Inadvertent Faux Pas

Don’t  let Mama see you do that. I startle at the words, momentarily relaxing my busy repetitive scrubbing of the broom across the floor. Confused. 

???

?

Do what ? I finally have to ask, because I’m not figuring it out. It must be something important; these people don’t give orders or tell me I’m doing something wrong often. Just love the kids like they’re yours and do things like you’d do it at your house, is a favourite phrase here. 

That. Distracted for a second with keeping Mir from pulling out her feeding tube, R gestures vaguely toward the table. 

I wait. My mind spins in circles. 

Those shoes, he gets around to telling me. 

You mean on the table ? I’m sorry. I just thought they weren’t dirty-

No. He cuts me off. It’s our superstition. You’ll get bad luck. It doesn’t matter about them being dirty. But You might get bad luck. 

I apologize. Three times. Or five. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I just know Mir only uses them in her playroom so they aren’t dirty. I didn’t know. And then, because I’m all the way across the room, I’m busy, I leave them there, thinking I’ll grab them when I leave the room in two minutes and go put them away. Thinking the conversation is over. 

We don’t care about that. But you might have bad luck. Him

I laugh it off. I’ve had black cats run in front of me. My clumsiness has broken more than one mirror.  I laugh, because I still think he’s mostly joking. I’m not sure if I’m rambling about luck out loud or in my head. If I was going to have bad luck I probably already have it. 

I keep sweeping. I think about other things. 

R doesn’t forget that quickly. It’s bad luck, he says again. 

And again. 

Its take me a while, but I finally realize he’s not laughing. He’s serious. He believes this. He probably would’ve gotten up and moved them himself by now if he had been able to safely leave Mir’s side. I drop the broom and go move the shoes. He’s happy now, but still can’t resist one more worried comment a few minutes later, I really hope you don’t have bad luck because of this. 

I tell him I will be okay.

All the way home after my shift I’m wondering- Ukrainian superstition brought from the Old Country 2 generations ago? family belief handed down through the ages? personal belief based on experience? Possibly I should’ve asked. Possibly I should have told him there was Someone stronger than mere bad luck.