6 Seconds of Life

by Tonya F Fitzharris

  Within a flash, we are being whisked away to the next house by Stacey’s demanding shouts. I can’t help but feel like I’ve just endured a job interview for the president of the university—and I didn’t even apply for the position.

  For the first time since my mom dropped me off last week, I miss being at my house. I miss the sanctity of my room. I miss Samantha, whom was left behind in an effort to force myself into adulthood. I just really miss the peacefulness of my self-inflicted segregation.

  I miss home. Whatever that word entails anymore.

  ****

  It’s been two excruciating days since I started this personal hell known so fondly as sorority rush, and if it wasn’t for Owen’s insistence that going Greek is the only way I’m going to fully experience my college years, I would have dropped out at the end of day one. ‘It will all be worth it,’ he tells me on repeat each night when I’m on the verge of tears. That’s easy for him to say—he’s already found a fraternity to join. And all he had to do was show up and spend one night getting blackout drunk with them.

  I’m standing outside of Theta Beta before the sky darkens on this disgustingly humid evening, trying to remember for the life of me what happened the last time I was here. Everything became a haze after house two, day one. Apparently I must have said something right, because they invited me back.

  I take a deep breath and reluctantly follow the group of girls inside. Once I’m standing in the flower-filled foyer, I can see clumps of girls clad in all-black setting up a spread of coffee and petite cakes for our group. They poke at each other and whisper when they see us waiting, their eyes wide and giddy with anticipation. Someone within their group claps their hands and each girl snaps up straight, fixes their dress, and fluffs their hair.

  “It’s time, girls!” bellows a tall waif of a girl, who bares a nametag with the word “President” etched into it. She steps through the other sisters and stands in front of us, flashing a pageant-girl smile.

  As if this is a well-rehearsed Broadway play, the sisters scuffle to their president and form a circle with her, surrounding our group. They are each holding two unlit taper candles and begin to hum a somber tune about—what else—sisterhood. The president takes a match and lights one of her candles, leans to the girl at her left, and lights one of her candles as well. This continues on for a good eight minutes before each sister has one lit candle and one that is still fresh.

  “Tonight,” utters the president, “you will get a glimpse of what it truly means to be a sister of Theta Beta. Our bond is strong and our love runs deep, so what you will hear is truly from the heart. We all love each other as not just sisters, but true soul mates. Because, dear friends, other people may come in and out of your life, but sisters are there for the long haul—they’re in your life forever.”

  A few of the girls around me tear up. I just scratch an itch on my knee. Damn stockings.

  “Before we invite you into one of our most sacred bonding rituals, each of you is going to have a chance to sit with one of our sisters and get to know her—just the two of you. It will be your chance to ask any final questions you may have about our family, and it allows us to get to know you a little better. Tonight is the final night of this momentous journey known as rush—so take advantage. You’re not only picking a house of girls—you’re picking your home-away-from-home for the next four years of your life. Enjoy this moment.”

  With that, that incessant humming that I’ve grown to despise resumes, and each sister steps forward and calls out a name. The fifth girl who steps forward calls my name.

  And I’m too damn petrified to even react.

  Girls like this DO NOT talk to girls like me.

  A tiny diamond twinkles from her petite nose, and a brightly colored tattoo, swirled with oranges and pinks and bright greens, peeks out from behind her lanky dress strap. Her eyes are a piercing blue that I can’t seem to look away from; there’s a fire in them that’s so passionate, I have no doubt she could light that other candle if she focused her energy enough. Her hair seems endlessly long and shines with dirty blonde, beach girl highlights. But she doesn’t come off as one of those annoying, wannabe surfer bum chicks that went to my high school—she seems much more authentic than that. Her rocker chic meets sorority girl persona inexplicably draws me in.

  This girl is stunning.

  “Hi Maura, my name is Darby. Welcome to my home,” she says, her voice soft yet full of a contagious energy. I open my mouth to respond but only a dismal squeak finds its way out.

  She hands me the unlit candle, and I try to dry off my sweaty hands on my dress before I take it from her. I still can’t seem to form any words to respond, so I just nod and give a half smile, perpetuating my utter lunacy to her. She motions for me to hold it up, maintaining eye contact with me while leaning forward and lighting it from her own flame.

