Work Text:
I am not a dirty girl. I wash my hair often, my face twice a day. I’m not dirty, no matter what Madison from the second grade said when she pointed a finger and screamed, “you’ve got cooties.” I didn’t get cooties until a year later, and I’m pretty sure I got the first louse from Madison. Madison was not a clean girl.
I remember it vividly; the time I got lice. My mother combed through my hair for hours a day sighing, “Alena, you dumb girl, have I not taught you to wash your hair?” she had, of course, that’s what mothers ought to do.
I have a cold this week, it’s allergy season but I’m not allergic to anything. “You dumb girl,” I coo as I wash my hands before I leave, “have you learned nothing?” I can’t even avoid a small cold.
When I get out of the car at work, the car door is covered in dust from the road. I can feel it in every tiny crevice of my hand, every line. Once I went to a palm reader, she said I’m thorough.
I go to brush the dust off on my pants but that won’t get it off me, it will just move the dirt. I go to wash off my hands in the bathroom— “Alene, where are you going? We’ve a meeting in ten minutes.”
It’s Jakson. Jakson is not a clean boy. His face is always spotted with pimples. Does he even wash his face? “I’ll be there in a second,” I hear myself say. I rush into the bathroom.
Water, soap, water, soap, water, dry. I open the door with a paper towel that I throw away in the office trash. I keep lotion in my purse, so my hands don’t get dry. Ladies should have soft hands, that’s what my mother used to say.
Cadie walks over to my desk every day at 4:04 to 4:08. “What a day,” she always says as if it’s even over yet. I wish her away. She eats Cheetos for lunch; it gets on her hands. There’s no orange dust but I can see where it would be. She leaves and I wait, then I pull out the Clorox wipes. Wipe it down.
I can feel the Clorox fluids on my hands. Bathroom, water, soap, water, soap, water, dry. Paper towel in the office trash. Lotion, can’t forget lotion.
When I head out I grab a paper towel to open the car door with. I have to throw it out the window after so that it’s not in the car. I hate to litter but it’s biodegradable.
When I get home I look at my face in the mirror on the landing of the stairs. I check that the door is locked. It is. I unlock the door, run out and check if the car is locked. It is. I come back inside and look myself in the mirror on the landing of the stairs. I check that the door is locked. It is. I’m safe.
There’s not a meeting the next day. My cold has almost left. Cadie is late. 4:13 “What a day.” I forget to grab a paper towel for the car door on the way out. I get home. “Wash first or check doors first?” I wonder when my eyes meet my eye in the mirror on the landing of the stairs. Wash first. Water, soap, water, soap, water, dry, mirror, check door, locked. Unlock, check car, locked. Mirror, check door, I forgot lotion, water, soap, water, soap, water, dry, lotion, mirror, check door, locked. Unlock, check car, locked. Mirror, check door. Locked. I’m safe.
My cold is back the next day. I call out of work claiming family emergency. Nobody needs to know I don’t have family. Nobody needs to know I’m dirty.
I wipe off all the doorknobs. Water, soap, water, soap, water, dry, remember lotion. I pull out the bleach and turn my attention to the counters and the floors. I don’t finish.
I stay home the next day. I move tile by tile; North to south, east to west. I get some on my hands. Water, soap, water, soap, water, dry, lotion, gloves. I run out of bleach. I’m not done. “You dumb girl, why don’t you have enough bleach. Everybody has bleach.” I switch to vinegar, better than nothing.
God, I hate vinegar.
It gets in my eyes. Making them water. I keep at it though. North to south, west to east. No. North to south, east to west. Wait, how was it mother used to do this? West to east. I’ve done it wrong.
I move back to the first tile. Eyes burning, nose burning now too. My head hurts. There’s a knock on the door, damn it. Damn it all. I stand up, open the door. It’s Jakson.
“Um… hey, sorry, I know we’re not super close. But you’ve been out of work for almost a week now, and it’s been a few days since you called in, and I was beginning to worry… so like, if you need anything, just let me know, yeah?”
I stand there for a moment, red eyed, knees aching, then I close the door.
I look at myself in the mirror on the landing of the stairs.
I sink to the floor.
I sink to the floor where I can’t see myself anymore.
I pull my knees to my chest and throw my gloves across the room. I press my eyes against my knees and my hands against my head. Damned vinegar. It’s putrid aroma surrounds me until it’s all I can think. I can’t leave, can’t lock the door without confronting Jakson. The vinegar, it’s in my nose, it’s in my hair, it’s on my hands. I should wash my hands, but then I have to see the mirror.
The latch of the door clicks. The hinge squeaks at 3/8 of the way open.
“Alena?”
“Go to hell.”
“Maybe later.”
I don’t see him crouch next to me so much as I feel it as the air shifts. The vinegar wisping around like dust in the sun. “Lock the door.” I whisper.
“What?”
“Lock the door.”
…
“Okay, it’s locked”
“Now make eye contact with the mirror, then unlock it.”
Once he finishes the whole ritual, I take my hands away from my head I sigh. “We’re safe.”
He crouches next to me again. “Do you do that every day?”
“Yes.” I say, a little too quick. He gives me a strange look. “Those are the rules.” I explain.
The odd look on his face doesn’t change. “Let’s air this place out, then I think we should see about getting you someone to talk to.”
Doctors. I don’t like doctors. “I don’t need to talk to anyone, I’m not crazy, I’m—”
“I didn’t say you were crazy. They won’t think you are either. Talking about it makes it easier to handle—”
“I don’t need to be handled.”
“You’re right, you don’t need to be handled. But there’s a lot of things that you have to handle, that’s what I mean.”
“…okay.”