Tahereh Mafi - Shatter Me

2011

Copyright T.H. Mafi 2011

Ive been locked up for 264 days.

I have nothing but a small notebook and a broken pen and the numbers in my head to keep me company. 1 window. 4 walls. 144 square feet of space. 26 letters in an alphabet I havent spoken in 264 days of isolation.

6,336 hours since Ive touched another human being.

Youre getting a cellmate roommate, they said to me.

We hope you rot to death in this place For good behavior, they said to me.

Another psycho just like you No more isolation, they said to me.

They are the minions of The Reestablishment. The initiative that was supposed to help our dying society. The same people who pulled me out of my parents home and locked me in an asylum for something outside of my control. No one cares that I didnt know what I was capable of. That I didnt know what I was doing.

I have no idea where I am.

I only know that I was transported by someone in a white van who drove 6 hours and 37 minutes to get me here. I know I was handcuffed to my seat. I know I was strapped to my chair. I know my parents never bothered to say good-bye. I know I didnt cry as I was taken away.

I know the sky falls down every day.

The sun drops into the ocean and splashes browns and reds and yellows and oranges into the world outside my window. A million leaves from a hundred different branches dip in the wind, fluttering with the false promise of flight. The gust catches their withered wings only to force them downward, forgotten, left to be trampled by the soldiers stationed just below.

There arent as many trees as there were before, is what the scientists say. They say our world used to be green. Our clouds used to be white. Our sun was always the right kind of light. But I have very faint memories of that world. I dont remember much from before. The only existence I know now is the one I was given. An echo of what used to be.

I press my palm to the small pane of glass and feel the cold clasp my hand in a familiar embrace. We are both alone, both existing as the absence of something else.

I grab my nearly useless pen with the very little ink Ive learned to ration each day and stare at it. Change my mind. Abandon the effort it takes to write things down. Having a cellmate might be okay. Talking to a real human being might make things easier. I practice using my voice, shaping my lips around the familiar words unfamiliar to my mouth. I practice all day.

Im surprised I remember how to speak.

I roll my little notebook into a ball I shove into the wall. I sit up on the cloth-covered springs Im forced to sleep on. I wait. I rock back and forth and wait.

I wait too long and fall asleep.

My eyes open to 2 eyes 2 lips 2 ears 2 eyebrows.

I stifle my scream my urgency to run the crippling horror gripping my limbs.

Youre a b-b-b-b-

And youre a girl. He cocks an eyebrow. He leans away from my face. He grins but hes not smiling and I want to cry, my eyes desperate, terrified, darting toward the door Id tried to open so many times Id lost count. They locked me up with a boy. A boy.

Dear God.

Theyre trying to kill me.

Theyve done it on purpose.

To torture me, to torment me, to keep me from sleeping through the night ever again. His arms are tatted up, half sleeves to his elbows. His eyebrow is missing a ring they mustve confiscated. Dark blue eyes dark brown hair sharp jawline strong lean frame. Gorgeous Dangerous. Terrifying. Horrible.

He laughs and I fall off my bed and scuttle into the corner.

He sizes up the meager pillow on the spare bed they shoved into the empty space this morning, the skimpy mattress and threadbare blanket hardly big enough to support his upper half. He glances at my bed. Glances at his bed.

Shoves them both together with one hand. Uses his foot to push the two metal frames to his side of the room. Stretches out across the two mattresses, grabbing my pillow to fluff up under his neck. Ive begun to shake.

I bite my lip and try to bury myself in the dark corner.

Hes stolen my bed my blanket my pillow.

I have nothing but the floor.

I will have nothing but the floor.

I will never fight back because Im too petrified too paralyzed too paranoid.

So youre-what? Insane? Is that why youre here?

Im not insane.

He props himself up enough to see my face. He laughs again. Im not going to hurt you.

I want to believe him I dont believe him.

Whats your name? he asks.

None of your business. Whats your name?

I hear his irritated exhalation of breath. I hear him turn over on the bed that used to be half mine. I stay awake all night. My knees curled up to my chin, my arms wrapped tight around my small frame, my long brown hair the only curtain between us.

I will not sleep.

I cannot sleep.

I cannot hear those screams again.

It smells like rain in the morning.

The room is heavy with the scent of wet stone, upturned soil; the air is dank and earthy. I take a deep breath and tiptoe to the window only to press my nose against the cool surface. Feel my breath fog up the glass. Close my eyes to the sound of a soft pitter-patter rushing through the wind. Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too.

I always wonder about raindrops.

I wonder about how theyre always falling down, tripping over their own feet, breaking their legs and forgetting their parachutes as they tumble right out of the sky toward an uncertain end. Its like someone is emptying their pockets over the earth and doesnt seem to care where the contents fall, doesnt seem to care that the raindrops burst when they hit the ground, that they shatter when they fall to the floor, that people curse the days the drops dare to tap on their doors.

I am a raindrop.

My parents emptied their pockets of me and left me to evaporate on a concrete slab.

The window tells me were not far from the mountains and definitely near the water, but everything is near the water these days. I just dont know which side were on. Which direction were facing. I squint up at the early morning light. Someone picked up the sun and pinned it to the sky again, but every day it hangs a little lower than the day before. Its like a negligent parent who only knows one half of who you are. It never sees how its absence changes people. How different we are in the dark.

A sudden rustle means my cellmate is awake.

I spin around like Ive been caught stealing food again. That only happened once and my parents didnt believe me when I said it wasnt for me. I said I was just trying to save the stray cats living around the corner but they didnt think I was human enough to care about a cat. Not me. Not something someone like me. But then, they never believed anything I said. Thats exactly why Im here.

Cellmate is studying me.

He fell asleep fully clothed. Hes wearing a navy blue T-shirt and khaki cargo pants tucked into shin-high black boots.

Im wearing dead cotton on my limbs and a blush of roses on my face.