The 13th

As Angela stared out the school bus window, her stomach sank. There was nothing in the sky to look at — no clouds, birds, hot air balloons — nothing. This was strange because Albuquerque was the hot air balloon capital of the world and it was a perfect morning for them: crisp, clear, and not too windy. The absence of colorful dots floating through the sky felt like a bad omen on a day when she needed a good one.  

The bus stopped and her best friend, Milagro, climbed the steps. Her hair was wild, as if she’d just rolled out of bed. Angela waved her over and Milagro smiled.

“Hey,” Milagro said as she sat down beside her. “Ugh, I slept through my alarm clock and my morning was crazy. I didn’t even have time to brush my hair.”          

Milagro unzipped her backpack and pulled out a pink plastic brush and hair elastic. She worked the brush through a few tangles.

“Are you okay?” Milagro asked. “You look all worried.”                

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Angela said. “It’s just that it’s Friday the 13th.”     

“So? That’s just a silly superstition. Besides, my mom says Friday the 13th isn’t even a thing. It’s Tuesday the 13th you need to worry about.”           

“Well, I believe in it. My grandmother died on Friday the 13th.”

“Whoa, Angela, really?” Milagro replied as she brushed her long hair into a ponytail. Then she scrunched up her face as she thought about it. “That’s just a coincidence though.”

“You’re telling me you aren't worried?” Angela asked.

“About what?”

“COVID-19. It’s all over social media. There are a bunch of cases in New York. People are getting really sick. Some are even dying. And my mom said there are some cases here now, too.”

“Yeah, like five. It’s not a big deal; we’re nowhere near New York. Can I borrow your phone?” Angela fumbled around in her bag, but couldn’t find it.

“I must have left it charging,” she said. “Where’s yours?”

“My mom took it away when she grounded me. I don’t get it back till Monday. How about a mirror?” Angela reached into her backpack. She had a compact in there somewhere. Finally, she found it at the bottom of the bag, underneath a heavy science textbook. She pulled it out, popped it open and gasped.        

“Oh no!” she said, as she shook her head. “No, no, no, no.”

There was a crack that ran down the middle of the mirror and a few broken pieces on each side.

“It’s okay,” Milagro said. “I’ll ask Kat if I can use her phone.”

“No, it’s not that,” Angela said, as she rubbed her eyebrows. “Breaking a mirror is seven years of bad luck. Probably more since it’s Friday the 13th. This is terrible!”

“Are you serious?” Milagro replied. “Angela, you can’t cause bad luck. Superstitions aren’t real. It’s just a broken mirror. You probably didn’t even break it today. It could have been days ago.”     

But as Angela closed the compact, she couldn’t help but worry. Back when her dad was around, he was obsessed with luck. When he had a lucky night at the casino, he’d credit it to the rabbit’s foot he kept in his back pocket or to the stranger who blew on his dice or to his salt and pepper beard, which he refused to shave. He’d come home singing Frank Sinatra, his baritone voice waking her from her sleep, and they’d dance together in the kitchen, his dark eyes shining. But on the unlucky nights…well, she didn’t like to think about those. And she certainly didn’t like to think about where he might be or why he never called.

What would he have done about the mirror? Would he have known a way to reverse her bad luck? She wished he was around to ask.

But he wasn’t. So Angela zipped up her backpack, fidgeted with her necklace and looked out the window, hoping everything would be okay.

She made it through most of the day without anything bad happening. There were no pop quizzes, fire alarms, or fish sticks for lunch. Maybe everything was going to be okay, after all.

But during her last period, the students were told to return to their homerooms. When she arrived, her teacher, Mr. Lucero, stood in front of the class with his arms crossed. Angela put her backpack on her lap and ran her fingers through her short, wavy hair, waiting for him to talk.

“So, some of you may have heard about the governor’s announcement today,” he said.

“No school!” someone in the class yelled. A few kids laughed.

“Not exactly.” Mr. Lucero cleared his throat. “As some of you may know, a few days ago the first COVID-19 case was confirmed in New Mexico,” he said. “And now there are ten cases. So the governor has decided to take steps to slow the spread. And one of those steps is to cancel school for the next three weeks.”

