You have to count the amount of times I lift the door handle and shut it down before walking in. Its three - its only three. Two too many. It was a game of luck when we were younger. What type of father would we face behind that door? It was just a silly wishing game. It was done to make a little light - through nerves, through joy, through hope he would be out at sea for another week. That bad weather made us a lucky escape. But that doesn't apply now - it just has to be.
Like it just has to be that you scrub the floors in a circle pattern. Just like the surfaces. Two half circles at a time. Two scrubs in front of your knees, two behind. If the first cycle doesn't clear it, then it all has to be started from scratch. Our dad told us that. Beat us that. A fishing boat isn't worth her pride, if the crew are inadequate and can't look after her as she protects them.
If there is nervous air hanging, its because something wasn't done at home. Something was missed. If you didn't miss it in the first place, that overhanging ache wouldn't have even started.
What if you missed your hands and the germs are circulating into everything they touch. They'll know it was you - who else could be that dirty so disgusting? And you'll infect them, they'll know who you are.
It doesn't matter how much you need to get done or if you have work and bills to pay. The germs will smother everyone you loved. That's why they all left. You must admit some deadly gas, secrete some intoxicating potion. But if you believe it you must be crazy but you do.