CRACKED OPEN

Mischa Reddy

7th Grade • Taft Freshman Academy

Dedicated to the girls who taught me what it means to be beautiful. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.

“How are you really feeling?”

I glance down at my feet. They took away my shoelaces before I came inside. It seems like years ago now.

“Don’t worry,” Miriam persists, “we’re all here to support you.” I know she’s trying her best, but I don’t know these people. I’ve been here for three days, they can’t expect me to open up right away. I don’t understand how they can just tell each other these things. I know that’s the point of these meetings, but how do you tell someone you’re not okay? I’d like to say that I’m unfazed by the whole “mental institution” thing, and back on the outside, I probably would have. But they don’t expect me to be perfect like that in here. They’re just trying to help.

“Okay,” Miriam continues, “well, Blair, hopefully, we’ll talk with you a little more tomorrow.” I nod.

“Yeah, that sounds manageable.” Manageable. That’s been my word for the past few days. How has your day been? Manageable. What’s it like inside there? Manageable.

The door to the community room clicks open, and one of the nurses walks in with the lunch cart. She collects our trays, before placing art supplies on the table.

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“Art therapy again, I guess,” I mutter, passing out the supplies. I’ve never been much of an artist, but it’s a good distraction from everything that’s going on. I like how we can just talk without everything being centered on our mental health. I get that’s the whole point of this experience, but it can get suffocating at times. The nurse instructed us to draw the thoughts we have inside our heads as living people, and as I look around the room, I notice all of our interpretations are relatively similar. Panic, destruction, and hopelessness. The unity is almost comforting, but equally haunting at the same time. It’s like we’re all stuck in the same, sinking lifeboat.

After the class, I make my way down the hall and back to my room. It’s been really draining being in here alone, even with the nurses checking on me every fifteen minutes. I can’t close my eyes without thinking about my old roommate. I’m in a constant state of fear that I’ll open my eyes again to find her standing on her bed, her plastic nightstand colliding with her head. I see her everywhere. God, why does everything in this place have to be made out of the same thick, neon plastic? I hear a knock on the door and Miriam steps inside, pillow in hand.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey,” I reply. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m your new roommate.” Miriam tosses her pillow onto the vacant bed, now fitted with fresh sheets, and sits down.”They don’t want you to feel alone.” Of course, they would send Miriam. She’s good at playing nurse and taking the lead.

“So you’re here to crack me open then? Make me reveal all of my secrets?” Miriam laughs.

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“Not exactly. That would be nice, though.” My fingers knot together in my lap. I really don’t like being put in the spotlight, even if she’s the only member of the audience.

“Come on,” she persists, “you’re never gonna be able to heal unless you admit the existence of pain.” Damn, she’s good at this. She looks at me expectantly and, I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like she actually cared.

“Uh, I guess I just felt the need to be perfect every second of every day. I had to get straight A’s and impress my parents, and I kind of spiraled out and lost control of myself in the process. I couldn’t get out of bed in the mornings and even try to be good enough without feeling the weight of the fact that I wasn’t. I felt numb, like I was trapped. I figured, if you can’t do things the way everyone wants you to, why even try?”

“I get that. You never feel like you’re enough.” I nod. It still shocks me how similar everyone here is. We’re all going through the same, messed up pain. But I find it even more astounding how the others use this similarity to heal together. Deep down, I kind of want to be a part of that.

Cordelia, our afternoon nurse, takes our dinner trays back to the kitchen so we can start our reflection meeting. It does get rather claustrophobic doing almost everything in the same room, and I can’t decipher any reason as to how it can help us emotionally. At least it saves us the walk.

“Okay, ladies,” Miriam instructs, “you know the drill.” A oneword reflection of our day, and an update on our goal we set in the morning. “I’ll go first, and we’ll rotate counter-clockwise.”

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The answers from the group follow their usual pattern. A lot of “supported” and “uplifting” days, along with the adjectives growing increasingly longer each day suggested by the twelveyear-olds to try and stand out. The group goes silent when it’s my turn, and I’m met with a wave of supportive smiles. Everyone wants to know what’s up with the new kid. I glance over at Miriam, who nods reassuringly.

