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Leashed |
by Jake Cohen
Hello, my name's Roger and it's been 393 days since I last stepped outside. This is largely due to my severe agoraphobia and fear of all things even remotely threatening. I can't handle fire or sharp objects so in a random act of O.C.D. I covered all the sharp corners of my furniture with dental wax. I also only cook with my microwave which I stand 3 feet away from at all times and never stare directly into. I eat only chicken ramen noodles cooked just long enough to soften but short enough that I can drink it without singeing my tongue.
My mom buys huge crates of them at Costco and then brings them over the first of every month. I've asked her many times if I could try different flavors but she always gets me chicken. She tells me that if I want beef flavor I will have to go outside and get it myself. I tell her I will eventually, but she just scoffs and walks away. Once again I'm left alone with my pile of ramen.
I had a very strange relationship with my mother. When I was a kid she kept me on one of those child leashes, which she told me would keep me safe. She kept me on it until I was five and she had convinced me that if I were not on a leash I would run into the street and die. I loved her and because of that love I trusted her judgment unequivocally. I grew steadily attached to my leash. It was my safety cord. It told me how far away was safe and always allowed me to find my way back to my mother. I trusted it more than anyone I ever met.
My first day of Kindergarten I got ready for school like any other leash-less five-year-old, but when I left the house I put on my nylon life vest. My mom told me in an angry voice that I couldn't bring my leash to school. I looked up at her and asked why. She used the parental cop out, because I said so, and sent me back in my room to take it off. I took it off and stuffed it into my backpack.
The instant my mom told me to get out of the car I was scared. I hadn't ever been outside without my leash, at least not any time that I could remember. The world spun around me and I remember feeling physically sick. I quickly ran to the nearest bathroom and put on my leash. I peeked outside through the crack in the door waiting for my mom to drive away. It took about five minutes, but once she left, I ambled over to the teacher with my leash in hand and offered her the honor of being my anchor. She took the cord with a confused look on her face and walked me to class. She tied the leash to my desk and regarded me as the strange child who wears a leash to school, for the rest of the year. When I moved up to first grade, my new teacher, Mrs. Dutcher, took my leash and tied it to my new first grade desk. I assumed that everyone simply wanted to keep me tied down so I wouldn't run into the street and die, but when I was older I learned that my leash-wearing habits were notorious around school and passed down from teacher to teacher when I moved up in elementary school rank.
This went on until High school when I had to move schools. My leash was getting rather small and if I wanted to survive in high school I would have to evolve. I grabbed my leash and stuffed the straps into my pocket. With the rope component of my leash coming out of my pocket, I clipped a carabineer to the end of it. I ventured outside my mom's car into my new school, went to my first class and clipped myself to my desk. It worked out perfectly and I got through school without having a single nervous breakdown although I came close many times. I could not bring myself to go to college though. It was too far from my mom and my house and all the things I had grown familiar with and didn't want to leave. I decided to simply attend online courses. I could get my degree without ever having to leave the sanctity of my home.
I'm twenty-one now and a year ago my mom kicked me out of the house. I had made some money trading stocks online, which as it turns out, I was actually quite good at. With that money I moved into an apartment down the block. I set up my Internet connection, my television, and my computer and I was all set.
That's how I got to where I am. Sitting on the couch watching a "Curb Your Enthusiasm" rerun, eating room temperature, chicken flavored ramen noodles, with my leash on the coffee table.
All of a sudden the chicken noodles taste terrible. I have an instantaneous craving for beef flavored ramen noodles. I put down my bowl of ramen, shut off "Curb Your Enthusiasm," grab my leash and step outside. I freeze. Fresh air has become so foreign to me since I had moved. I sip it carefully as though it's a bowl of ramen I left in the microwave to long. I start breathing rapidly and take a step. Then another, and then another until I'm running. A car whizzes by and my leash is caught in the tires with a tiny red splatter at the end of it and the carabineer clipped onto the bumper.
Jake Cohen is a Junior at Milken Community High School in Los Angeles, California. He loves writing and is very interested in the humor which goes on in our daily lives.
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