The class erupted in cheers, drowning out the rest of Mr. Lucero’s instructions. But Angela remained silent. She clutched her backpack, envisioning the broken glass that was still at the bottom, already wreaking havoc. Her thoughts raced. Had the mirror played a role in this? If so, how could she fix it? There had to be a way.

As soon as Angela got home, she googled Broken mirror bad luck fix. Tons of articles came up. She clicked on one with “How to Avoid Bad Luck” in the title and skimmed it. It said she could reverse her luck by taking every piece of the mirror and burying it under the moonlight. Thank God.

While the sun lowered in the sky, turning the Sandia Mountains a reddish pink, Angela opened the mirror. But when she did, she noticed a small sliver of glass was missing. The article said she needed every piece for it to work. She searched every nook and cranny of her bag, but there was nothing. How could it have vanished?

Still, it didn’t hurt to try. So, when the stars appeared, she grabbed a shovel, went into her backyard, and dug. Then she tossed the mirror into the hole and buried it, hoping it would be enough to banish her bad luck.

That night, as Angela lay in bed, she couldn’t sleep. The worries and ‘what ifs’ built and built. As she tossed and turned, she knew that burying the mirror wasn’t enough. She needed something else to really shake the bad luck. But what?

The first few weeks of lockdown were weird. Movie theaters closed, then restaurants, and soon the only places that remained open were grocery stores. Angela’s mom, who was an elementary school teacher, was home all the time now. Since daycare was cancelled, her little brother, Elijah, was home too. There were good things about this: they played lots of games together and Angela got to watch more TV than normal. But there were odd things, too. Like her mom suddenly developed an obsession with cleanliness and made them wash their hands all the time. She wiped down everything with disinfectant wipes, even their mail. Her mom also monitored their toilet paper usage: she removed the rolls from the bathroom and dispensed one to three squares per bathroom trip because who knew when they would be able to find toilet paper in the grocery stores again, or food, even? Dinner was made of random ingredients from the back of their freezer, things like lima bean casserole and posole soup made from the hominy left over from Christmas.

During the first two weeks of lockdown, Angela’s teachers emailed her packets, so she had some work to do. But then spring break arrived and things got really depressing. Her family was supposed to go visit cousins in Colorado, but their trip was canceled. Milagro and her family canceled their trip to Texas, too. It seemed like the whole world was stuck inside their homes, unable to go anywhere.

Angela missed her friends. She missed soccer and dance practice, too. And she really, really missed sleeping; she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since school ended.

Then virtual school started. Angela tried to call-in for her classes, but it messed-up her mom’s Zoom classroom because her screen kept freezing.

“We can’t use Zoom at the same time,” her mom said the first morning after a few attempts teaching class. “It’s not working.”

“But I have school.”   

“I’m sorry, Angela, but the Internet isn’t strong enough for two Zoom calls. And I have a whole classroom of 4th graders depending on me.”

“But what about my classes?”

Her mother sighed. “I’ll talk to your teachers and we’ll figure something out.”

Angela didn’t think that was fair. She was going to fall behind and get bad grades and what if she got held back? Her mom didn’t seem to care.

“So I can’t use the Internet at all? What am I supposed to do?”

Her mom held her hands up. “I don’t know,” she said. “We’ll figure it out later. Can you watch Elijah until my call ends?”

Angela glared at her mom but said nothing. Their house was small and had thin walls, so if she stayed inside she’d hear her mom’s voice all morning. She grabbed Elijah and a few of his toy trucks and headed into the backyard.       

Angela hated their yard. It was a small dirt patch with an old plastic slide in one corner and nothing else. There was no shade, and the high desert sun was relentless. Elijah was happy pouring dirt from one truck to another, but what was she supposed to do? Sit there and sweat?

“Ugh!” she screamed. So much for burying her bad luck. She wished she was back in school, back with her friends, anywhere but there. She had to find a way to fix this.

