Читать книгу Leaving the OCD Circus - Kirsten Pagacz - Страница 17

Like an exploding firecracker, and just as exciting, the clock did its final yell for the day. School was out. Many kids went home to their mom or somebody waiting for them at their front door. When I got home, I was alone for a while. Sometimes our front door was wide open when I arrived home, which scared me. Other times, the door was locked, and I had to use the Schlage key that hung on the thick red yarn around my neck. The reason I knew Schlage was written on the key was that every day I held the key very close in front of my eyes and stared at that one mysterious word, Schlage, engraved into the golden metal.

“Stare at that word and not at the edges of the key. If you do see the edges, start over!” the Sergeant yelled at me.

Of course, I had to do what he said. Sergeant commanded me to stop completely, even stop breathing when I stared at his chosen word. I fell into a trance, like I'd been hypnotized. I had to dissolve myself and fall into the word, so I was the word and nothing else existed. I had to do this so that Sergeant would clear me to pass into the next second of my life. He decided when I got to go forward.

I also knew the words on the toilet and bathtub because I stared at them a lot: Foster. Only when I had a Pure Experience would Sergeant let up on me a bit. My body would get to feel right, all parts, but only briefly until the next task.

If the neighborhood kids weren't home from their school yet, I would probably spend some time indoors with my three Siamese cats. Sometimes my brother Brian, who's four years older than me, would be in the neighborhood somewhere goofing around with his friends. Sometimes I was included, but some days I was not. My other brother, Kent, who's ten years older than me, was probably at that electronics shop, fixing broken TVs. I'd seen this place that he went to, and I was particularly fond of the flickering red neon sign out front that created a moodiness, especially on a dark rainy night.