How to Hide in Plain Sight

by Emma Noyes

I hear each of my siblings in their texts, so clear it almost feels like they’re right there, right next to me. As if we’re all sitting around a table together.

One year has passed since I first lost my mind.

They’d found other outlets for pent-up emotion. Healthier, more mature outlets, like sarcasm or alcohol or grudges buried so deeply they never see the light of day.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Karma.” Clarence claps her on the shoulder. “A little mental illness ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of. Myself, I got the Big D.” Karma’s eyes light up. “Depression? Really?” “Full-on, kid.” “No shit. Me too.” I watch Karma’s face change. I watch it open, slowly, like a flower in the sun.

Biology can only handle so many variations on the same pair of chromosomes. Eventually it runs out of useful combinations. That’s why the youngest kids turn out so messed up, why we drop out of college or get arrested for stealing cigarettes or suffer silently beneath the weight of debilitating mental illness. We’re made of leftovers.

In some ways, the loudest screams are silent.