Blue Thursdays

She pressed a hand to her mouth as a particularly loud sob escaped. The walls in her college house were thin and she preferred her three friends she shared it with didn't hear her breakdowns. Her back thumped lightly against the wall as she let her legs go limp, sliding down the solid surface. With every gasping breath, every tear that slipped down her face, her body shuddered. The hour always seemed to go by too fast, time lost to the tightness in her chest, the foggy panic in her mind.

Marley scheduled an hour in her week to cry. Thursdays from 7:00 to 8:00 pm. It fit perfectly into her schedule after she got home from class and left her a few hours before she fell asleep to get some homework done. 

Henry had come up with the idea of "Blue Thursdays" when they were in second grade. It was the perfect day to get all your sadness out. Then you were ready for the weekend and the sadness would not build up until the end of the week, so it gave you a good start. The perfect cycle. The whole day they would let themselves mope and frown and sit quietly. It became routine. Thursday was for being sad so the rest of the week could be happy. 

The habit stuck with Marley through middle school, then high school, and now her junior year of college. But as she got older, time grew scarcer. Blue Thursdays shrank from the day, to the afternoon, to after school, and now an hour on Thursday night where she could let it all out.

White light broke through the darkness of her room. The rhythmic buzzing turned her silent sobs into shuddery breaths. Crawling across the carpet, she grabbed her phone from where she had dropped it next to her backpack. Henry's name flashed across the top of the screen, filling it with a photo she had taken in high school, her smiling face pressed up against his at some football game.

7:47.

Pressing her thumb against the side of her phone, the screen went black. Silent tears slipped down her cheek as she crawled up onto her bed, phone still clutched in her hand. The comforter was cool. She grabbed a pillow wrapping her body around it as the weeping continued. Henry’s name flashed on her phone again.

A frustrated shriek slipped out as she sent him to voicemail.

Marley: Stop.

Marley: I'll call you back at 8.

Henry: I'll be over in five.

Her mind went blank. They didn't hang out on Thursdays. Thursdays nights were for breakdowns and homework.

Marley: No, I'm busy. I'll call you back at 8.

7:54.

Six minutes left to get everything out and she felt nowhere near the bottom of the well.

Henry: Fine

8:00 came far too quickly and Marley padded over to the bathroom connected to her room. Some splashes of water and deep breaths in the mirror and she was good as new.

Henry picked up on the first ring.

"What homework do you need to do?"

"I do homework for two hours after class on Thursday," Marley huffed.

"Nothing for tomorrow?"

"Henry," she groaned.

"I know," he sighed and there was genuine disappointment in his voice. "I wouldn't dare mess with the calendar."

Marley rolled her eyes but before she could spit out a retort Henry whispered, "I just miss you."

"I saw you Tuesday." Her eyes heated at the words, her chin quivering slightly. What was wrong with her? She cleared her throat, swallowing down the prickly discomfort.

"I know," he paused, "Are you okay?"

It had been nearly a decade since they had a Blue Thursday together. The awkwardness of middle school put a weird wall between them and their emotions. It felt odd to cry in front of one another, to feel together. So Blue Thursdays had become a solo endeavor. She wasn't even sure if Henry would remember it.

"I’m fine," she said quickly blinking away the heat. "Why?"

"You sounded weird," he spoke his words carefully.

"I'm just tired," she sighed, "It's been a long week." 

It's been a long month, a long year.

"Then let's relax, watch a movie. You work too hard.”

Marley let out a warbled laugh she tried to disguise as a cough.

"Hey," his concern cut through the hacking. "Are you getting sick?"

"I think so. So you really shouldn't come over."

"Fine, only if you promise to rest so you'll be better for this weekend. Big party Saturday for this super awesome girl. It's her birthday or something."

"Might have to skip. Just not in the partying mood. She's probably not that awesome," she tried to hide the truth in her words with sarcasm. 

"Sleep on it, Mar. I think you'll change your mind," he laughed.

I know I will. I'm turning twenty. I should want to get drunk and dance in some disgusting college house until the world is too blurry for me to stand up straight. To end up in bed with my friends shoving McDonald's fries down my throat after holding my hair back and force-feeding me water. So I’ll show up, smile, laugh, mingle, do everything I am supposed to. Because that's what I do.

"Are you sure you're okay? I can just make you food or tea or something." The concern had slipped back into his voice and her chest tightened.

"I'm fine. I need to finish up some stuff and sleep. I'll be good as new tomorrow."

She needed to get off the phone before Henry made her cry. Her hour was over and she had things to do. So many things to do.

