Capricia the Worrywart

Capricia stares at the bowl of cereal in front of her. Is there too much milk, she wonders, is there too little? She tips the carton over and adds just three more drops. The perfect amount. She sits down and pulls the seat toward the table. She checks her distance from it, and backs up a fraction of an inch before picking up the spoon. One... two... three... four... five... six... seven, counts Capricia. Seven spoonfuls of cereal to a breakfast, because seven is a lucky number. Seven sips of orange juice between each spoonful of cereal. If she doesn’t stick to this routine, her dad will die on the way to work.

In the bathroom, Capricia picks up her toothbrush. She examines it and, fearing germs, runs it under the water for a full seventy seconds, because seventy has a seven in it and seven is lucky. She brushes her teeth, seven on one side, seven on the other, repeating the process for seventy seconds. She puts the toothbrush in its holder, but the toothbrush is crooked. She pushes it one way, but too far. She pushes it the other. Too far. At last, she gets it right. But the toothpaste is crooked too and she has to fix it too. If she doesn’t, her mom will burn her finger while cooking dinner.

“Capricia, the bus!”

Capricia jumps and runs to the door. But, she pauses, the doorknob is probably dirty and full of germs. She stares at the contaminated knob and cautiously grabs it with her fingertips. She turns it delicately and eases the door open.

The front doorknob is also dirty. She is still staring in fear at the handle when the bus roars by. It has not even slowed down to see if she is there.

“Mom!”

Her mother appears in the doorway of the kitchen. “Capricia, not again!”

“Sorry, Mom,” she mumbles, dropping her eyes.

“Fine! I’ll go get changed. Get in the car.”

Her mother departs, but the doorknob is still dirty. Capricia runs into the kitchen and steals a paper towel off the roll. She runs it under the water (the faucet is luckily dripping, so she need not fear getting germs from that knob) and adds soap. Using her sanitary towel, she manages to get the front door and even the car door open. She hides the towel in her backpack. She may need it later.

----

At school, Capricia looks at her desk and sees only the layers of germs left by herself and others. She wishes they’d allow her to carry disinfectant, but it was banned after teachers started complaining that they were gagging on the perfume. She whips out her towel and wipes down the chair, the surface, the interior, and even the underside, in case her legs should brush it. The teacher walks in just as she is dropping into her cleansed seat.

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Miss Germain.”

Capricia shudders. ‘Germain’ always reminds her of germs.

“Now, have you all done last night’s homework?”

There is a general murmur of assent.

“Excellent! Then, let’s go over it and see how you’ve done. Capricia, will you please come up to the board and show us how you did the first problem?”

Capricia stands and walks toward the front of the room, her towel in her pocket. Miss Germain is holding out a piece of chalk. Capricia pauses and stares out it. How many unclean hands have held that stub?

“Capricia?”

You can’t clean chalk with a wet towel. She tried that once and the kids all laughed at her as the chalk dissolved in her fingers. She had to wash her hands a full seven minutes before feeling like she’d got all the dust and germs off her hands. What should she do? What can she do?

“I can’t, Miss Germain,” she lies, eyes down.

“Can’t?”

“No, I—don’t know how...”

“Well, then, I’ll help you through it.”

“No!”

“Capricia! Don’t you want to learn?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Well, then— ” She holds out the chalk.

Tears begin to leak out of Capricia’s eyes, germy ones.

“Oh, honestly, Capricia.” Miss Germain grabs her hand and thrusts the chalk into it.

Capricia screams and drops the icky piece. She tries to shake the germs off her hands, but they won’t come off. Crying loudly and with no other way to prevent her death, she runs off to the bathroom.

----

There is a knock on the stall door that makes itself heard over Capricia’s quiet sobs. Capricia won’t answer.

“Capricia?” The school nurse, Ms. Eugene, pokes her head in. “Is everything all right, baby?” Ms. Eugene is from the South and the accent’s stuck. “Come on, honey, you can tell Ms. Eugene.”

“Miss Germain got angry at me ‘cause I couldn’t do a problem. I dropped her chalk. She thinks I’m a bad girl.”

“No she doesn’t, honey. She’s the one who called me in. Now, why couldn’t you answer the problem?”

“I knew the answer. I just couldn’t write it. The chalk was icky.”

“Hmmm... Come with me, baby. I have an idea.”

----

Ms. Eugene called her parents. They’ve been in that room a long time, leaving poor Capricia to sit awkwardly outside the door. At last, the door opens and her mom comes out, Ms. Eugene trailing behind. Her mom looks a bit stressed, as if the wind’s been blowing through her hair. Ms. Eugene turns kind blue eyes upon Capricia.

“Capricia honey, have you ever heard of obsessive-compulsive disorder?”

Capricia shakes her head.

“Its something that happens sometimes to people where they feel they have to be perfect, where everything has to be in order. They worry a lot. They think there’s germs everywhere and that doing something not quite perfectly or according to a routine will make bad things happen. Does any of that sound familiar, honey?”

Capricia nods silently.

“There’s help. I’m going to suggest you go see a therapist who can help you become more comfortable with doing things wrong, help you not to worry so much. Are you all right with that, baby?”

She nods again. It would be nice to be able to write problems on the board and make the bus like the other children.

“Good. That’s settled, then? Why don’t you go back to class, honey? I’ll make some phone calls and find you someone to talk to.” Ms. Eugene kneels down in front of her, laying a gloved hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, baby. Remember that. It happens to a lot of people, and we’re not sure why.”

“If I’m sick, will others catch it?” She doesn’t want to have to avoid the other kids.

“No, honey, it’s not contagious.”

Capricia breathes a sigh of relief and smiles faintly. Life is looking up.

----

Works Cited

"Anxiety Disorders." National Institute of Mental Health. 26 June 2006. 2 May 2007.

.#anx3 .

Huffman, Karen. Psychology in Action. 8th ed. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 2007.

"Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder." KidsHealth for Kids. Ed. David V. Sheslow and D'Arcy Lyness. Aug. 2004. 2 May 2007. Compulsive Disorder." Mental Help Net. 24 Oct. 2001. 2 May 2007.