Fear of Friday The Thirteenth is known as Paraskevidekatriaphobia!
Who’s afraid of Friday The Thirteenth? When I was a child I often heard mom postpone her parties and travels if Friday collided with the jinxed thirteenth. I often wondered what’s the catch in it?
At school, my classmates turned into pranksters and played scary tricks on this day. It seemed as if hell unleashes when the seemingly dark day arrives.
However, for me, it was my lucky day.
I woke up one morning and felt the weight of her absence. We had a fight over my ex a few days back and she left me and went on to live in her apartment after 2 years of living together. I had gotten so used to her. The bed sheets smelt of her, the food I cooked or ordered was tasteless, my pet Kong would stay put in one corner as if the joy and delight were drained out of him. There was no echoing, silly noise of laughter, there was no one to pour my day’s highs and lows onto. I felt the crudest and most cruel emotion that a human being hides from, loneliness.
It hit me like a storm. My thoughts were clouded and this affected my health and my work. I had almost become dysfunctional but my ego wouldn’t let me call her. It kept giving me logic and reasons.
It was Friday the thirteenth evening and the doorbell rung impatiently, I was fixing some dinner for myself and Kong, I hurriedly went to answer the door and found no one there. This happened a couple of times and soon I was fuming with rage.I waited near the door for a while when the prankster once again pressed the bell, I opened the door at that moment and saw a bunch of neighborhood kids who were playing tricks to scare everyone on an ill-omened day.
I was about to yell at them when one of them turned to me and innocently uttered the words of apology, “Sorry Uncle Bob! It is just Friday The Thirteenth” I swallowed a lump and held back my angry words and a realization dawned.
I took my car keys and left home in my pJ’s.
I rang the bell in a restless manner. I hid myself the moment she opened the door, I did it three times before she caught me red-handed. The expression of rage suddenly turned into a bitter-sweet smile. She had a questioning look in her eyes and I said the words that were so difficult for me earlier, “Sorry Al! It is just Friday the Thirteenth!” She chuckled, I continued, “Let’s go home. I miss you terribly especially your smell on me.” She melted down like she always does. My words mean something to her and she hugged me for a long time before I went into her house to help her pack up and leave with me on that fateful night of Friday The Thirteenth.
