My body jolts awake as if I heard a gunshot.

Fear and adrenaline invade my body and

tighten my throat. My tiny studio apartment feels like it’s closing in on me. In a scared haze I

throw off my sheets, run to my phone, and flatten my trembling body against the front door,

distancing myself as far as I could from the source of my terror.

I’ve been a scaredy-cat for as long as I could remember. As a child, I couldn’t keep my

eyes closed in the shower for more than three seconds out of fear of something snatching me
away, I couldn’t sleep in the dark, and I would stay up all night if I heard the slightest noise. As

an adult, I could probably keep my eyes closed in the shower for four seconds.

The only thing worse than those fears was solitude; as the youngest of six, I grew up

surrounded by people my entire life. A family member was always near so I never experienced

true loneliness.

One could imagine the apprehension that followed me like a shadow as the school year

neared and I’d have to live alone. When I finally moved into my studio, that shadow

immobilized me. I couldn’t stand being alone in the silence, but my cowardice prevented me

from going out.

It’s deafeningly silent. The full body mirror my siblings hung on the bathroom door with

mirror tape lay on the floor after violently crashing down moments ago. Strangely, the mirror fell

horizontal to the door instead of vertical. My suspicion soars.

Why did it fall? Did something crash against the door? Is someone in there? Oh my God

someone has to be in there. I need to call my family.

I guide my trembling hand to call my mama. I lament every ring it takes for her to pick

up; though most people aren’t quick to answer their phone at five in the morning.

“¿Hola mija - qué pasó?” Concern laces my mama’s voice as she asks me what’s wrong;

she knows I’m never up this early.

I suppress the urge to voice all my racing thoughts and slowly explain the situation. My

panicked voice grows less steady as I speak. My mama tries to comfort me on the other end.

My brother Jayro interrupts, sounding drowsy. “Salma, what’s wrong?” My mama

briefly tells him the situation. “Here, turn on the camera, let me see.”
 The harmless image of a fallen mirror covers my screen as I point the camera at it from

across the room. “S-see the position’s weird. Why would it fall like that?”

“I mean, yeah that’s weird, but sometimes things land awkwardly. The tape was cheap; it

probably couldn’t hold the weight.”

I grow frustrated. I know he’s trying to calm me down but my paranoia gets the best of

me. “I-I don’t know - it’s really weird. I think someone could be in there.”

“Then check,” he suggests.

Suddenly the call disconnects and my stomach drops. I slam my finger back onto the call

icon.

Check? No way. What if someone’s in there? I feel like I am going hysterical. I want to

go home. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not ready for this.

“Salma?” My sister Griselda picks up this time. “What’s wrong?”

I explain quickly, anxiously holding back tears. It feels like an eternity has passed since I

woke up. It’s been forty-five minutes. My body aches from adrenaline and the restless nights

I’ve endured since moving in.

“Open the door. You won’t be able to sleep without knowing if someone is in there or

not. I know you’re scared, but it will be okay.” She soothes me.

Hesitantly, I tiptoe across the room, pausing before the closed bathroom door.

Goosebumps race across my skin as I touch the metal handle. My arm feels like a block of lead -

I can’t muster the strength to turn the handle despite Griselda’s prompting. She repeats herself

calmly; though my irrationality must wear on her.

 My lower lip quivers. I feel like a child asking to sleep in their parent’s bed because

monsters hide in the closet. The humiliation of being coaxed into opening a dumb bathroom

door, the fear of what could lay behind it, and the pain of solitude suffocate me.

“I.. I just want to go home.” I choke out.

The tears finally spill as the feeling of loneliness crushes me. I’m alone in this huge city

and despite wanting to run to the security of my home - I can’t. The reality weighs so heavily

that I force back a sob. I resent myself for acting so childish. I know I’m worrying my family,

but I can’t help it.

“Hey, Salma-” My brother Sammy calls out. “Just open the door, okay? We’ll call help if

something happens. I’ll count to three and you’ll throw open the door.”

“O-okay.” I weakly comply.

“One...”

I dig my heels into the cold floor.

“Two…”

I tighten my grip on the door handle.

“Three.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and fling the door open with all my might.

Nothing.

The shower curtain lazily flutters in response to my grand entrance. My eyes scan the

mundane scene of an average bathroom. No intruders. I report back to my family and after a

lecture about how I “need to become braver and more rational” the call ends for the final time.

I close the bathroom door, pick up the fallen mirror, and lean it against the wall.

Defeated, I fall onto my bed, ashamed of how much growing up I need to do. I stare at the
ceiling. I have to learn how to live by myself. I have to learn to not fear every small thing. I

pull my sheets over my body with a sigh and close my eyes. I know I have to change.

My apprehensive nature frequently confronts me. Maybe I should just go back to my

apartment – it’s too dangerous to take detours. Ahh, the city is making me so nervous. Some

days I feel more alone than others as I watch people roam the streets or when I sit quietly in my

apartment.

I try my best to combat the feeling. I push down the sense of panic that starts in the pit of

my stomach as I decide to go to a new place to meet up with a school club. I call my mama to

feel at home as I walk back from class.

I don’t always win. Sometimes I do just go back to my apartment instead of exploring

out of worry that something bad may happen. Sometimes I must bite back tears as I walk the

city streets alone. My adjustment to a new lifestyle may be a bit clumsy, but at least I’m up to

keeping my eyes closed in the shower for five seconds.