Cross Maker Chapter 1
Dawn broke and so did Jacob's bladder. He tried not to move around in the
slushy bedding but knew he had to get up and address his situation. The boy
was plagued by his obsessive-compulsive disorder. He had severe anxiety
about his daily routines and would become overwhelmed if anything was out
of place, and this was out of place!
He had to count everything he did and could not stop until it was an even
number or it felt “right”. He counted 3 times he thought about his
predicament and had to think it once more for an even number. Then he could
move.
Throwing off his covers he had to cover back up and do it again because it
didn't feel “right”. Stepping out of bed was an ordeal in itself. First he tried
his right foot on the floor, then his left foot. “Not right” he thought. He
repeated the action this time with the left foot first and then the right, then it
felt “right”. He would have to take care of his wet bedding later on (he
thought twice) because he felt he was on a special mission today.
That night, Jacob had a strange dream. In it, he was visited by an angel. The
angel was beautiful and had a kind face. The angelic being told the boy that
he was there to help him. He told the boy that he would be given the strength
to cope with his OCD and that he could find peace in his own life. Jacob was
amazed by the presents of the angel and his message. He woke up from his
dream feeling hopeful and determined to take control of his disorder. That is,
after he thought about it an even number of times. He felt uneasy and
challenged because he had difficulty concentrating on anything outside of his
own personal rituals. The ritual of even numbers and things feeling “right”.
The angel's message was that Jacob should go out every day and find
materials to make a cross out of. He decide he would have to make at least
two crosses every day for it to seem “right”. His mind was flooded with
questions. “Where do I go, what materials should I use, what do I do with the
crosses I make? Plagued by his situation he began his morning breakfast
routine.
Jacob stood in his kitchen, the early morning light filtering through the
curtains. His fingertips brushed against the familiar surfaces as he prepared
himself for the task ahead: making breakfast. A simple task for most, but for
Jacob, it was a ritual governed by the relentless demands of his obsessivecompulsive
disorder.
He approached the stove, his heart already pounding with the anticipation of
what lay ahead. With meticulous precision, he cracked two eggs into the
frying pan, his breath hitching as he counted each one. The burner heat was
turned to four. Two eggs, a safe number. His hands trembled slightly as he
waited for the unborn chickens to cook. He watched the table top clock
ticking 3 minutes, his eyes fixed on the sizzling yolks. He waited one more
minute then he felt it was right.
While the eggs sat cooked, Jacob turned his attention to the toaster. He
carefully placed two slices of bread into the slots, his fingers grazing the
buttons as he pressed them down. The soft hum of the toaster filled the air, a
comforting sound amidst the chaos of his mind. Two slices of toast, he
thought, his anxiety easing ever so slightly.
With the eggs ready and the toast nearly done, Jacob moved to the coffee
maker. He measured out two scoops of coffee grounds, his heart pounding
with each precise movement. Two, he repeated to himself, his breath coming
in short gasps. He poured the water into the reservoir, “two cups should do
it” he thought, his hands shaking as he waited for the coffee to brew.
Finally, everything was ready. Jacob plated the eggs and toast, his
movements slow and deliberate. The first coffee cup he grabbed didn't feel
right so he pulled another off the shelf, he wished they had two handles but
this one felt right.. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the warm aroma filling
the air. As he took a sip and then another he felt a wave of relief wash over
him. Everything was as it should be, everything was even and right.
As he savored his breakfast, chewing his food an even number of times with
each mouthful. Jacob knew that his struggle was far from over. Tomorrow
would bring the same ritual, the same demands. But for now, in this fleeting
moment of calm, he allowed himself to find solace in the simple act of
making breakfast. Now he began to ponder his mission for today. “I need to
find material to make two crosses.”
He then he prepared to get dressed.
Jacob stood before his closet, his heart pounding with the familiar dread that
accompanied the simplest of tasks: getting dressed. Each item of clothing
held a weighty significance, each movement a potential trigger for the
relentless demands of his obsessive-compulsive disorder.
He reached for his socks, his fingers grazing the fabric, the color didn't
matter as he counted silently, “two” he thought. A sense of relief washing
over him as he pulled them onto his feet. Two socks, on two feet, a balanced
start to the day.
Next came his pants, again the color didn't matter. There were two legs, and
four pockets, which gave him comfort. He hesitated for a moment, his breath
catching in his throat as he counted the belt loops. He only had one belt for a
reason he knew it had 4 holes in it, which even though trivial to others, this
was a welcome relief for him. He counted eight loops, his hands trembling
slightly as he fastened the belt around his waist. Eight loops, an even
number, a small victory in the midst of chaos. The first time he buckled it
wasn't right so he did it again and again 5 more times till it was even and felt
right.
With his pants secured, Jacob turned his attention to his shirt. Again the
color didn't matter as long as there was no pattern on the material. He
buttoned it up slowly, his eyes flicking between the buttons as he counted
them one by one. Four holes in each one. Sixteen, he thought, his pulse
quickening with each completed button. Sixteen buttons, an even number, a
fragile sense of order restored.
Finally, it was time for his shoes. He knelt down, his fingers fumbling with
the laces as he counted the loops. Fourteen, he thought, his breath catching in
his throat as he adjusted them until they felt just right. Fourteen loops, an
even number, a sense of calm settling over him as he tied the first knot. It
didn't feel right so he repeated 7 more times, at last the final knot, the eighth
try, felt right.
As Jacob stood up, fully dressed and ready to face the day, he couldn't help
but feel a twinge of bitterness at the thought of the endless rituals that
awaited him. But for now, in this fleeting moment of peace, he allowed
himself to find solace in the simple act of getting dressed.
He was now ready for his first day of cross hunting.