6 Seconds of Life

by Tonya F Fitzharris

  “And you can trust me when I say that Alex is just a friend. A best friend. And I think she could be a great friend of yours as well.”

  I watch her across the pool. Effortlessly floating between conversations, a genuine smile never leaving her face. She really is beautiful.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say.

  “So do you like me too, Maura Yermakova?”

  He’s smiling at me in a way her never has before. His bottom lip twitches and his eyes are wide like dinner plates. Oh my god. He’s nervous. Owen, the epitome of relaxation and fun, is actually nervous. Because of ME.

  His fingers brush the most sensitive part of the inside of my wrist. My heart swells in my chest. Say something, Maura. Don’t lose this moment.

  “I think I really, really like you too, Owen Kittelsen.”

  He leans forward and brings his face to my right cheek. And then I feel him kiss it. My face flushes and I liquefy with happiness at the sensation of his rough lips gracing my skin ever so gently.

  He likes me.

  “Hey, Owen.”

  Birthday Girl glides over to Owen’s side, wrapping one of her thin spaghetti arms around his waist, and my breathing momentarily stops.

  “Hey sweetie. Aren’t you the popular girl this afternoon?” he says, grabbing both of her hands and pulling her into his arms. My stomach falls through my feet and I scoot back over to my previous spot alone on the chair. She topples into his lap and he laughs, squeezing her knee. I choose to play with a straggling cuticle that has been on my right index finger for the past week. I should probably get rid of it, but it has become a great tool of distraction. Her piercing giggle makes me pull it way too hard, making a tiny clump of blood form on sensitive skin surrounding my fingernail.

  “Hi. It’s Maura, right?”

  She’s choosing to talk to me?

  I force a spastic smile on my face and try to hide my eyes, which I’m sure are very haunted by my inner anxiety. I clear my throat so roughly that it pangs with pain.

  “Yeah. Happy birthday. Thanks for letting me crash your party.”

  There. That sounded…normal.

  “Are you kidding? I’m happy to have you. Any friend of Owen’s is a friend of mine. And I like your dress. Where did you get it?” she asks, reaching out and grabbing the fabric between her fingers.

  “I…I’m not sure. My mom got it for me as a birthday gift last year.”

  “Well it’s really cute. Maybe I can borrow it sometime?”

  Open mouth. Form words.

  “Sure.”

  Alex jumps up from Owen’s lap and reaches out for my hand.

  “The girls are going to do a shot. Do you want to come?”

  I let her pull me up as I shoot Owen a desperate glance. He smiles and nods, encouraging me to go forward. To go with the moment, no questions asked.

  “Of course,” I hear myself say.

  Alex beams and squeezes my hand as she leads me away. I turn around and give Owen a genuine ‘thank you’ smile while I still have time. Even if I don’t understand why this amazing guy is remotely interested in a girl like me.

  “Hey Alex,” he calls out, causing both of us to stop and look back. “Be careful with my girlfriend.”

  00:00.04.000

  The first time I opened up my heart

  “So what’s next for you, Maura Yermakova?”

  We survey the food and drink spread at Gina’s Graduation Party—Gina’s G-themed Graduation party, to be exact. And everything looks…completely unappetizing. Sticking with such a narrow theme undeniably lead to a little too much unnecessary creativity on her part. Under no circumstances should garlic bread, garbanzo beans, and gumdrops EVER be sitting next to each other on a buffet. Also, a person dressed as a giraffe should not be taking a shot of grain alcohol.

  “College, of course,” I say, picking at a tray of green apples and goat cheese. Owen studies each of the mixers available to accompany the only liquor available besides gin: grape-flavored vodka.

  “Are you still planning on going to State?” he asks, analyzing a bottle of grapefruit juice in one hand and iced green tea in another.

  “Yeah, I think I need to,” I say, feeling the words burn as they come up from my throat. I let my eyes wander around the room as reality smacks me for the tenth time today—I have four more years with these people. Four more years trapped in this place that provides no mental stimulation for me. The sensation of wanting to claw my way out of my skin and run like hell has been looming over my head all damn day.

