Free Sounds Like Crazy by Shana Mahaffey

deep breath.
    “Ready. Set. Go!” said Sarge inside my head. He waved the green starter flag.
    On cue, Ruffles took over the live inner-cranium commentary.
“And she’s off, rounding the corner of First and First.” Her steady and even voice helped me find my race rhythm. “Old lady laden with shopping bags to the left,” said Ruffles.
    Sarge waved a yellow caution flag. I swooped down and veered right.The familiar refrain of crunching chips kept perfect time with each footfall.
    “Yes.” Sarge raised a victory fist. I pressed forward. Betty Jane stayed silent, like a crocodile waiting for the exact right moment to strike.
    “Two bogeys, eleven o’clock and three o’clock,” said Ruffles inside my head. A flash of yellow skittered across my mind as I feinted left and then right. I turned the corner of Houston and Second.The street appeared empty. My lucky day. I moved faster. The Broadway subway stop stretched before me like a terminus beacon. I’m going to make it . Sarge reached for the red checked flag. My thigh muscles pulled. Shins screamed. Taking short breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, I crossed the finish line and entered the station, skidding. I got the caution flag as I teetered on the stair. I heard the collective intake of breath inside my head as I stuck out my leg for balance and leaned back, followed by a collective exhale as my right foot and then my left hit the stairs.
    I grabbed the handrail to steady myself. “Oh, my stars,” screamed Betty Jane inside my head. “Do you realize how many unwashed, germ-ridden hands have been on that railing?” I snatched my hand back, hoping to get to and through the ticket line without incident. “Disgusting,” she snarled. “I refuse to ride the subway. I will not.” Her Southern drawl felt like a bad hangover pounding against my temples.
    “Until we are making money, we have to ride the subway,” I said.The man in front of me turned around. Must be a tourist , I thought. Betty Jane opened her mouth and I wished for a mental
umbrella to protect me from the litany about to rain down. I waited for my turn while she started at the top. Experience told me that Betty Jane’s monologue would end with a bad job, no money, and the indecent and inhumane conditions she was forced to live in. Our first vacation should be to a third-world country.
    “Christ, I have no time for this!” I yelled. The man in front of me whipped his head around again. The normally bored station attendant craned his head from behind the Plexiglas to get a glimpse of standard NewYork City crazy while he completed the transaction with my obstacle to the subway station booth, who made his purchase and walked off. My turn.The station attendant glared at me. My stomach did a fifteen-floor elevator drop and I floated weightless.
    “She’s going down,” said Sarge inside my head. Different emotions blinked across his face as he ran forward. “Holly, you know the rules. I can’t take over.” I hovered somewhere between in control and in the Committee’s living room. “Stand up, soldier!” The force of Sarge’s voice put me back in control.
    “We’ll take a taxi home. Okay?”
    “Whatever, lady,” said the attendant.
    “Oh, agony,” shrieked Betty Jane inside my head. Then she stalked out of the Committee’s room. At least she’s gone, I thought.
    “Four dollars on my MetroCard, please.” I passed the money and the card through.Although it felt like walking through quicksand in cement boots, I made it to the turnstile, swiped my card, and crossed.
     
    I exited at Times Square and scanned for a street sign to get my bearings. The gold front of 1516 Broadway was to my left. I walked through Brenda’s door ten minutes late and sweating even though it was January.

    “Holly Miller?” said the receptionist. I nodded. “I’ll let Brenda know you’re here.”
    At our first meeting, Brenda and Betty Jane came together like soul mates reuniting after