USA. September first. Overnight the entire country turned to pumpkin, so I turned to pumpkin too.
I woke up one morning and the nation had changed its religion.
The coffee was pumpkin. The donut was pumpkin. A man walked past drinking something orange and steaming, smiling like a saved man. By noon I had counted pumpkin bread, pumpkin candles, pumpkin soap, and a pumpkin air freshener shaped like, inexplicably, a pumpkin.
I understood at once. This was the festival. Once a year the people honor the Gourd God, and every offering in the land must bear his scent. I would not be the one barbarian who failed to bow.
So I committed. Fully.
I ordered the largest pumpkin drink they had. The girl asked, "Whipped cream?" I said, "Whatever the god requires." I drank it in one breath, like sake at a shrine, eyes watering, and declared, "I feel him."
Then I asked the question that broke me. "How much of this is true pumpkin?"
She looked at the cup. "Oh, none of it. It's just the spice. There's no actual pumpkin in any of it."
No pumpkin. In the pumpkin festival.
A lesser man would have left. I ordered three more.
If the god cannot be found, I reasoned, then the god must be summoned. So I escalated. I bought every pumpkin object in the store. I lit four pumpkin candles at once. I washed my hands with pumpkin soap between sips. I ate a pumpkin muffin in the shower for reasons I will not defend.
By day three I smelled of cinnamon from the inside. By day five my sweat was a beverage. A dog followed me for nine blocks. I let him. He, too, was a believer.
I bought a pumpkin costume. I wore the pumpkin costume. I drank a pumpkin drink inside the pumpkin costume, in line behind a man dressed as a normal person, who I quietly pitied.
The barista now sees me coming and starts my order without a word. We have never spoken of it. There is nothing to say. She knows what I am. I am the most pumpkin man in America.
Yesterday a child pointed at me and shouted, "Mommy, a pumpkin!"
I knelt. I looked her in the eyes. I said, "Yes."
It was the proudest moment of my life.
So tell me, America.
There is no pumpkin in the pumpkin.
But there is, now, a great deal of pumpkin in me.
Have I done it correctly?
I cannot stop. The spice has won. I am orange now, and I am never going back.