Page 64 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
To: Conscious Mind
Subject: OCD Question & Answer Form [ACTION REQUIRED]
What does OCD do?
OCD ruins things. Parties. Conversations. Relationships. Dinners. Plane rides. Walks down the street. It can ruin anything. Itwill, if you give it the power to do so.
Why is OCD hard to identify?
It’s not a regular illness. There’s no well-known path forward. You don’t know what you’re fighting against. You throw flames on a piece of you that looks like it needs burning only to find that it was the wrong piece, that you’re not actually in love with your brother, that the problem is elsewhere, is elsewhat, is tens of thousands of things.
Society says, “If you come down with the sniffles, go to the doctor.” Society says, “If you think you’re in love with your brother, you should be in jail.”
Imagine knowing that jail is the only logical future for you. Imagine knowing that since you were fifteen.
What does OCD feel like?
Well, that’s the trick. After a certain point, OCD isn’t a feeling; it’s just your life.
21
NOW
KARMA GAVE UP ON THElast event, the Fishing Contest, before it even started. As soon as theSilver Heronwas anchored in our lucky spot, she cracked open two beers—one for herself, one for Shelly—and planted herself on the lid of the cooler meant to hold our catch.
“Hey, asshole,” Karma said to Clarence. “Want a beer?”
“I’m concentrating.” He stood off to the side, silently threading and baiting a series of fishing rods. His fingers worked deftly, as graceful as spiders’ legs. When he finished a rod, he laid it against the rail. They formed a tall, regal lineup—knights at attention.
“Your loss,” said Karma. She clinked bottles with Shelly and took a swig.
Normally, it would strike me as odd to hear Clarence turn down alcohol, but the only thing my half brother likes more than having a good time is catching a big fish. When I was a kid, he went every morning. Seriously. Every day, crack of dawn, Clarence was out trawling for early risers. Sometimes, Caleb, Taz, Henry, or, eventually, Manuel went with him. For them, it was a novelty, a fun activity to do once or twice a summer. Not for Clarence. For him, it was an obsession.
Unlike the boys, I never accompanied him. Sit on a boat and stare at the water in silence for three hours? Try to think of something interesting to say to my coolest brother? No, thank you.
Manuel carried our rods over to the starboard corner of the stern, placing them inside the little holes meant to hold fishing poles. I pulled over two folding chairs and set them up on the ground while he peeled the lid off a Styrofoam cup filled with soft dirt and wiggling worms. I watched in semi-disgust as he used a fishing hook to saw one of the worms in half, then skewer each half in turn. He handed one of the baited rods to me.
“Yummy,” I said before sitting down.
“The worms aren’t for you,” he said, settling into his own chair. “They’re for the pike.”
“Is that what we’re fishing for?” I asked. “What about rainbow trout?”
“It’s more likely that we’ll catch a pike. Rainbows do happen, but not often. They prefer rivers and creeks.”
I cast my line, then peered suspiciously over at him. “Since when did you become an expert in Southern Ontario fish patterns?”
Manuel shrugged. “Clarence and I did a fair bit of fishing last year, and I—”
He shut abruptly off, realizing his mistake.
I almost dropped my rod. “Last year?”
“Uh…” Manuel glanced over his shoulder.
I leaned closer to him. “Did you say ‘last year’?”
He glanced nervously about. Looking for an escape, maybe. Then, as if making a decision, he looked back at me, rolled his shoulders, and lifted his chin. A challenge. “Yes,” he said firmly, “I did.”
