A Typical Evening at Home

A Typical Evening at Home



I flip on the directional signaling a right turn and pull into my driveway. I park perpendicular to the side of the house, careful to line up the front left corner of the car with the left side of the window in front of me so it’s tidy and does not feel chaotic. I also do this because this spot is where I parked the first time I came here, therefore I feel pulled or drawn to this spot every time I drive up and I have to park there. When I think about parking in another spot it

makes me feel uncomfortable, like something bad might happen.



I exit the car, grab my bag and my groceries, then shut the door. With my key clicker in my hand I press the button to lock, then unlock, then lock, then unlock, and then lock the doors for the final time. I count in head and move my lips releasing no more than a whisper, 1...2...3... locks, like the Count on Sesame Street. Now I can continue on with everything I need to do tonight because I know that since I counted and locked the door three times, I won’t be awake worrying all night.



I turn to walk to the front door of the house, left foot first, upon reaching the threshold I insert my key in the lock three times in a row, now I don’t have to worry about the lock for the rest of the night.



As I flip the light switch, up and down, up and down, then up... and the entry way comes to life with carefully placed and spaced recessed light fixtures. The glow reveals a neat, orderly, sanitized interior that looks exactly how I left it at 8:30 this morning when when I headed out for work. But that’s only at first glance, I know that somewhere, in some room in the house, something, some item is in disarray. I don’t fully believe this, I just tell myself that so if I do see something out of place it isn’t as jarring.



I hang my purse on the hook farthest from the door because it has to go there. It always has and always will. I place my keys in the little green ceramic dish on the small table to the left of the door. I put the dish and the table there for that purpose and that purpose alone. It is in the perfect spot and so I don’t have to worry about the table moving I super glued it to the floor years ago and it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.



Once in the kitchen I put away my groceries. I rest the bag on the center island and empty it one item at a time, touching each item to the counter top 3 times before finally putting it down, until the bag is empty, folded, and stored flat on the second shelf up from the bottom of my utility closet. First, the half gallon of milk goes into the right side of the refrigerator door compartment, to the left of that the orange juice fits perfectly. It brings me serenity and joy when things just fit where they belong. In the world of chaos and unpredictability we live in these days, things like that make me think sometimes that I don’t have to worry so much about everything around me and the possibility of it moving.



I stand there with the fridge door still open, my left hand resting on the top corner of the handle where I always put it, and I take a moment for myself to gaze at the milk and OJ containers sitting beside each other in perfect harmony. I feel blessed that GE made their Model L Sub Zero Refrigerator with me in mind. Whoever the person is that works in the appliance design department at GE must be a person like me who understand things have to be a certain way. They have to or nothing makes any sense and I will become a nervous wreck. The look of satisfaction is ripped from my face as the ‘open door alarm’ starts beeping, letting me know I’ve held the door open far too long. I whip my head in the direction of the push-button gadget that set off the beeping to begin with and I scowl at it as I whip out my right hand and slap it in a surge of anger and fury.



“SHUT UP!” I shout at the small plastic gadget as it disappears into the little slot in the wall of the fridge then reappears when I remove my hand. I take five or six deep calming breaths and close my eyes. The air comes in through my nose before I breath it out through my mouth. I do this until the heat in my head and the tingling

under my skin dissipates. I do this until my heart stops racing and the fear inside me subsides. In fact, I do this for so long, breathing in and out, that the goddamn air raid siren on the fridge starts up again.



“FINE...” I scream, “I’ll close the goddamn refrigerator door.” I turn my head to yell directly in the face of the protruding gadget and it’s peekaboo slot. I top it off by barking out, “is that what you want?” With that I slam the fridge door closed and whip around to face the island and continue to put away the groceries. When I finish, I walk the thirteen steps over to my couch then stand so the back of my knees and calves are touching the front of the cushion. I put my arms at my side, turn my head to the left then straight ahead three times in a row before I sit down in the middle seat. I place my hands on my knees and look down at the coffee table.



Yet again, a wave of horror rushes over me and beads of sweat pop up all over my forehead and the back of my neck at the sight that lays before me, in my own home that I live in alone, undisturbed, uncluttered. Sitting next to the catalogs, exactly three inches from the edge of the coffee table, the catalogs that never move from the far left corner, by the way. Next to those same exact catalogs sits my television remote. The remote is askew. I am looking at it right now and it’s turned slightly counterclockwise, about two or three minute marks to the left of twelve. Slightly askew is NOT how I left the remote the last time I touched it. What could have moved it? A strong breeze? A tremor from deep inside the earth's core? I ask myself these questions as my body starts trembling, each second that passes brings me closer to a state of shock. Total system shut down.



I grit my teeth and in a deep voice I growl the words, “this deeply upsets me but it's not the end of the world,” the mantra my therapist assured would calm me down, but it's not working and now something bad is definitely going to happen. Worry, anxiety and fear conquer my very soul so I begin taking breaths so deep that I eventually pass out. A necessary, albeit brief reprieve from the madness of my existence.

THE END