  He opens up the grapefruit juice and sniffs. Twisting his face in anguish, he screws the cap back on and places the offending liquid back on the bar for the next party guest to enjoy.

  “To be close to my mom and all…” I say, justifying my ridiculous decision only to myself.

  He grabs the bottle of gin and fills two cups almost to the top. “I’m sticking with a gin and tonic—seems like the safest bet. You OK with that?” The smell almost knocks me over, burning off any tiny hairs in my nose.

  “Sure,” I say as he hands me a red cup spilling over with liquid. He wraps his fingers around mind and pulls me to the corner of the living room to an open couch. The soundtrack from Grease is blasting over Gina’s parent’s expensive surround sound, and our drunken classmates are all fumbling around in a manner that I assume can be considered dancing. A gorilla takes a geisha by the hand and twirls her around a little roughly. She trips and does a face plant. A gnome starts spinning on his ass as a small circle of onlookers surround him and start cheering him on. A gangster and a grandma are making out in the corner. Grandma’s shirt is being inched up her torso by his plastic rifle.

  I can’t help but smile at the disastrous scene. So this is what I’ve been missing all these years? It’s pretty amazing to be here, watching my fellow graduates from Melbrook High making complete asses of themselves—I should have been part of this years ago.

  “But is that what you really want? To stay here and be close to your mom?” Owen asks as he tries to adjust the gold-plated chest piece of his gladiator costume. It cuts up into his chin as he sits down.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “So why don’t you go somewhere that actually appeals to you? Like Philly? You always talk about wanting to get the hell out of here and going to somewhere bigger and better. I was under the assumption you were just as desperate to get out of Florida as I was.”

  I cross and uncross my legs, trying to find a position that doesn’t flash my ass to everyone in the room. This damn skirt hasn’t stopped riding up all night. I’m starting to regret letting Owen pick out my costume for me. A sexy German beer maid I am not. I’m exceptionally self-conscious being out of my usual t-shirt and jeans mask.

  “It’s not that easy…and my dad’s already paid my first semester’s tuition at State.”

  “You should go to Fisher. In Philadelphia,” he mumbles into his glass as he finishes his gin and tonic with one deep gulp. His right leg starts bouncing as he surveys the room. “You already got accepted. Just tell your dad to go F himself and do something for yourself. You need to do what makes YOU happy for once in your life, Maura.”

  Something in his voice makes my entire body electrify. Do what makes you happy, Maura. I’ve grown to hate his amazingly intuitive abilities when he calls me out for lying about liking a certain band or movie.

  Actually, that’s a lie—I secretly love it. It’s almost like he knows that I’m not one for words or emotions or any of that crap without me having to sit him down and explain. He simply…gets me.

  “State’s a done deal, Owen. It should still be good, though. They have a decent Psychology program,” I say, sensing the disappointment just radiating off of my own words. I can’t even make them sound convincing.

  The gorilla comes up to us and raises his pawed hand. Owen meets him with a high-five and they exchange descriptions of what they’re drinking. ‘Dude, I actually enjoy mixing grape vodka with green tea!’ ‘I know, me too! W
ho would’ve realized what an amazing pair they’d make!’

  “Anyway, grad school is what matters. I’ll find somewhere great to go to grad school…” I say to Owen’s back as he faces the gorilla. I feel like a total asshole when I realize he isn’t even looking at me anymore.

  “You could do everything right now, Maura,” he says over his shoulder, hopping up from the couch and reaching for my hand. “At Fisher. Because I’m going to Fisher. Also because it’s amazing.”

  “Owen…”

  “This can be your ticket out of this godforsaken dead-end town. Do you think any of these Neanderthals have even heard of Fisher? I bet half of them couldn’t even find Philadelphia on a map if you asked them to. They’re cretins, destined to spend the rest of their lives here in Melbrook, getting high and chasing waves. That’s not you.”

