He’d be dead by the time I wake up tomorrow if I don’t do this perfectly.
“Just turn off the lights and go to bed!” my older brother would tell me every night as I stood by the door of our bedroom, flicking the light switch on and off about a dozen times until I achieved the perfect sweeping motion with my finger. The blinking lights from my fiddling with the light switch turned our bedroom into a cheap ‘80s disco inferno every bedtime. A dance-mix of Donna Summer hits would’ve been the perfect accompaniment to this nightly neuroticism, but that’s probably where my brother would’ve drawn the line.
“I want to go to bed as much as you do but I HAVE to do this,” was my constant reply. I didn’t know what my brother was complaining about especially since his life depended on it. I was dead serious about this lights out ceremony and would do it all night if I had to.