by Anna Russell
my partner
That night, I think of Mage. Her mouth turned down, eyebrows pulled together. And I hear her saying, You are a very different person than I thought. I have to make it up to her. I have to prove that I’m not the person I pretended to be. Even though it’s late, I step into Julia’s room. She has her headphones in, plugged into her keyboard. “I need your help,” I say, She smiles, and together, we create.
track one
For once, I get to English early. I place the disc on Mage’s desk. It catches the glint of the sun, creating a rainbow. I rub my palms together, wipe them off on my jeans. But it’s a good kind of nervous—a dance in my stomach. I move to the back. I wait for Mage to see my apology: a mix of some of her favorite songs, covered by Julia and me. Drumbeats created on bongos and Julia’s keyboard programmed to sound like a guitar. I sang for the first time. I don’t sound like Julia, or the singers Mage enjoys, but I know that when Mage listens, she’ll hear me. The real me.
track two
She finds me after class. “Did you make this?” Mage asks. I nod, knowing she hasn’t listened to it yet. Wondering, wondering, what she thinks it is. “Why?” she asks. “I was wrong before,” I say. “You said—” “I know,” I say. “I didn’t want you to know the truth. My truth.” “I thought you told me everything,” Mage says. “Listen to it,” I say. “Please.”
to be free
Later, my parents and I have a meeting with all of my teachers. I smile when I see Dr. Sprout, who winks and takes a seat across the table from my father. Miss Jones asks me to start. Even though I’ve done it a lot by now, I still get nervous to explain all of my thoughts. Everybody listens, taking notes. In the end, we come to the conclusion that I might get what’s called a 504 plan that will let me have extra time on assignments and tests. For the times when my mind becomes extra-stuck. When we start to pack up to leave, Mr. Maxwell comes to my side. “I’m proud of you,” he says. I feel my face grow warm, and I mumble, “Thank you.” “I hope I get to see you play,” he says. And for a moment, I’m confused, until I remember that next Friday is the talent show. I take a deep breath and say, “It’ll rock.”
forgiven
At home, I get a single text from Mage: “This mix is magic.” I send her a message back, “I’ll explain anything you want to know.” “When?” she writes. “Band practice at six?” I say. “I’ll be there.” And, just like that, without needing to count, without needing an OCD ritual, I become the luckiest 16-year-old in the whole city— maybe all of the world.
the bad, the good
We play with everything we’ve got: our broken hearts, troubled minds, shiny, new souls. Here, as a band again, we are safe in the rhythms we’ve made. I can’t help but think of the bad. (What-ifs, broken-record thoughts, worry warts that I’ll have for the rest of my life.) And the good. (Perfect beats, Mage, my family, held together by beautiful notes.) And the balance between it all.
luck
The night before the talent show, Mom brings me cookies and milk. Like I’m a kid again. I think she’s been happier, too, because they aren’t perfect circles. She asks, “Nervous?” and I can’t lie. She smooths down my hair, and says, “You don’t need to do anything for luck. It’s all in your heart.” And I think she’s right: all I need is trust in myself.
i was
Undone, taken apart, examined, and reassembled. Afraid, overcome by thoughts. I believed I was my OCD. Sometimes, it feels like I’m barely stitched together. But instead of hiding, I will perform.
body and mind: IN SYNC
The day of the show, Mage looks at me, gives a thumbs-up. And Julia squeezes my hand. We take our places on stage. There’s this feeling— a tugging deep in my gut. Like I’m attached to a string. Being pulled somewhere. I let my mouth go dry. Let my hands grow damp. Let my thoughts scream, “What if.” Before letting it all go. Then, the curtain rises. I clink my sticks together (clack clack clack) and everything starts on my count: one, two, three.