TH3•K3Ÿ•K1D'S•PL4Ÿ

~Kitt's Key{13}Thundredog Day Of Summer~

13

Who would have thought that sharing a number 13 with other individuals would culminate into this kind of chaos? I'm just trying to wipe down after walking five miles in the 87 degree heat and the 75% humidity and there's this guy standing behind me in the library rest room, he's got a bad assed number thirteen tattooed on his left forearm. He's talking to this young buck, black kid about 11 or 12. The boys got a New York Knicks uniform on, number 13. His fro is tight and he's trying not to laugh at the guy with the 13 on his arm.

"You need to stay in school, kid." The 13 guy is saying to kid 13. Kid 13 stifles more giggles as the 13 guy turns to me and says,

"Tell him, man. He needs to stay in school." He's Jocular, easy going but there's a sense of tightly controlled angst beneath his words. I got the feeling this guy was bound to show up in my life as soon as I saw his 13. It feels like chilled destiny. My shoulder itches but it's the kind of itch that scratches itself, that knowing itch, like déjà vu, that feeling that this has happened before, bound to happen again. I tell kid 13,

"Yeah kid, you definitely need to stay in school. How old are you, anyway?" I ask. I'm compelled. It just jumps out. I already know the answer.

"13" says kid 13. 13 guy's tattoo appears to stand off of his arm, as if etched in permanent marker on a transparent surface, over wicked neon green shadows. When I look in the mirror as I'm rinsing a dab of soap from my face, the evil number capers and jeers at me beyond the surface of the bathrooms reflection; I point to the kid and say," You're 13." I point at the 13 on the kid's jersey and say, "You got a 13 on your shirt." And then, pointing at 13 guys 13, I say"And he's got a 13 tattoo..." And then I roll up my right sleeve and show them my 13:

13 guy and kid 13 stare at my 13 and say, in unison,

"Whoa!" then the 13 guy declares, "That's cool man. That's quite an original 13!"

Kid 13, still giggling, gives me a conspiratorial look, like he knows this guys funny but not really laughing funny. 13 Guy is all engrossed in my 13 as kid 13 makes his exist, his not laughing eyes saying, "Watch out, man. This guy is funny..." and though the kid is still snickering I note that he is also clandestinely grateful for my timely arrival. While the 13 guy marvels at my tattoo, I gesture to the kid. Get out of here. Do it now. The 13 guy says, "Say man, you and me, we got a lot in common..." just like I knew he would. I can smell them from a mile away. The ones who aren't wrapped too tight are always hiding behind a thin façade of normalcy. He says,

"Yeah, I've wanted to get my 13 touched up, get a whole sleeve, you know? Get a whole bunch of 13's , like, tribal designs and stuff. Say, you did your 13 yourself, didn't you?" As a matter of fact, I did draw it myself. I feel another wave of portentous disquiet as I realize I'd had it done on my 29th birthday... almost 13 years ago to the day. Somehow he knew I'd drawn it, too. He'd said it first; I'd realized after the fact that he was correct. As I wet another handful of towels and mop the back of my neck with coolness, I do a quick mental calculation. Washing my hands I work out, today is 13 days before my birthday. Damn. I throw away the towels I'd wiped my sweaty brow and chest with; now quite wary of this 13 guy out of nowhere, he almost seeming to caper across the surface of the wall of mirrors opposite the unoccupied row of reflected sinks. This is getting more intense by the moment. "You don't do tats, do you?" the 13 guy inquires as I make my own exit from the lavatory.

"Uhh... no, I've always wondered about trying it, though..." I need to think quickly, before this guy latches on, starts talking crazy. "I always thought I could make some money like that. Just get somebody to teach me..." What am I saying? I'm trying to get away from this guy and making small talk. Not an effective escape plan! I head towards the library lobby but there're too many people that way, so I opt for the great outdoors, open space, plenty of witnesses but less bystanders. The automatic doors slide aside and the 13 guy is right on my heels,