You Are Not a Single You
When you fall asleep,
you go from the presence of yourself
into your own true presence.
You hear something
and surmise that someone else in your dream
has secretly informed you.
You are not a single “you.”
No, you are the sky and the deep sea.
Your mighty “Thou,” which is nine hundredfold,
Is the ocean, the drowning place
Of a hundred “thous” within you.
Justine said she wanted to give me something I could take to college with me to hang on my wall that would remind me that I am more expansive than I can ever imagine. Everyone loved the poem and the watercolor ballerina that Justine said was me as I dance through this life.
We all went back to my house for brunch and even Daniel’s parents came. Our parents really got along well, and I thought that maybe Daniel’s family and my family were all wired by the universe to somehow be compatible even though we were different in some ways. For example, Daniel’s parents are so religious. That worked out in our favor, though, because Justine wanted to go to church tonight because she has never missed a Saturday night Mass since Bubbles died.
While all the other kids in my class were probably at graduation parties, I went to church. Justine said that was just fine because there are necessary rituals for all people at different times in their lives.
Daniel’s family, my family, and Justine went to five o’clock Mass at Daniel’s Catholic church. Nobody in my family acted uncomfortable or like they didn’t belong there even though I knew we didn’t. I didn’t understand a lot of what went on, but I did like shaking hands with people to make a sign of peace. I thought that was a cool thing for a church to do. After the Mass, we did the thing that was so important to Justine, that was the reason she wanted to go to church tonight. We lit candles at the back of the church. Justine said I could make an offering and then light a candle and offer that light up to my God in any way I wanted to.
I watched Justine light her candle and close her eyes, and after a few minutes a smile seemed to grow on her face from a great place inside her. I think she inspired everyone because all of us lit candles. Before Daniel went, he nudged me a little and glanced down at his crotch, proud to show me that he no longer gets boners in church. (Yoga teacher David would have been proud of Daniel for learning to “soften something.” LOL.)
I went last. Everyone waited around me, and although no one knew what I was thinking, I felt their silent support hold me up. I actually lit three candles. The first one was for Emily, to thank her for being the best friend a young girl could have. The second was for the man who killed Emily, so I could learn how to see him in a compassionate light. And the third one was for me. To forgive myself for being alive.
After that, we all went bowling, which was something Justine wanted to watch us do while she drank a pint of ale.
*Acknowledgments*
OCD, The Dude, and Me reflects the work of a tribe of literary people to whom I am forever indebted. My agent, Amy Burkhardt, is an angel of the highest order. Thank you, Amy, for working diligently to make this story better, for being so patient and professional, for leading me through this process and for giving your time generously. You are a gift. Big thanks to Maria Dinzeo for her keen notes and for liking what she saw enough to pass it along. To Jen Hunt, my outrageously talented editor. Thank you for seeing what this story could be, for giving me such thoughtful, wise guidance and for being so encouraging. You are awe-inspiring. To both Amy and Jen, thank you for taking a chance on me. Another round of thanks goes to all the enthusiastic experts at Penguin for their work on this book, especially to Rosanne Lauer and Sarah Davis Creech for their artistry and to Megan Looney for her care.
To Dr. Robert Brooks and Rick Lavoie, the best of teacher and student advocates, whose work made me a better teacher. Their ideas influenced this story.
Huge heartfelt shout-outs to the beautiful peeps in my life who kept nudging me along and easing my anxiety through the writing process: Seth Donsky, Matt Kaminsky, and Carrie Robinson, you get your wings for reading this manuscript a crazy number of times and still remaining friends with me.
Thank you, Ken, “dumb guy” Weiler Weiner and all The Four Postmen.
Thank you, Bruce Seifert, for the “fruit fly” bit.
Thank you, Peter Murphy, for your time and expertise.
To my dear colleagues, the ones I ate lunch with, laughed with, cried with, and learned from: You change lives. To all my students, past and present, for enriching my life immeasurably. A special nod to the courageous class of 2012 and their families—bless you people. To the Seleca-Teshes, the Turners, and Lisa Maki for the extra love you gave me when I needed it the most.
To Carrie, Mina, Karen, Dotty, Charlotte, Kathy, Katharine, Dorothee, Liz, Jeri, Patty, Cynthia, Lainie, Wendy, Michelle, Laura, Mary Jane, Renee, Diane, Kim, the Krisses, the Loris, the Nancys, the Laurens, and the Moonbows—girlfriends who feed and nurture my soul. A writer must have soul food, and you gals provide the most delicious kind.
To all my yoga instructors, who keep me calm and remind me to breathe. A special thanks to Christie William and Daniel Stewart, who have been yoga preachers to me for years now.
To the Coen brothers, who have given me an obsession that continues to entertain and heal me.
To Parviz for Rumi.
To Mike Ozar and Mandana Chambers for their precious care of my dreams and my psyche.
To my family: the Roedersheimers, Vaughns, Thiels, and Hessees. I’m happy Life saw fit to bring us together. To all my nieces and nephews, the dearest of the dear. I hope I can support you with the same loving spirit demonstrated to me by all my amazing aunts. (My uncles are cool, too.) Thank you Mom, Dad, and Rob . . . for everything. And yes, Rob, you helped.