"Text me if you need anything. Please. Night, Mar."

"Night," she mumbled before hanging up.

Hurrying over to her backpack, she pulled out her laptop and textbook and dropped down at her desk. Nothing to brighten the mood like the Spanish Inquisition. In seconds she was lost to the work, being productive, making strides forward. Life felt okay when she was succeeding. Homework led to success. Tears did not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday was like walking through water that was too warm to be refreshing, but too cold to easily sink into. 

Any little thing that went wrong made her want to burst into tears. Her coffee sloshed over the rim that morning, she choked up. The zipper on her raincoat got stuck when she got to class, heat crept in behind her eyes. After answering a simple question wrong in class, her chin quivered.

It was Friday. Friday was a good day, a fun day and here she was nearly crying over spilled coffee and stuck zippers. What was wrong with her?

Deep down she knew if she started crying now she would never stop. In that contained hour, she could let herself cry, let everything out, knowing there was an end. She knew she was still in control. 

But these tears that were threatening to spill over would not stop on command. So she swallowed them down for Thursday. She could make it through another week. She always could.

Her friends would joke she was a robot, functioning at specific intervals, indefatigable. She was calculated, level-headed, disciplined. Nothing got in her way.

They didn't know at some point someone had poured water all over her circuit board, and now her insides were sparking and twitching. Everything was slowly shutting down, failing, and no one else could see. Worst of all she didn't know how to stop it.

"She lives." An arm came around her shoulder, tugging her into the scent of clean laundry and cinnamon.

"Barely," she muttered into Henry's chest as they kept walking through the center of campus.

"Where are you going? Home?"

"Yeah, I need to finish a paper and I forgot my textbook. Before you ask, no I can't hang out, it's due at five."

"Mar," his eyebrows creased.

"What?" Her stomach dropped.

He pulled out his phone.

"It's," he hesitated, "It's 4:30."

"No," she whispered, leaning in to glance at his phone screen.

Sure enough, it now read 4:31.

"Shit, I must have lost track of time meeting with Professor Albertson after class. I'm so screwed."

"I'm sure you're fine. You can stop by the library and submit it."

She shook her head, picking up her pace and Henry matched it. 

"I fell asleep at my desk last night before I could finish. I haven't added my last few citations. I haven't proofread it. This is bad. This is so bad."

"It's going to be fine," he grabbed her hand, his thumb running soothing motions over the back of hers.

Her throat tightened, her eyes prickled with tears. The dam was stretched, splintering. The thought of leaning into Henry, having him hold her while she fell apart was a bruise she wanted to press on. But she had no time. Thursday, she could cry Thursday.

She pulled her hand out of his. 

"It's not fine. I screwed up and I need to-"

Abruptly, she turned, heading to the library. There she could do a run-through, perhaps add a few things from memory, and at least get it in on time. Henry called her name. She kept walking

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an hour of hugs and small talk before the buzz finally set in. Marley and her housemates offered to come over and help set up before, but Henry had insisted his roommates and he had it covered. They truly had outdone themselves with Happy Birthday signs and balloons, and streamers strung across the ceiling, though they were already falling off.

She was trying to enjoy it, she was. She smiled and laughed when she was supposed to. She was two cups into whatever concoction Henry had created which was surprisingly good, even with the heavy pour of middle-shelf vodka. Special occasions called for something fancier than New Amsterdam.

The buzz should have been helping. It usually did, but not tonight. 

She was chatting on the couch when her phone buzzed in her pocket. An email. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the blue light through the vodka and low lighting of the party, but when she saw the name, she sobered up immediately.

Professor Collin. She opened the email before she could think better of it. When the words sank in, her heart dropped to her stomach.

RE: Your Essay

    Marley,

    See me during my office hours Monday.

    Professor Collin

What professor sent emails on a Saturday night? One who is horrified by their student's work.

The dam was breaking, everything was about to pour over. Without a word, she shoved off the couch and stormed over to Henry. 

"Can I use your bathroom?" She asked in the most level voice she could muster. The room was dark enough he couldn't see how close she was to breaking down. She needed a quiet place to breathe for a second. Then she would come back and enjoy the rest of the night her friends had worked so hard to plan. Or at least grit her way through it. As long as they thought she was enjoying it, it would be good enough.

"Yeah," he nodded, digging through his pocket for the key to his room. She took it with the best smile she could force.

She ran up the stairs, stumbling a few times in the dark. She shoved the key into the lock four times before she finally got it open, her chest already heaving. She hurried through his room to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her.