But how could she reverse her bad luck? She didn’t have her dad’s rabbit’s foot; he had taken it with him. She’d heard four leaf clovers were lucky. But there were hardly any in Albuquerque. Occasionally she’d seen some growing in the grass at playgrounds, but the playgrounds were all closed.

“Good morning,” a woman said from the other side of their wire fence.

Angela jumped, startled by the voice. She looked up and saw her neighbor, Ms. Chavez. She must have been in her seventies but had the energy of someone much younger. She was carrying a cardboard box.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Chavez,” Angela said.

“How are you guys doing?”

“Fine.” It was a lie, of course, but what was she supposed to say? During a global pandemic? Nothing was fine, and who knew if it would ever be again.

“What’s in the box?” Angela asked.

“Some rocks and gemstones. My friend has a few claims, so I go with him and dig sometimes. I have more than I could ever use. Do you and Elijah want some?”

“Wow, cool!” Elijah said, as he came running to the fence. “You dug all of these yourself?”

“Sure did.” Ms. Chavez passed the box over the fence. “Take whatever you want. There’s some agate, garnet, fluorite and a bunch of other stuff.”

Elijah took out a purple rock and held it up to inspect it. His eyes squinted behind his blue plastic glasses.

“Are any of them lucky?” Angela asked.

“Why, you need some luck?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess we all could use a little bit of that right now. But, sorry, I don’t know.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway. They’re really pretty.” Angela picked up a gray rock that had a deep blue vein in the center of it.

“Can I have this one?”

“Sure,” Ms. Chavez said.

“Thanks.” The weight of the stone grounded Angela and made her feel less agitated. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more; she needed luck.

“Hey, do you know any place nearby where there might be clover?” she asked her neighbor.

“Clover?”

“Yeah, like four-leaf ones.”

Ms. Chavez laughed. “We’re in the middle of a desert, not Ireland. I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those.”

Angela let out an exasperated sigh.

“If it’s luck you’re looking for, you’re better off finding a roadrunner’s feather. My brother-in-law is Pueblo, and they believe the roadrunner protects you from evil. My niece used to have a roadrunner’s feather hanging over her crib.”

A roadrunner, of course! Angela sometimes saw them running by the acequias. They would be easier to find than a clover.

“Good idea,” Angela said.  “Thanks!” She turned to go.

“But Angela?”

“Yeah?”

“You know this virus is bigger than one good luck charm, right? COVID has spread all over the world now. There are some things we can’t stop; we just have to learn to live with them.”

Angela stopped in her tracks. Something about Ms. Chavez’s words irritated her. She knew the virus was out of her control, of course she knew that. Hospitals were filling up across the country and people were dying. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel there was something she needed to do to fix everything, to reverse the bad karma her broken mirror had brought into the world, to stop the dark thoughts racing around her head.

“Yeah, I know. Come on Elijah, let’s go look for a roadrunner.”

It was the time of the year when water returned to the acequias. During the winter, the canals were dry. But, in the spring, water was siphoned off from the Rio Grande, flowing through the centuries old acequias, where it was occasionally released to irrigate the farms lining the valley.

That first day, Angela didn’t find a roadrunner. But she refused to give up. She and her brother developed a routine. Each morning, as the weeks went by, they would walk to the acequia near their house and stroll along the dirt paths that ran next to the ditch. Angela would look for a roadrunner and Elijah would chase bright green frogs, collect branches or play on the small wooden bridges that crossed over the water.

Angela would have never played by the acequias at his age: she was too scared of La Llorona and the stories her friends told her about a weeping woman who drowned children in ditches. But Elijah didn’t know those ghost stories and she didn’t want to tell him. The real world was already scary enough.

Roadrunners weren’t great at flying, so she mainly looked on the ground or the low fences and adobe walls that separated houses from the ditch paths. She saw other birds: ravens, ducks, and hawks, but no roadrunners. It was like they were hiding from her.

They returned home for her mom’s lunch break and Angela went to her room to try to log-in for a class. As the weeks passed, she fell behind, and homework was a struggle, especially math. Dividing fractions seemed so unimportant compared to everything else going on in the world.

