Undergraduate Writing Contest. Her short story "Mimi & Ramon" won third prize. Yareth is a second-year film student at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. She is passionate about storytelling in all its forms, from screenwriting to essays to prose. Her work often explores themes of identity and connection. She loves immersing herself in music and film when not creating, constantly looking for fresh inspiration.