The Luck You Bring
There is an envelope in the mailbox this morning, postmarked from San Francisco: Boone. Tina and Rivi text me nearly every day, but Boone prefers the older methods of communication. He says that people might think him an old soul, but he prefers to think of himself mostly as a crank.
I open the envelope up there, standing by the mailbox. Inside are five small brass Chinese coins, round with squares cut in their centers. The coins are tied together, a piece of red string running through the squares and tied off in a knot. Also in the envelope is a small piece of lined paper, like one torn from a pocket-sized notebook. Boone has written a note:
Sebastian: Tina picked up these coins in Chinatown today. They're supposed to be good for luck in the new house and to ward off bad spirits or something like that. She asked me to send them to you so you could put them at the house before we get there. We don't get the keys until after we get to town, but if you could stick them on the porch or under the doormat or something, that would be great. Tina says thanks. Rivi says don't fuck it up. I say see you soon. --B
I weigh the coins in my hand, shifting them, running my thumb across their faces. Tina is not the superstitious sort, but buying a home on the absolute other side of the country and leaving all that you have become familiar with behind is something with which I am very familiar, and so I will go to their new place today and find somewhere to put the coins. I think the luck you find is the luck you bring with you.
But a little extra certainly can't hurt.
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