Tears were already falling as she slid down the door. Pulling up the email, the words swam. On her third reread she noticed the attachment. Clicking on it she found her essay covered in red pen with a large D+ inked onto the front.

A sob escaped her lips, her body shuddering. Her phone hit the tile with a clatter. She dropped her head onto her knees, lacing her hands behind her head. The dam broke and everything spilled out. 

She cried so hard it hurt, so hard animalistic sounds slipped through her lips, so hard she didn't know how she had any tears left. She didn't know how she'd ever stop.

A pounding on the door startled her away from it. She crawled across the floor to the wall on the other side. Hopefully whoever it was would go away. She couldn't get the words out to tell them sit was in use. 

She tried to quiet her whimpers, but she sounded like she was choking. Trying to shove the feelings back in was useless. They had expanded past the container they had been locked in.

The voice on the other side of the door sounded frantic, but she could barely hear it over the buzzing in her ears, her rapid breaths.

"She has it. There's a master key somewhere. Find it." Henry's muffled voice snapped. "Mar, let me in, please."

No. I don't want you to see me broken, I don’t want you to see me when I don't know how I'll put myself back together.

But she couldn't get words out, calm her mind, stop her heaving breaths. Her head fell back against the wall and the tears streamed down her face. 

With a loud crack, the door flew open and Henry stumbled through. She curled in tighter on herself. There were others behind him, but she couldn't make out faces before he slammed the door. He dropped down, looking over her frantically.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" He reached up to pry her hands away from her face. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

All she could do was cry. He pulled her into his lap, holding her tight.

"It's not Thursday," she shuddered, before bursting into sobs again. Henry's grip tightened.

"What?" He asked, registering her words.

"It's not Thursday," she gasped.

"Do you want it to be?" He asked gently, clearly not understanding her distress but not wanting to seem insensitive.

"I'm sad and it's not Thursday. I'm not supposed to be sad on Saturdays," she buried her face in his chest and soon the patch of his sweatshirt was soaked through with tears.

His chin lifted off the top of her head. She pulled away to blink up at his face, watching as realization dawned on him.

"Mar, you don't still follow the rule we made as kids, do you?" She expected him to laugh. Instead, he looked devastated.

"I don't have time to be sad. An hour on Thursday to cry. That's it. That's all I need."

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

"But it's not Thursday. I'm crying. I failed my paper. I got a D+ and-"

"Oh, Mar-"

"I'm failing. I'm falling asleep during assignments, I'm forgetting deadlines, time. I haven't started putting together the fundraising event for student council. I haven't started studying for the LSAT. I don't know the last time I laughed or smiled and meant it. I'm trying so hard to be good enough and get through every day but I'm not. I feel myself falling apart on the inside and it's seeping out. I'm failing."

Every word she spoke he took like a blow. When she dissolved into another fit of trembling tears, he took a shaky breath.

"Mar, you are more than good enough. You've always been above and beyond, done above and beyond."

His words made her cry harder because he was wrong. If he was right she wouldn't be here crying on her twentieth birthday, ruining her best friend's Saturday night. Wouldn't have gotten an email from her professor asking her to see him on Monday. Wouldn't have fallen asleep finishing a paper. If what he said was true, she wouldn't feel like this.

"You are overwhelmed and exhausted. Your body and mind were bound to give out at some point. A normal person could not live under the pressure you put on yourself," he gave her a sad smile, "You can't keep doing this. You can't keep living in such rigidity, holding yourself to these inhuman standards."

"But," she took a shuddery breath, "I have to. I don't know-"

She couldn't get the rest of the words out. Henry nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he studied her.

"How about we start with letting ourselves cry on days other than Thursday?" 

"But, I-"

"You have to let go at some point or it's only going to get worse. You're going to have more moments like this. It's not bad to cry and break down, but when you hold it back for so long," he shook his head and buried his face in her hair, "It's not healthy, it's not good for you."

Finally, she could get in a full breath.

"No more Blue Thursdays," she whispered.

"No more Blue Thursdays,” he nodded.

"I don't think I want to go back down to the party. I'm sorry," she whispered, staring down at the white tile.

"Why are you sorry?" He hooked a thumb under her chin, a hard resolve in his eyes. "It's your birthday. We'll do what you want."

Her face flushed, but no tears fell.

"Can we watch a movie?" Her voice was hoarse from crying.

"Let's watch a movie," Henry smiled.

She fell asleep to the beat of his heart and some actor confessing his love to a girl in the rain. It was as if she had pulled the plug on a drain. Everything felt lighter. Perhaps the world didn't have to be so heavy, perhaps any day could be blue.