There weren’t that many cases in Albuquerque. But Angela’s mom told her that the Navajo Nation, which spread across parts of New Mexico and Arizona, had the third highest rate of COVID infections in the entire country. Many families on the reservation lacked running water, making it difficult to wash their hands and prevent infection. Angela wished she could do something to help, but she didn’t know what to do.

Most afternoons, as the days slowly rolled past, Angela would go to her backyard and chat with Ms. Chavez. Her neighbor taught her all about rocks — which ones originated where, how to tell them apart and how to tumble them. She also taught Angela how to sew, and gave her some needles, thread, and fabric to practice. Angela enjoyed the repetitive movement of a needle pulling thread and how it helped clear her head.

But one day, Ms. Chavez wasn’t there. And she wasn’t there the next day, either.

“I’m worried about her,” Angela told her mom at dinner that night.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” her mom said. “But I’ll give her a call tonight to check.”

When she did, the news wasn’t good.

“I spoke with Ms. Chavez’s daughter,” her mom said. “She’s over there with her now. Ms. Chavez is sick.”

“With COVID?” Angela asked.

“She doesn’t know. She’s waiting for the test results. But her daughter is a nurse at the hospital and has been working with COVID patients, so she could have gotten it from her.”

Angela crossed her arms and felt her posture collapse. How could Ms. Chavez have COVID? How could it be right in her backyard when it was hardly anywhere else in the city?

It had to be the mirror’s fault. It had to be. She had to find a way to break the curse, for Ms. Chavez’s sake.

The next day, Angela’s mom told them to stay in the house. She didn’t want them walking around the neighborhood, in case they had been exposed to the virus. Angela looked over at Ms. Chavez’s yard, but there was no sign of her. And she wasn’t there the next day, or the day after that.

Angela couldn’t just sit back and watch as Ms. Chavez got sicker. She had to do something. So, on the third day, she and Elijah snuck out of the yard and walked to the acequias. Her mother would never know. She hardly ever watched them these days, anyway.

As they walked along the dirt paths bordering the ditch, Elijah threw rocks into the water. It had rained the night before, so the water was higher and faster than normal and the paths were muddy. Angela tried to avoid mucky spots and puddles while searching for a roadrunner. Every once in a while they would spot another person, but the adults would usually keep their distance, crossing the acequia to put six feet of social distance between them.

They walked further and further away from their house, until they reached areas Angela didn’t recognize. She should probably turn back. But it was so hot, and she needed to catch her breath for a minute.

As Elijah played on a narrow wooden bridge that crossed over the acequia, Angela sat on the dirt and took a sip from her water bottle. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement. Could it be?

Yes, it was. There, right at the base of a cottonwood tree, was a roadrunner, holding a wriggling lizard in its mouth. Just seeing it made her feel better. That alone could be enough to reverse her luck. But she wasn’t going to take any chances. She needed a feather.

She slowly approached the bird. It turned its head at a curious angle and looked back at her. Angela couldn’t help but admire the beautiful sky-blue spot surrounding its dark eyes and the red patch beyond that. It’s long salt and pepper feathers shifted as it tilted its body forward, preparing to run. Suddenly, it scampered away.

“Wait!” She lunged forward, almost grasping it. But she missed, and as she rose from the ground, it sprinted beyond her reach. Then it hopped onto a wooden fence. It stayed there for a second before jumping to the other side.

“Ugh!” Angela kicked the dirt. She had been so close, but it wasn’t enough. How would she ever catch a roadrunner, let alone get a feather from one?

She looked up at the fence, at the spot the roadrunner jumped over. And then she saw it. A curved feather attached to the fencepost! She reached out and grabbed it, examining the white edge. As she ran her finger along it, her body relaxed and her shoulders lowered. Everything was going to be okay. She put the feather in her backpack, along with her water bottle.

That’s when she heard the splash.

As Angela turned back toward the acequia, her stomach dropped.

“Help!” her little brother’s voice rang out.

He was in the water, his arms flailing wildly. The water was over his head and the current was pushing him away from her.

