I follow my sister Lisa
around like a shadow. She walks out the door;
I turn off the light, the stereo. I hate
to waste electricity. I follow my mom
around too. She leaves a cupboard open,
I close the door. Open cupboard doors are
a recipe for disaster. When alone, I
check the stove, make sure it is off. I am
petrified of fire.
I check the locks on
the door, lock-unlock, lock-unlock ten times.
On a good day. On a bad day, the sets of ten go higher. I glance at the burglar alarm to ensure it is
on, ten glances. Again, on a good day. I
don’t want someone to kidnap me.
Prevention is worth all this work and energy that my mind expends. A sinful thought, quick! Think something good, I don’t know what. After all these years the transformation is
so automatic I can’t remember.
When I leave a room, I
check the light, flip off-on, off-on, ten times. The same good day/bad day rule. Everything in its place. After my mom dusts, I place everything back
in its proper place. Not a knick-knack a
millimeter out of order. Throw off the
sheets every night; make sure there are no insects lurking in there, waiting to
terrorize me in my slumber. All my
books in neat stacks, all my clothes neatly folded. Not a typical kid’s room, nor a
teenager’s.
I have an aversion to
fuzz, string, yarn, and lint. If I see
it, I feel nauseous. I have to rid my
sight of it. I pick it up and throw it
somewhere I can’t see it. Out of sight,
out of mind. I have to yell, scream, or
make peculiar noises to rid my mind of the sight. I don’t like odd numbers, everything in
evens, please. Toiletries must be oriented to the front, nothing touching. Bathroom linens hanging on a rack must be
straight, not a smidgen crooked.
No one knows this
shameful secret. I can’t let anyone know
I am crazy. Looney. Going mad. My silence protects me. No one sees what I do, no one hears.
No comments:
Post a Comment