Just go for it,” she mouths. I clear my throat.

“I guess I would describe how my day went as cracked open. Like someone opened up everything that was going on inside of me.”

“Cracked open is two words,” Marley, the youngest of the group points out.

“Who cares?” Miriam replies. “We need a little excitement around here every once in a while.”

“Let the poor girl speak, would you.” Alice gestures for me to continue.

“Oh, well, my goal for today was to find people who could make this place seem like home because I haven’t really had the time to get to know any of you. And,” I look around the room. At Alice and Aline, who threw themselves down next to me during the movie and made me laugh at all of their stupid comments, and to Miriam, whose intense mom-energy honestly scares me.

“And,” I continue, “I guess they kinda found me instead.” I know that’s only three out of the thirteen other girls here, but I have a good feeling about these three.

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Four Months Later

I leave Marley to wait for the phone in the lobby. Miriam sits on the couch, her arms wrapped around a sobbing Alice. I rush over to them.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Alice shakes her head.

“They’re sending us home,” she sobs. “All of us.”

“What? Why would they do that?” I look around the room. The nurse at the front desk is packing her stuff into a small roller bag.

“One of the girls got the virus from a visitor,” Miriam explains. The virus was already swarming Chicago, but I would never expect it to reach us here. “We have two days.” I feel something eating away at the inside of my stomach. Two days? I can’t be out of here in two days, I’m not ready.

“I can’t do this,” Alice whispers. “I can’t go home. I’m just starting to get better, and I can’t break everything I’ve built. Everything’s gonna fall apart.” Her breath quickens, letting out short, fast exhales. Miriam squeezes her tighter.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t understand. I’m gonna be stuck in a house with my parents. I can’t let them play nurse again. I didn’t even last a day with them last time I tried to go home, remember? I came straight back.”

“You can come and stay at my house, okay? My parents will be fine with it. They’ve been dying to meet you.”

“That’s a lie.”

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“No, it’s not. They’ve always been super invested in my love life. They’re trynna be supportive, I guess. Trust me. I’ll call them now if you like.” Alice nods. Miriam kisses her forehead and gets up to line up for the phones. I replace her on the couch.

Aline bursts into the lobby, pointing a finger at us.

“Where have you been? We’re missing breakfast. I was waiting for you guys outside the community room and —” She stops short when she sees Alice’s solemn expression. “Oh, so you’ve heard.” She crouches on the floor in front of the couch, taking our hands. “We’re gonna be fine. All of us. It’ll only be a few weeks, maybe a month. Who knows, it might be good for us.” Alice forces a smile when suddenly her eyes widen.

“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot. What about you? They can’t possibly let you go home.” Aline doesn’t really talk about her family much. Miriam told me that her mom died when she was little, and her dad got drunk and violent after that. I guess that’s not really something you can get over easily.

“They won’t, but I have an aunt in Wisconsin I can stay with.”

“But Wisconsin is like three hours away.”

“It’s gonna be okay. We’ll all see each other again soon.” The line for the phones dies down, so I get up to join it. Miriam hands me the phone and returns to the others. I dial my home phone and listen to the ringing. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. This place just feels so safe to me. I don’t know how I can cope outside. I can’t spiral again, I’d rather die.

“Hello?” I hear my mom on the other end of the line.

“Hey, mom, it’s Blair.”

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“Oh, hey sweetie. I’m guessing you’ve heard the news?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’ll be there on Friday when they release you. We’ve really missed you.”

“I’ve missed you guys too.” The longer I’ve been inside, the shorter our calls have been. I know I’ll never lose the bond I have with my parents, but we’ve kind of drifted apart. It’s like they don’t know what to say to me.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go before I miss breakfast. I’ll see you soon.”

“Go enjoy the rest of your time with your friends. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I pull open the heavy door to the gym. It was a weird request for me to meet the girls there before curfew, but I’ve learned there’s no point trying to predict how much trouble they can get us into. Miriam and Aline place something on the floor, and I hear a heavy thud. I look around them to see four beds.