As Angela threw down her backpack and raced toward the ditch, one terrifying thought flashed through her mind. Elijah doesn’t know how to swim.

She jumped feet first into the water, without removing her shoes. Her feet landed on the muddy bottom and her head sprang up to the surface. As her face emerged, she saw her brother 10 feet away, struggling to stay afloat.

She started swimming, kicking her legs as hard and fast as she could. She took a stroke and then another and another, until she reached him. He was struggling, but alert and breathing. She grabbed him from behind, hooking her elbows under his shoulders, and pulled him onto his back. Then she released one arm and used it to grab the side of the acequia.

A dog barked and she saw a man standing above her on the ditch path. He was wearing a homemade facemask and walking a Labrador retriever on a leash. He unleashed his dog and tossed the leash down to her.

“Grab this!” he yelled. “I’ll pull you up.”

Angela faced Elijah toward the bank and put the leash into his hand. Then she pushed him up, as he grabbed onto the leash. The man pulled on his end until Elijah was safely on the ground above. Then the man helped lift her out of the acequia.

The man examined Elijah, checking his breathing and pulse. Elijah’s glasses were gone, washed away by the current, and he was shivering from the snow-fed water.

“He’s a little roughed up,” the man said, “But he’s going to be okay.”

As Angela hugged her brother, she trembled uncontrollably and felt tears running down her cheeks. She’d almost lost him.

“How could you let this happen!” Angela’s mother screamed when they arrived home. “What were you doing playing near the acequia? You weren’t supposed to leave the house!”

“I’m sorry,” was all Angela could think to say. “It was an accident!”

“An accident?” Her mother replied as she paced around the kitchen table. “He could have drowned, Angela! Why weren’t you watching him?”

“Why weren’t you watching him?” Angela spat back.

This stopped her mother in her tracks. “Excuse me?” 

“You never watch us. You’re too busy teaching other peoples’ kids to care about your own.”

Her mother’s jaw dropped, and she stared at her daughter as if she’d been slapped.

“That’s not true,” her mother said, softly.

“Yes it is!”

“I’m trying my best,” her mom said as she sat down at the table and put her hands to her temples. “This is really hard, Angela. It’s hard for everyone.”

“Well, try harder!”

Angela ran to her room and slammed the door behind her. She threw herself onto her purple comforter and turned on her music as loud as it would go. Then she let the tears flow.

She knew she had messed up. Maybe her bad luck had contributed to what happened, but it wasn’t to blame. She was the one who chose to disobey her mom and leave the house, to bring Elijah to the acequias, to chase after a stupid bird when she should have been watching him. It was all her fault.

When the tears finally stopped and the sobs subsided, she stared at her backpack. She got up, unzipped it and took out the roadrunner’s feather. Then she went to her desk, where she kept her scented candle, piles of mystery novels, and multi-colored pens. As she reached for some matches, she noticed the framed family photo she kept on her desk. It was taken years prior — before her father spent all of their savings at the casino, before her mother filed for divorce, before he left. Her whole family was at White Sands National Park, standing atop a gypsum dune, smiling as if they didn’t have a care in the world. It looked like they were in a life-size Zen garden.

Angela turned the photo facedown. Then she opened the matches and struck one until a flame appeared. She lowered the match to the candle’s wick, igniting it. Then she took the feather, stuck it in the flame and watched it burn into a pile of ash.

She was done with luck. From now on, she was going to make her own.

The next morning, while Elijah watched TV, Angela and her mom sat at the breakfast table. Angela kept pushing the cornflakes around with her spoon, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice she wasn’t eating. Her mom took a sip of coffee and then lowered her mug.

“Angela, we need to talk about what happened yesterday,” she said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. I shouldn’t have. But you made a really poor decision. Elijah could have gotten hurt.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I messed up.”

“Promise me it won’t ever happen again.”

“I promise.”

Her mom went to speak again, but then the phone rang. She went into the other room to talk. She returned a few minutes later.

“That was Ms. Chavez’s daughter,” she said. “The bad news is that Ms. Chavez’s COVID test came back positive and you guys need to be tested. The good news is that she’s doing much better and they think she’s going to be okay.”

