REALLY ! !

We thirteen Psyche II students are having a beach soiree tonight. Clair called me early this morning to beg off because of her severe Migraine. She was going to be ‘out of it’ for at least twelve hours. What could I say besides ‘hope you feel better soon?’ I neither believed nor disbelieved her sudden story but it sounded hokey to me. Her absence is no problem, except for mine. I have inherited a little bit of being superstitious since my parents believed in knocking on wood, three on a match is doom. Thirteen at dinner and somebody will die. I must face tonight, forget the nonsense of childhood.

By seven we are together and beach bound, anxious to get to the stand where two teens sell small logs for bonfires. They are entrepreneurs for sure with little outlay, no maintenance and a sell-out every evening, weather permitting. Jerry and Mike make two trips and we are set. The girls lay large terry beach cloths in the sand that we know gets cool when night winds blow. The roar of the ocean is distant music that will add to Mike’s tootling on his sax and Bonzo’s strumming guitar.

I poke Abbey. ‘Abbey, look, look fast, right at the sun. It’s the most gorgeous orange/red. Watch it, don’t look away for a second.’ We watch together. The sun drops like a ton piano when its hoist rope breaks. The sun has drowned! Magically it is gone. The sky loses its color and dims to dark blue grey and then black. Twinkling diamonds seem to pop out from Neverland. Mervin must have his mighty hand in this spectacle. I cannot restrain myself and applaud. Nobody comments. They are into their own thoughts.

My body begins to shiver. Goose bumps rise. I pull a sweater from my tote bag, look around and realize nobody else looks chilled. The fire is blazing, hot dogs broiling, buns ready to receive them. Most of the hot dogs fall into the flames almost as one. What the hell just happened?Whose playing jokes? We look at each other. No one had done anything to cause this craziness. The hot dogs are totally consumed by the flames in seconds. I think of a crematorium and walk away from our circle. Casey comes to the rescue. ‘Don’t worry. We have seconds and plenty of sticks for them. I’ll take care of it.’ One each isn’t sufficient but we make do and will have a scarey story to tell the class on Monday. No way do I mention my believing that our troubles may be starting. Thirteen people, this is not good. Little huddles, private talks, a circle forms, lets each one have a chance to brag, complain, let it all hang out. We are in class with no teacher, practicing. Bonzo’s strumming sends a message. Whoever wants to have sex, go ahead. The thirteen becomes eleven and I feel better, until- until the shivers come back. My hands feel like ice. A shadow passes slowly in front of me. It is diaphanous enough that I see what looks like bones. ‘Abbey, come here, right now.’ She is evidently ½ the team that made us eleven, and is busy elsewhere. ‘Gail, come here a minute, will you.? Gail is pretty, I think the prettiest one in our classroom and the smartest, too. ‘Do me a favor, look behind me, do you see anything strange?’ ‘No. What am I supposed to see?’ ‘You don’t see or feel something gray.’ ‘No. But I know where you can find a student to analyze what’s on your mind.’ She laughs at me and goes closer to the fire.

The gray thing drifts over to me. I feel its presence touch me. In it I recognize my mother. It talks and tells me I should not have come, go back to my room. If I talk to her my classmates will think I have flipped out, am sick and ridicule me. Her face becomes almost clear. This is crazy. Mother says, ‘Thirteen was no good. You have lost a friend.’ And she is gone. The chill is gone too. The sex pots have returned. I suggest we carefully put out what is left of our fire, clean up and head home.

My answering machine blinks. I listen. It is my mother’s voice. ‘Call Clair’s family. Clair died today.’