“What the hell are you guys doing?”

“We’re building a fort,” Miriam replies. “May as well make the best of our last night together.” She throws a blanket in my direction. “Hang that up on the hoop.” I do as she instructs.

“Did you ask anyone if we could do this?”

“We ask for forgiveness, not permission. And besides, what are they gonna do? Kick is out?” The joke is lighthearted, but I can feel the mood drop.

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“Where’s Alice?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“She’s in the kitchen.” Of course she is.

“How many more rules did you guys break tonight.”

“Just one.” Aline pulls the projector out from under one of the blankets, plugging it into the wall.

“You guys are so dead.”

“So are you. You’re here too.”

Alice makes her way into the gym, dropping the snacks on the bed next to me.

“What are we watching?” she asks. Miriam pulls out a stack of DVDs.

“Let’s see. We have A Veggie Tales Christmas, Zootopia, Horton Hears a Who and High School Musical.”

“A Veggie Tales Christmas.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Do not disrespect that cinematic masterpiece. It’s literally the best movie of all time.”

“You’re a child.”

“Are you guys still awake?” I whisper into the darkness. “Yeah.” “Yup.” “Obviously.

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“I can’t sleep,” I say. “I can’t believe we’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll be out in the real world.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Aline replies. “This place is my home.”

“I’m really gonna miss you guys. You’re like sisters to me. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without y’all.”

“We’ll still talk,” Miriam comforts. “I can FaceTime you every day if you’d like.”

“But that’s not the same. I’ve never really talked to anyone about the stuff we talk about. You guys are the only ones who know how I’m really feeling.” It’s like I’m losing a part of my brain. The part that pushes me to keep fighting, to not give up on myself.

“I think it’ll be good for us,” Miriam says. “We’ve cracked each other open, but now we need to crack ourselves open.”

“Huh?”

“Like, we all know how to support each other and discuss our problems together, but now we need to dig inside ourselves and find the strength to move on from what’s holding us back, you know?”

“That’s so cliché,” Aline retorts.

“But’s true. We’re not meant to stay in here forever. Eventually, we’ll heal, and we’ll be able to go back out there even stronger.”

“And we may not feel that strength right now,” Aline adds, “but we’ll get there.”

“I’m just scared I’ll forget about everything,” I confess. “We’ve had so much fun and I’ve learned so much. I don’t wanna lose

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that.” Alice grabs my hand and squeezes it.

“If you ever forget about us I’ll be seriously offended.”

“You know what I mean. You guys have taught me so much. What if that all goes away?”

“You won’t forget,” Miriam promises. “We’ll still be in your heart or your subconscious or whatever.”

“You could try writing about us,” Aline suggests. “Isn’t that how you process things? And who knows, maybe one day someone important will read what you wrote and then everyone will know what great friends we are.” I laugh quietly to myself.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“That’s everything,” my mom announces, hauling my suitcase into the car. “We’re ready when you are.” I look back at my friends, packing their cars with what little we brought inside.

“Just give me a sec.” My mom climbs in the driver’s seat, waiting intently. I walk over to Miriam and Alice, who are already showering Aline in hugs. She’s never been much of a hugger, but that’s never stopped us.

“We’ll call you every day,” Miriam promises. The girls turn to me, the three of them downing me in their embrace.

“I remember when you were just the lonely new kid,” Aline remarks. “Look how far you’ve come.”

“You better not forget that,” Alice adds. “Never forget how much you’ve grown.”

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“I won’t, I swear. I love you guys so much.” We stand there for a moment soaking up each other’s presence for the last time in a while. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today, but sometimes you can’t help it. We finally break apart, yelling goodbye as we hop into our respective vehicles. I climb into the backseat, resting my head against the window as my home grows smaller in the distance. I pull a notebook out of my bag. I can’t forget my family. The people who taught me how to accept myself, and how amazing I truly am.

How are you really feeling?

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