“That’s good,” Angela said. “I was worried about her.”

“Me, too, honey. COVID is scary.”

“Yeah,” Angela said, lowering her spoon. “Mom, I have something to tell you.” She was nervous, but she knew she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’ve been scared a lot lately. And not just cause of Ms. Chavez. It’s everything. I’m always worried and I’m having trouble sleeping. I don’t want to eat most days and I’m nervous all the time.”

Angela’s mom reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Oh, honey. You know you can always talk with me, right? You don’t have to go through this alone. And I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you lately. I want to do a better job.”

Tears rolled down her mother’s cheeks.

“It’s just — this whole thing — it is scary and it’s really hard. And I thought I could do it all, but I can’t. Not alone. Not without your dad.”

Angela couldn’t remember the last time her mom had mentioned him. He had been the ghost in the room for a long time, the person they constantly thought about, but never mentioned.

“I miss him,” Angela said.

“I know, honey. But your dad — well I guess he just let himself get a little too out of control. And he needs to fix that for himself. I hope someday he does.”

“Me, too.”

Angela’s mom smiled and then gave her a big hug. It was the longest and closest one they’d shared in a long time.

“Well,” her mom said, wiping away tears. “Let’s get your COVID test scheduled. I know you don’t want to get it, but you need to.”

“It’s okay,” Angela said. “I’d rather know one way or the other. And I don’t want to risk getting anyone sick.”

Although she wasn’t crazy about the idea of getting a swab stuck up her nose, Angela knew it would be okay. Maybe her luck would be good, and it would be negative. Or maybe it would be positive. The results were completely out of her control. But the decision to get tested so she could have peace of mind and keep others safe, that was something she had power over. So rather than focus on her fear, or the what-ifs, she focused on that — on the ways her actions could help other people.

It took a few days for the results to come back, but when they did both Angela and her brother were negative. In the meantime, her mother switched to a high-speed Internet plan and made some adjustments to her teaching schedule, so that Angela could attend her classes. There were still times when Angela had to be outside watching Elijah, but she set up a table and chair in the yard, so that she could either catch-up on her homework, play on her phone or practice her sewing stitches.

One afternoon a few weeks later, Ms. Chavez emerged from her house. She looked a little weaker than before, but just as feisty.

“Well, that was a rough couple of weeks,” Ms. Chavez said. “How have you guys been doing? I missed you.”

“We missed you, too,” Angela said. “Are you all better?”     

“Yes. It was scary there for a while. But nothing a little ‘Sana, Sana Colita de Rana,’ couldn’t fix.”

“Colita de Rana?” Angela asked.

“Oh, it’s just a little good luck poem you say to children when they’re sick. ‘Heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you’ll heal tomorrow.’”

“I love frogs!” Elijah said.

Ms. Chavez laughed. “I do, too. Frogs are the best. I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Elijah. I like your new glasses.”

Elijah thanked her and then went back to playing with his trucks.

“So, I’ve seen you sewing out here, Angela. It looks like you’re getting pretty good.”

“Thanks. I’m enjoying it.”

“Well, good. Because I’ve been thinking about a project we could do together. I don’t want anyone else catching this virus. And the Navajo Nation has been hit really hard and they’re looking for people to sew masks and donate them. So maybe you and I could make some masks — some for your family and friends and some for the Navajo. How does that sound?”

Angela smiled. It was a real chance to make a difference, to do something positive at a time when so many other things were out of her control.

“I would love that.”

So, over the following weeks, Angela and Ms. Chavez measured, cut, and stitched until they had a collection of masks in different shapes and sizes. As Angela inspected her handiwork, she looked up at the sky.

There, in the distance, she saw a lone hot air balloon flying through the clouds. Angela didn’t know when it would land or where — it was impossible to predict such things. Pilots could use the burner to lift the balloon up or let gravity pull it down, but the direction the wind blew them in was beyond their control. That’s why they had chase crews on the ground to track the balloon’s movements. By working together, they could land the balloon safely and make the world a little more beautiful, if only for a moment.