Jell-oh

Words get stuck in my head. It’s like when the Barbie movie came out and suddenly people were singing “I’m a barbie girl” on loop, over and over and over again. That’s what it’s like when words get stuck in my head. They repeat until the word doesn’t even sound English anymore. If I’m lucky, it’ll stop at three times and I can get on with my day. Sometimes my brain gets cheeky and starts to throw in random accents while the word circles around a never ending drain. 

If I’m unlucky, which I am most of the time, my brain won’t stop at three times. It won’t stop at ten times. Once, the Repeating went on for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of the word “challenger”. 

Challenger challenger challenger challenger challenger… 

You get the idea.

I used to repeat the words aloud, at first trying my best to hold them in but slowly starting out with a whisper until I crescendoed so loud that the only thing that would end the Repeating was my voice giving out. High school was rough for me. 

Then my dad died and left me with his few personal possessions. The most important of which was his first dictionary. My dad was a lexicographer–someone who works on and edits dictionaries. The first dictionary he ever helped publish always sat proudly on his desk. It was the only part of his desk that was never covered in paperwork or other books. And when he died I picked it up and brought it to his funeral. I had planned to put it in his casket with him so he could be buried with what he loved. But the Repeating is always so much worse when I’m upset in any way, and people kept walking up to my mom and me and taking our hands and giving us their condolences.

Condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences condolences CONDOLENCES CONDOLENCES CONDOLENCES CONDOLENCES CONDOLENCES.

Still clutching my dad’s first dictionary, I squeezed my mom’s hand before practically sprinting to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and pressed my back against it, sliding down to the floor. The book sat forgotten in my lap as I clutched my hair as if the pain in my scalp would stop my brain from rattling on and on. I grit my teeth so as to keep the word from spilling out. I tried to squeeze my eyes shut but the word was written across my eyelids, flashing like neon lights. 

CONDOLENCES. CONDOLENCES. CONDOLENCES. CONDOLENCES. CONDOLENCES. 

And then I could hear my dad’s voice in my head, explaining to me for the millionth time why words are important. “Words are how we communicate to others our understanding of the world around us.” I flipped to the Cs and slapped my finger down on “Condolences” when I found it: “A (formal) declaration or expression of sympathy”. 

And just like that, the Repeating stopped. 

High school was still hard after that, but I could stop the Repeating before I got to the speaking aloud part, which led to a lot less bullying. Teachers seemed to hate me less because I stopped being so disruptive to their class. For the most part, college went even better with the freedom to get up and leave class whenever I needed. Professors would hold onto my dictionary during exams and if I needed to stop the Repeating, I would look through the dictionary with them watching to make sure it wasn’t all a ploy to cheat. Following that, I went to grad school for linguistics and came out with a job teaching an online etymology class at the state university. 

I met a woman who was only two years into her career just like I was. She was a child psychologist, which probably explains at least part of her attraction to my unusual issues. I got a cat, Jell-oh, who accompanied me constantly whenever I was home and who my girlfriend adored. Life was going pretty well. 

Until it wasn’t. 

It’s like life knows to take everything away only when things are going the best. Like there’s a saturation level of happiness you can reach, and if you reach it, life has to do whatever it can to drop you down to rock bottom again. 

My dictionary was stolen. 

I know it was probably some honest mistake and that I set it down in a public place and got distracted for just one minute. But it was gone, and my sense of sanity and control was gone with it. After spending days searching the area and putting up “missing” posters to no avail, I tried the next best thing to stop the Repeating: I bought another dictionary. It didn’t work. Words kept looping in my head and another dictionary just wasn’t cutting it. I even scoured eBay until I found the same edition that my dad’s dictionary had been–still no dice. My girlfriend tried working through some panic attack techniques when I’d get stuck Repeating, but it never worked. This was the worst it had ever been. It got to the point where half of the time I left the house I would get stuck on a word and couldn’t stop shouting it until I was crying so hard that I couldn’t form words anymore. That’s when I stopped leaving the house. It’s been six months since I’ve left my apartment. Now the Repeating only happens maybe a few times a month instead of at least once a day. My girlfriend couldn’t hold on past month two, and we broke up. My friends would stop by to play videogames and bring me take out from our favorite restaurants. They would always invite me out to things, knowing I would never go, but the effort was always appreciated. 

Recluse recluse recluse recluse recluse recluse recluse recluse recluse recluse recluse. 

A loud yowl momentarily paused the Repeating and my head snapped up. I was still whispering the word “recluse” as I walked over to the open balcony door. The balcony was my only source of direct sunlight. And I had left the door open. I had left the door open! A sense of panic surged in my chest. Jell-oh had gone outside and fallen off the balcony. I sprinted to the balcony, slamming the sliding door open and peering over the rail. Jell-oh was not a splat (it was only the second floor) but he was on the ground and walking with a limp. I tried calling to him but the only thing that came out was “Recluse!” and he kept walking away, tail between his legs and his head swiveling around in fear. 

I yanked on my shoes and grabbed my jacket, wallet, and keys and ran to the front door. Taking the apartment stairwell two steps at a time, I flew towards the lobby. When my hands were on the handle to the outside I hesitated. I hadn’t left this building in six months. Outside was a minefield of stress and triggers. I was still mouthing “recluse”. Dogs barked somewhere outside, prompting me to hurl open the door. 

Rain splattered on my face in a light drizzle as I whipped my head around to locate Jell-oh. A nearby street light flickered. Recluse recluse recluse recluse. I heard a car horn honk nearby and the sound of tires swerving on wet pavement. I followed the sound. As I rounded the corner to my brick building, I saw a silver toyota driving away, one of its tail lights out. The street was devoid of any other cars. On the sidewalk on the far side of the street was a young woman walking her dog. She had her hood up and was using her free hand to scroll through her phone while her dog furiously sniffed at the ground. RECLUSE RECLUSE RECLUSE. The woman glanced up from her phone at me. I was repeating the word aloud, and clearly no longer whispering it based on her stare. Her dog tugged harder on the leash and let out a few excited yelps. She turned away from me to see what her dog was freaking out about. I turned to look as well. 

In the middle of the road was Jell-oh, hunched over with his tail between his legs. His fur looked spiky because he was puffed up in the way spooked cats get, but the rain was forming his fur into pinpoint spikes like a porcupine. He let out a meek hiss at the dog and moved in a way to shield his hurt back leg away from the dog. “Recluse!” I shouted excitedly. The woman started dragging her dog away, giving me a wary look and checking over her shoulder repeatedly as she walked away with her back turned. 

I knelt by Jell-oh and put my arms out, palms up. He stared at me angrily for a minute, registering me as a potential threat and assessing how much danger I posed to him. “Recluse recluse recluse,” I whispered. Slowly, I moved one of my fingers toward him. At first he hissed at me and looked as though he was going to step back, but I kept moving my hand towards him with determination. My fingers got close enough to his nose that he took a whiff and his entire demeanor changed. He recognized me. His ears perked back up from their angry flattened state and his fur started to settle back down on his back. He rubbed up against my hands. I scooped the cat up into my arms and pressed my cheek against his. 

“Jell-oh.”