  I shift in my seat and focus my eyes on the melting ice in my cup.

  “Besides, they have one of the best Greek systems in the country. I think joining a sorority could be a good thing for you. And I’m going to join a fraternity…”

  “Come on, Owen…”

  “I know, I know. You need to stay. Your mom needs you. I’ve heard your weak excuse at least a thousand times now.”

  He pulls me upright and takes my glass from me as I adjust my skirt, re-tie my apron, and tuck a few stray hairs into my braid. When I open my hand up to get my glass back, it’s nearly empty.

  “She’s been pretty messed up for the past few months. I really need to be around to help take care of her,” I say as I try to keep up with his jaguar pace. He’s darting in and out of groups of dancers, everyone stopping to give him a hug and congratulate him on graduating. I try to avoid eye contact as each one notices our linked hands. They usually just gawk wordlessly anyways.

  I wait at the edge of the bar as Owen mixes two more g-themed concoctions. A group of kids I recognize from my homeroom come up and form a line behind him. My face gets hot and I know it’s going to break out in a disgusting red flush at any moment now. My long hair has served as an excellent shield to cover this embarrassment for many instances in the past, but the tight braid I have it in tonight leaves it unavailable. My pale skin is exposed for all to stare at.

  “You waiting?” one of them asks me. A Grecian goddess hangs on his arms and runs her eyes up and down the length of my body. I pull my skirt down for the 120th time tonight.

  “N…no…” I say as my eyes dart. Where the hell did he go?

  They cut in front of me. The Grecian goddess swings her makeshift silk bed sheet dress around and elbows me in the shoulder. My skin is on fire.

  “So you insist on taking care of your mother—but who takes care of you, dear Maura?” Owen asks as he pops up behind me and hands me a cup of something purple. “Sorry, grape juice is all they had left.”

  A surge of relief seizes me, and I feel my flush cower away. Having Owen by my side is quickly proving to be a much better deterrent against anxiety attacks than any medication my therapist has ever given to me. My heart swells as he tugs on two of my fingers and calls me over to his side with his haunting eyes.

  “No, no…it’s ok,” I say. I can’t help but chew on my bottom lip as he steps in closer, his nose inches from mine. I close my eyes and let our lips dance against each other’s. Everyone else in the room disappears—they always do when Owen Kittelsen kisses me. “You should let someone take care of you sometime,” he purrs. I reach for his other hand to pull him into a deeper kiss, but I can’t manage to find it.

  I step back and open my eyes. His gorilla friend found us and they’re sharing a raucous laugh about the random girl gorilla-man just walked in on in the bathroom. Apparently she was ‘puking her brains out.’

  “Hey, Gabe and I are gonna go play a round of beer pong. I’ll find you in a little while?” he states matter-of-factly rather than asking, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. His back is already to me before I can respond, red cape swinging through the air as he jumps up and down with anticipation. Trying to throw a dirty ping-pong ball into a cup of warm beer brings him way too much joy.

  My heart sinks as I try to fall back into the crowd and find an opening on the wall I can lean on for a little while. Hopefully I can just blend right in with the wallpaper.

  ****

  “Why do you want to be around me?”

  He steps up to the playground, watching me as a plant my feet and push myself off on the swing. The abnormally cold May air feels good against my naked legs as they cut through the darkness. I can smell the beach merely two blocks away—like burning, salted firewood. It’s prime time for bonfires, especially considering that today was graduation. I can hear faint screams of animated adolescents, cooking marshmallows on the open flames and drinking wine coolers smuggled from their parent’s secret, alcohol-only refrigerator they keep out in the garage. The sounds of pure, unadulterated fun surround me. Everyone is letting go tonight.

  Including me. I narrow my eyes and watch Owen as he stares at me, challenging him to answer my question. I feel drunk—and honest.

  “What?”

  I drag my feet on the gravel to stop the swing.

  He stammers behind me and gives me a little push—but he’s wasted, so he stumbles to the right and makes me twist, bashing my knee on the empty one next to me.

