I had lunch with Halloween the other day.

I called her a week ago. She's usually really busy this time of the year, but she wasn't this time. Halloween said she wasn't expecting that many people this year and could have lunch with me anytime.

So we had lunch. I knew something was wrong with Halloween the instant I laid eyes on her. Her shoulders were slumped, and she walked as if the weight of the world was on her back. She was dressed plainly and had no costume ideas.

"No one likes me anymore," she said. "All of these people are trying to make sure that people don't come to me." I tried to console Halloween, but she was really down.

"You're still my favorite holiday," I said. I was trying to be chipper. I told Halloween there was probably more candy and more costumes than ever this year.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "No one dresses up anymore. No one eats candy because they are on a diet. No one likes me." Halloween threw her head on the table and started bawling. I handed her a tissue.

But I kept trying. I told Halloween about tales of darkness, merriment and costumes lurking in the night. I told her about 30,000 college students taking to the streets and happily staying out all night.

"I know, I know," she said. "But how can I go on with students having to wear wristbands? How long before Athens and Ohio University want to charge students? It almost happened this year. And one guest per room - it ruins all of the fun."

I didn't know what to tell Halloween. I slept 13 people in my double in Gamertsfelder Hall my sophomore year. I didn't sleep at all, but it was one of the funniest nights of my entire life.

But that wasn't helping Halloween get back on her feet. I tried a pep talk.

"Hey, at least people are fighting for you," I said. "People have been scheduling rallies and protest marches. No one fights like that for Christmas or St. Patrick's Day."

Halloween's head popped up and then sagged back down almost instantaneously.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "The university will not listen, and Athens city officials don't care what happens to the students as long as they still can make money off of me."

Halloween was beginning to depress me. Is this really the beginning of the end? I joined Halloween slumped down on the table. My shoulders drooped.

I drifted. I remembered how fun Halloween always has been for me. I thought about running from house to house with my friends in my old neighborhood in an attempt to get more candy.

I remembered dumping out my pillow case and sifting through the mounds of candy. I still can taste the Smarties, Snickers, Reese's, M&Ms - every last one of them. They always tasted better on Halloween.

I remembered dressing as Clark Kent with my raincoat, a top hat and my Superman Underoos. I walked around the neighborhood that night with my father. I never hesitated to rip open the top of my coat to reveal my Superman insignia and shout "Superman!" Then I flew off into the heart of the night.

I remembered being a mummy, wrapped in toilet paper. My senior year in high school I dressed as Captain Hook. I used a mixer piece and some foil to make the hook, and my pirate's hat kept falling off.

I remembered the first time I saw Court Street in all its majestic splendor on Halloween. I remember all the wacky, inventive costumes OU students wear. I remember being proud to be an OU student with our distinctive flair for throwing the party that everyone comes to.

I snapped out of my malaise and became emboldened.

"No, no, no," I said. "We can't let it happen, Halloween. We have to do it even better this year. There has to be more people and more costumes. We have to be crazier and have more fun. We can and we will. Despite all of the restrictions, OU students will prevail."

Halloween's head emerged from the table.

"I hope you are right," she sighed.

Cohen is passing out candy to anyone on the street starting today. He can be reached at jc285895@oak.cats.ohiou.edu.