The Dissection of Megan Christensen

1

I wake up even though I've been awake all night. It's 5:30 in the morning and then I realize that I could be anyone today. I don't have to be Halley today or for the next four years. I can go by 'Hailey'. I don't have to correct my teachers. So I decide not to.

I get up and make my bed, corners tucked in, pillows straight and perfect. I slip on my Keds and clothes, which aren't very flashy or new or anything particularly special. I brush dark brown Botticelli curls and look into the dark green eyes my dad gave me. My nose is skinny and long and my face is small and I wonder if I look like my great-great-grandmothers.

As I'm about to leave for my bus stop, I take a deep breath and a Xanax. When I open the door, I see The Mess. My mother's hoard. To my left is the kitchen, spotless and clean, something she is not allowed to ruin or stuff or abandon. I take out a mini bottle of water, down the entire thing and turn to my right. Reciepts, unopened packages, half-off's, buy-one-get-one's, clearance items. She told me she wanted to take a picture before my first day. I told her I wanted this gone before school started.

I walk out of the crummy apartment, down the four flights of stairs, and into the bus that will take me to my freshman year.