  He falls knee-first to the gravel and laughs feverishly, and I can’t help but do the same. No matter how much some of his bad habits (like the need to get blasted every time we’re out) grind on my nerves, his laugh always reminds me of why I adore him.

  “I’m being serious here, Owen—why in God’s name do you like me?” I ask as he pops up and sits on the other swing. He faces his body in the opposite direction as me and he pulls himself back, ready to launch.

  “Why on earth would you feel the need to ask me that?”

  “Well…because I honestly wonder. No one else does.”

  “That’s because you never let them,” he says, whizzing past me as his feathered gladiator cap falls backwards and bounces off the brown, water-depraved grass. As I watch, I silently wish I had the courage to ask him how he does it. How he manages to live the stereotypical teenage dream. He has countless friends in every social circle imaginable, which in turn gets him invited to every party. He doesn’t care what it takes to have fun—consequences are never on the forefront of his mind. I keep hoping that the more I hang out with him, the more of a chance I have to get some of these qualities to rub off on me.

  “I try to figure out who I am and where I fit in with these…people, but I draw a complete blank,” I say, laying back on my swing and watching the dark, rain-filled clouds roll away, revealing the glowing moon.

  He drops his legs and stops. His fingers coil around the chain of my swing and he pulls me in so our faces are mere inches away from each other. I can smell grape juice and marijuana wafting off of his breath.

  “Who the hell says you need to fit in?”

  His eyes are wide and searching deep into mine. This eccentric kid sees something in me I have yet to discover.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Owen,” I say, having to pull my gaze away from his. “Everyone loves you. You are nauseatingly popular. You’re just so good at being a teenager.”

  Damn, it’s an amazing feeling—to simply talk to another person and let out all of the ridiculous, introspective jumbles floating around in my brain. I’ve learned over the past few months, through many adventures with Owen, that alcohol is an excellent cure for any and all ailments of the brain. Right now, I just don’t care enough to hold back in typical Maura fashion—and I fucking love it.

  “Oh come on, you’re being a tad dramatic now.”

  “No, I’m not. You simply don’t notice it. You fit in so…so seamlessly.”

  He cackles. “Whatever, Maura.”

  “I’m just saying that I can’t wait for college. I’ll finally be at a place where people think and want the same things as me. I can be someone different.” />
  I can be a talkative girl who’s the life of the party. Or an intellectual girl who spends her free time analyzing poetry and debating with my professors. Or the athletic girl who joins the track time and wakes up at dawn every morning to lift weights and eat protein bars.

  “Why would you want to be?” Owen asks, making a circle in the gravel with his golden flip-flop.

  “Well, because I don’t really like the person I am right now.”

  He leaps up out of his swing and kneels down in front of me. His palms grasp a hold of my bare knees, squeezing them. He clears his throat in a way that makes me uneasy.

  “Well I find that unfortunate,” he says, grabbing my face. I have no choice but to look directly into his eyes.

  “Because I love the person you are, Maura.”

  He freezes. So do I.

  Because Owen Kittelsen never, ever reveals anything he doesn’t want to.

  The Grease soundtrack is pouring out of the windows of Gina’s house for the fourth time tonight. Why can’t I speak? My hands are wild. I grab my watch and start twisting the coarse leather strap around my wrist, trying my damndest to hide my face—I know my eyes must be glazed over with a sheen of utter shock right now.

  “I guess I should be getting you home now,” he says, looking down at his own wrist. His words tug on my swollen heart. I think my utter idiocy just ruined this romantic movie-esque moment forever. “May I have the pleasure of walking you home?”

  “Of…of course,” I say, letting him grab on to my shaky hand. I peek into his eyes, and they look wounded.

  Shit. I’m such a piece of shit.

  We walk the five blocks to my house in silence. He holds my hand in between his fingers and never lets go, even when we run into a few other people from the party who are stumbling around the sidewalks trying to get home themselves.

  “My mom’s not here,” I whisper, suddenly unable to control my voice.