The Habit

Ben would often shrug when confronted about the habit. It had caused the end of relationships, embarrassed his mother to no end and even forced him into a brutal and pathetic (on his side) fistfight. 

In all other ways, Ben was a very average man. The kind of man that caused little reaction in people. He was straight, of average height, and average build, his hair was light brown and so were his eyes. He was white and carried in his bones the sort of security that would mean he’d lead a pretty mild and boring life. If it weren’t for the habit, he probably would. 

“He can’t seem to stop doing it” he remembered his mother saying to the doctor. “Please is there anything you can do?”He vaguely remembered the doctor making a joke about breaking his hand, and his mother giving out a long sigh, not understanding and saying “Well if you have to.” The doctor reassured her that he would grow out of it. That he would come to understand, eventually, what is socially normal. 

But it wasn’t that Ben didn’t understand. He did entirely, it was just he didn’t want to stop. He remembered Lauren crying as they sat on the blue couch in her apartment. They had just spent Thanksgiving with her parents when the habit had occurred, that had been an honest mistake. He hadn’t meant to but there at the dinner table without thinking he had. 

“I am sorry Lauren.” He had truly been sorry.

“Why can't you stop?” 

He had thought about it then, why in the last thirty years he had continued this habit, this ritual. It wasn't just that it felt good, to explore the cavity, to reveal what was inside and then ball it up between his thumb and index finger, the way it all built up to the defining crescendo of placing it on the tip of the thumb to draw back the index and flick a part of yourself across the universe. 

He had liked Lauren and before the Thanksgiving incident they had been dating for almost five months. She had gorgeous olive skin, and long jet-black hair and her breasts were magnificent. When she had first caught him in the act of picking a rather hefty nugget and she had asked rather confrontationally “What the fuck are you doing?” he explained to her that it was just a habit. She nodded and said nothing, but later that day she confessed that she also had a rather disturbing habit of her own. 

Lauren had kept her childhood blanket, which now that she was twenty-eight years old was the size of a washcloth and mostly a frayed matted mess. But at night when she slept she would stuff a small part of that blanket into her mouth and cheek. When she revealed this to him, he had been somewhat disgusted. He had to evaluate where her level of hotness and willingness to explore different sexual experiences made up for this level of insanity. He then startled and realized that she was likely doing the same calculations about him. That had been July and he and Lauren had reached the same decision that they were willing to overlook their small monstrous habits. 

When they argued after Thanksgiving dinner it became clear that the main difference between her damp childhood mouth gag and his habit which long ago was quaintly coined a “pick and flick” was that hers was done in private and his had been done openly at the Thanksgiving dinner table. There Lauren’s family in full view watched in horror as Ben picked and flicked a decent-sized booger which landed with an audible plunk into the gravy boat. 

After that fight, Ben thought it was over, and it had been for about a week. But she called him, he reminded her, and this was a line he used in the past, “It could be worse, I only flick, I don’t eat it” to which Lauren let out a frustrated sigh and then remembered her older sister shaking her head and reminding her how shallow the pool of eligible men gets after thirty. She looked at Ben, he was decent-looking and he had a good job, maybe they could stick out, maybe she could still change him. 

In early December Ben got fired from his IT job after a particularly uncomfortable pick-and-flick incident where at a meeting he picked a fresh green nose pebble and flicked it down the blouse of his newly promoted boss. In her words, it was “immature, disgusting and completely inappropriate behaviour for a grown man.” Lauren agreed with that description, and thought a moment before saying “But they can’t fire you on a first offence.” Ben reddened and explained there had been other incidents among his co-workers. It was at this point Lauren broke up with him. 

Ben couldn’t believe it. He tried to bring up the blanket again but she shook her head. My habit isn’t ruining my life.

Ben went to his parents for Christmas where his mother promptly said “Benjamin Augustus Clements if I see that finger in that nose on Christmas Day I will cut it off.” He hadn’t told his older sister he had been laid off, but on Christmas Eve he had too much to drink and confessed to his twelve-year-old niece Claire how much he missed Lauren and how he was screwing up everything. Claire took in her uncle’s appearance and shrugged, “Things would probably be better if you stopped picking your nose and flicking your boogers everywhere.” 

By the time New Year’s Eve came around, he realized he must have been in love with Lauren. That he might never love anyone again and decided that he would try, try his very best, for her, to be the man she needed him to be. While at a party, and the couples around him kissed at the stroke of midnight Ben picked a spectacular, pistachio-sized booger and flicked for the very last time. 

He sent a hurried, and slightly drunk text to Lauren. “Hi, I know it’s over and I know you think I am gross, but I think I love you and I am giving up picking and flicking. Not just in public but forever. I hope you can forgive me. Happy New Year!” 

The next morning Ben stared at himself in the mirror. No longer a person who picks and flicks but instead an attractive young man who has the world at his feet. He told his father he had been dismissed from his work and announced to his parents the changes he was planning to make. His mother burst into tears so happy but also disappointed that it had caused his unemployment. She felt deeply that his failure to stop the habit was her fault. She hugged her son and left a wet mark on his shirt. His parents kindly offered to help him in his job search. He accepted and felt deeply that things were looking up. The first two days had been easy, the second day was reinforced by Lauren’s message back “I have been thinking of you too. Maybe in a week or so, we can go for a coffee, if you are serious about making some changes.” 

He was serious, he had even started carrying Kleenex and using them when he felt the urge to pick. His mother gave him an elastic band to wear on his wrist when he wanted to do more he would snap it. 

A week later he had, had three successful job interviews and was waiting to hear back. Lauren had agreed to meet him for coffee. It was January eighth and the man he had been at Christmas felt long in the past. It was then he sat on his sofa, comfortable with a hot cup of coffee and peanut butter toast. He was watching the sports highlights, unemployed but unworried. Things were going to improve, he was better, he was a new man, worthy of Lauren, and he was on his way to success. It was as he thought these wonderful thoughts that his hand worked unbeknownst to his conscious brain. His index finger gently fingered the cavity of his nostril and before he was aware of what he was doing he had balled up a fresh booger. Just as he was about to flick he realized what he was doing and yelled out. 

Disappointment filled him. He pressed the booger into a Kleenex and put it in the garbage. He snapped the elastic a few times and went to the bathroom. He cursed himself in the mirror. But then he realized, no one but him had to know. No one had seen him. It was okay. He thought back to Lauren’s blanket. Maybe he could keep the habit secret, maybe no one would have to know. Maybe he could keep it under control. Just first thing in the morning and maybe once at night?

He could keep it from Lauren even. Everything would be fine. He caught his own eye in the bathroom mirror, suddenly remembering the little boy he had been when the picking and flicking habit had begun. Weeks before the doctor’s appointment. He didn’t know why that little boy needed it, the soothing nature of the picking and the release of the flicking but he wasn’t a boy anymore. For a moment he thought he could summon the strength to start over. That he could reset and stop cold turkey again. Maybe if Ben had been a different kind of man, had worked hard for anything, overcome any challenge or had some sort of harrowing childhood trauma he would have been able to do that. Instead, Ben went back to the couch and resumed his practice of picking and flicking. He picked up his phone and texted Lauren. 

“Can’t wait to see you this afternoon.”