Deluxe ice cream

A troubled child.
No one knew that I was a troubled child.
They thought differ.

My sounds before sleep were my mother washing her hands…again…and again.
“Mummy” I ask as a child “Why do you wash your hands many times”?
The deluxe ice cream came out and my question was not answered.
I noticed my mother didn’t turn the page. She would look at the page over…and over…again.
It hurt me. There was something wrong.
Was it me?
Was it her?
I asked her one day.
The deluxe ice cream came out and my question wasn’t answered.
When I got older I had heard her say O.C.D
It had a name.
It had a face.
I asked my father what it meant.
He was interrupted by the deluxe ice cream brought by my mother…and my question wasn’t answered.
She would spend half an hour in the bathroom…brushing her teeth
…again
…and again.

I heard it on the last day.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. That was when they took her away.
Her brokenness had hurt me too hard.
A troubled child.
No one knew that I was a troubled child.
They thought differ.  
I went to the fridge and took out the deluxe ice cream.