The 13ths

About twenty years ago, my neighborhood friends and I started this thing where we chose to celebrate Friday the 13th. We decided to do this on the spot on an October 13th because, well, we thought it was cool. Halloween month plus an 'unlucky' day equaled total dark coolness. It gave a sort of goth vibe that made us mysterious to the other twelve- or thirteen-year-olds.

Our so-called celebration consisted of us telling each other 'Happy Friday the 13th', and then proceeding to go to Mason's backyard at dusk. His backyard was also an entrance into the woods, and so it was perfect. It was six of us then—four boys and two girls. We found a spot in the woods right beside a creek and sat in a circle, telling each other scary stories. Since it was Halloween month, some of us brought masks to go with the atmosphere. As night descended, the moon cast a perfect beam through the trees and right in the center of our circle.

It was perfect. It would be where we would sit from now on during our celebration.

"And we should all bring masks," Mason said. "Even if it's not October. It doesn't have to be the same mask, but it should cover most or all of our face."

Everyone agreed.

Then soon, during one of our talks, the subject of whether Debra and Joey would still be going out by Valentine's Day came up. They laughed, and it was Debra who suggested, "Why don't we find out? Let's all meet here on the day before Valentine's Day. That's how we'll find the answer. And maybe we'll also see if Rafael ever asks his babysitter, Monica, out."

"She's not my babysitter!" Rafael had defended. "She's my tutor."

We all laughed.

And that was how an addition to our tradition was born. Actually, it became the main part of the tradition: all of us meet annually on February 13th, and catch up on all the who's-dating-who gossip along with some scary stories in masks with the moonlight in the center of us.

Over the next few years during high school, Joey's family had moved out of state (he and Debra hadn't lasted until that Valentine's day by the way), and Rafael ended up dating his babysitter, Monica who joined our Friday the 13th Club. She brought her sister, Chloe along; and even though we all went to different high schools, we still managed to meet in the woods beyond Mason's backyard and catch up. The neighborhood had kept us pretty close knit.

Then college had sprung about. My duck mask had transformed into a swan mask (much to Mason and Rafael's confusion). Mason still had his Freddy Krueger mask (ironic considering the days we met); Rafael kept his grandfather's Oni mask; Debra changed from a latex cat to a latex clown; Monica had simply worn a sheet with holes for the eyes; our other original member, Leticia wore Spiderman over her head; and then we had two new members from Mason's fraternity—Scott (who had on a mask like Phantom of the Opera) and Ted (who wore a hood and something that looked like a latex devil underneath).

It was during Scott and Ted's first time with us that we said no more new members. This was our tradition. This was our time to catch up. Our spot. Our circle around the moonlight. Our woods.

Our stories.

On May 13th the following year (we were 20-23 during this time), Monica had not shown up to our celebration. She had been there on February 13th that year, which to us, was expected. By this time, it was like automatic reaction—like muscle memory—to head to Mason's the day before Valentine's. But Monica had not appeared on our Friday the 13th meeting. Maybe now that we were older, life was catching up? Maybe adding Friday the 13th was too much?

We discussed it, but we chose to keep the tradition as is. We had been doing it for about ten or so years already. And besides, when we asked Rafael about Monica (they had been still going out that February), he simply looked towards the moonlight in the center and softly said:

"I suppose we broke up."

College years kept us busy, but all of us still found our way back to that spot by the creek in the woods. We barely spoke outside of this circle, but when we met up in our spot, it was like time had unfrozen since our last meeting, and we carried on as though simply returning from a small hibernation. We caught up with life, jobs, deaths in the family, dating, and the scary stories had become less. It turned out that the hardship in our life's stories were the ones that held the scary tidbits.

Then one February 13th (four years after Monica's last appearance), Ted hadn't shown up. He had been the quietest one in our group, graduated in engineering, landed a good job, and moved several hundred miles away from us. We had assumed that the move he had spoken about last meeting was the reason for his absence. No one had his phone number, so we couldn't check. In fact, we had lost one another's numbers after high school. The night of Ted's absence had officially become the first night that we realized that no one engaged with each other except during our meetings.

Yet, it still felt as though we grew closer during each gathering.

Or was it further?

That same year, on November 13th, we met again and Ted was still absent. We officially (and silently) declared that he wouldn't come back. By this point, all of our masks remained the same except for Debra's. Her latex clown transformed into a glittery butterfly that covered the upper half of her face with wings on the side. My swan masks had lost some of the fake feathers, but it still covered the majority of my fast. It also wasn't as pristine white as before. It was going kind of gray.

Two years later in February, I was curious about what stories we'd get. Over our last few meetings, Leticia had gotten married, Scott became a firefighter and bought his own house, and the rest of us had been going from either job to job or partner to partner or apartment to parents' house and back or all the above. Actually, no. Mason's stories pretty much stayed the same. After all, he still owned the house with the woods that connected to the backyard so that we could all meet up.

Debra and I had evolving or devolving stories that February, and as for Rafael: well, he hadn't shown up.

He hadn't shown up when October 13th came around either that same year, and we all declared him officially gone. 'We all' as in Mason, Debra, Scott, and me.

Leticia had also not appeared.

The four of us looked at one another in our masks, and carried on with our updated stories since February. Scott wore his same Phantom of the Opera-styled mask, which was a little cracked. He had told us a story about helping to rescue some deer out of a forest fire where the smoke almost killed him and got him lost for a few hours. Debra had on her butterfly mask that looked as new as when she first got it. She had moved to an apartment further from the city, quit her job, and wasn't seeing anyone. I think someone in her family had drowned in a river. Mason's Freddy Krueger mask was partially slashed, but we could still see nothing of his face. The house by the woods remained as his. He asked us how old we all were.

I believe by that time, we were almost thirty.

As for me, I said I was writing a book about all of our meetings, starting from the first one when we were kids filled with scary stories. Oh, and my swan mask lost more feathers, showing some sort of black lacey material underneath where the feathers had been attached.

It was even grayer at that time.

I remembered feeling this bizarre sensation: a sensation that everyone else shared. It seemed like more time passed in our circle than it ever did outside of it. It felt like more happened too. None of us could explain this...just like we couldn't explain why we even kept up this tradition without so much as a "see you later" or "until next time". We just showed up.

And by next February, the four of us showed up again, and for some reason, I forgot who wore what mask. Everyone started to look the same in the dark. We sat in a circle, told our stories, and hardly asked any questions.

It was during a moment of silence when somebody said, "You're not the Phantom."

Somebody said it? Or had it been me?

I didn't recall, but I did remember someone else saying, "I'm not the Swan."

Maybe that was me.

At our most recent meeting on June 13th, we simply stared at each other. I think there were three of us now. We sat in a more spaced out circle, and everything seemed blurry...hazy. We updated each other. Then we sat in silence, and I think we looked at the sky.

I remembered trying to recall how many people had started this ritual.

I attempted to recall that as I currently made my way to our spot by the creek. I found it as easily as I had the multitude of other times I had come here. I sat down and waited. I waited for the others to come.

Silence for a moment.

Then footsteps came, and someone sat across from me on the other side of the shaft of moonlight between us. The only sounds that surrounded us were that of the creek and of our breathing until one of us spoke.

"Happy Friday the 13th. Here we are again."