SHOUT - Adopted by Lin Manuel Miranda

RUNNER

On the night before June twelfth, I set my alarm for 4:30 A.M. When it goes off, I still haven't slept. 

Jesus, I gotta go, gotta go. Can't think, just gotta go. I fling the covers off me and rush to my desk. I open the drawer with the tickets and rifle through to the bottom. Outside, it's pitch black. The muffled reflections of the street lights through the window are all I can see by. 

Don't think, just go.

When I find the tickets at the bottom of the drawer, I pull them out and stare at them. Through the light of the windows, the words on the paper look like they're written in some foreign alphabet. It feels like there's a weight pressing into the back of my head. I rub my eyes and set the tickets on the desk top, then pull my passport from the drawer and set it with the tickets. Clothes. I need clothes. I jump to my feet and fling open my closet door... pants, hoodie, Radhika's green dress... socks, underwear, bras... I toss each piece of clothing to the ground in a heap and drop to my knees to sort through them. For the airport I'll want a sweatshirt, some jeans for the plane ride... I try to focus on packing the clothing, but there are dozens of thoughts grating against the sides of my skull. First: the plan. Early as possible, I'll sneak out and catch the E train to Queens, run-run-run fast as my legs will carry me to the doors, fly through the doors like I have wings, get through metal inspection, customs, get through anyeverything I have to get through to make it to those gates—

Gotta go gotta go so close almost out of here

I empty my backpack on the bed, then stuff it with a pair of jeans, socks, underwear, my sketchbook, my iPod, and all the money from my stash beneath the mattress... legs running heart pounding lungs heaving... I pull on leggings and then jeans... need to get out need to get out need to get out... put on a turtleneck and my heaviest hoodie... run hide cut cut cut...grab my passport from the desk and put it in the pouch. 

When the bag is full I heave it over my shoulder and glance out my open door into the hallway. I fight the urge to light the building on fire and shout until the windows and mirror shatter. I fight the urge to shove a pair of scissors down my throat and snip at my lungs until I stop breathing, or stop caring. Whichever comes first. I turn away from the door and look around the guest room. My sanctuary. For awhile I really thought this was solid. While I lived here, the earth spun properly on its axis and gravity kept my feet on the ground. Now, the earth is tilted so far to the side, it's hard to tell which way is up.

The living room is tidy. A perfect dollhouse. The blankets are folded on the couch and the pillows are in a symmetric formation along the cushions. The dining room chairs are in place around the table, and the rugs hold everything above the ground. But there are no secret forts, no crumbs on the couch, no birthday banner hung above the windows. I hope the Mirandas find some way to forget about all that. I turn towards the hallway, towards Lin and Vanessa's bedroom. Lin's computer got fixed with a brand new screen. Sebastian rinsed his toy boat off in the sink, got rid of all the dirt and algae from the river. The doors to Sebastian's room, the bathroom, Lin's office, Lin's room-- all closed. I creep to Sebastian's door and slowly, slowly, slowly creak it open. There he is, sound asleep, breathing through his open mouth. His magic kit was left open on the floor, still magical, still quiet. Eyes closed and heart beating. He's okay. He'll be okay. 

I shut his door and stand with my back to it. From this angle, the apartment looks like it could belong to anyone. Not a playwright, or a lawyer, or a four year old magician. No, not anyone. It looks like it belongs to no one at all. 

Something jingles, then thuds into my leg. I gasp and slam back against Sebastian's door. Something falls to my feet, don't see what; all I see is Tobillo sniffing my feet and wagging its tail.