  “Follow me.”

  Darby takes me by the hand and leads me towards the formal living room, where she perches me on a slanted window bench opposite of her. She jumps right in as if she’s on a timer, asking the obligatory rush questions since this is our first meeting—what’s your major, where are you from, and do you have a boyfriend? I give my obligatory, straightforward answers that I’ve been practicing in my head all week. She nods, never breaking eye contact with me. She smiles, and I try to force myself to return the favor. It feels extraordinarily awkward and out of character—I do not smile at strangers. Nor do I allow myself to get girl crushes. What the hell is happening to me?

  “Does all of this make you nervous, Maura? You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin,” Darby asks as she leans forward, the candle in her hands illuminating her bright cheeks and shimmering pale pink lip gloss.

  “N…no,” I say, my voice sounding much smaller than it normally does.

  A brief awkward moment develops, but she pushes right through it, her eyes dancing in the dim light.

  “So tell me, have you had a good time since you’ve been here on campus? You know, the kind of fun you don’t normally get to have until you’re away from parents and on your own?” She leans in closer to me, as if she’s sharing some kind of secret with me and no one else in the room can hear it.

  “Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I haven’t gotten to really go out and do too much this past week, with rush and everything. I’ve hung out with my boyfriend a few times, and we went to a party in the first floor of my dorm.”

  She leans back in her chair and shakes her head in disbelief, tossing her hair around. She looks like one of those actresses-turned-hair models from a television commercial, bouncy and full of life with hair that is impeccable.

  “A dorm party? Oh god, how freshman year! A few of the other sisters in the room shoot her sideways glances. It seems that this is a laughter-free situation, but Darby doesn’t give two shits—no one else exists in her world right now except for me. “Those were the days. Have you been to any other parties?”

  “No,” I answer with a surprising air of honesty.

  “Let me guess, you weren’t one of the party girls in high school either, were you? I bet you have really strict parents—the kind who would put a piece of masking tape on the outside of your closed bedroom door at night, just to make sure you didn’t try to sneak out.”

  I let an uneasy chuckle slip, giving Darby the indication that she’s correct.

  “Listen, Maura, I know where you’re coming from. I grew up in a similar household. I was the oldest out of three kids—I have two younger brothers—and my parents were always super-strict with me to try and use me as an example for them. It became so overwhelming that I just picked this college based on the mileage distance between here and my parents. It was hard at first—not having my parents as active members of my life. But the important thing is that I got away…away from all of the ridiculous expectations and pre-determined life plans. And I’ll let you in on a little revelation I’ve had since my own freshman year—I’m learning little by little that I am the
only one who can decide how my life will be. Shit happens along the way, of course, but it’s how I react to that shit that really matters.”

  She leans over and squeezes my hand. My heart melts. I feel an overwhelming desperation to be her sister so that I can have her remarkable influence around me on a daily basis.

  Darby is just plain awesome.

  A bell rings from the front room, signaling the next phase of the evening. Darby seizes me by the hand again and leads the way into their parlor. She plops me into a pink foldout chair, which is one of a large circle of chairs that are all being filled by the other rushees.

  The sisters form a larger circle behind us, and I notice that Darby has placed herself at a spot in the circle that allows her to maintain eye contact with me. She lets off a sassy wink as a piano begins to play in the background.

  I’m trying to focus on the stories that the sisters are telling (through my lazy listening, I can make out that they’re talking about why Theta Beta is important to them and other mushy things of the sort), but I feel a sudden wave of nervous anticipation. Could this really be happening? Have I really found a sorority that likes me enough to ask me to join? Based on the whisperings of my gossipy rush group, I imagined the Betas to be burly guy’s girls who have the uncanny ability to function in class after a night of hard liquor drinking and keep marker boards ranking how well each fraternity president performs in bed. But that is not at all what I have felt since I’ve been here tonight. In reality, the Betas are beautiful, feminine, and strong.

  They’re everything that I want to be.

  When the ceremony ends and Stacey calls us all to the door, Darby finds me in the crowd and walks with me, arm in arm, towards the entrance. She glimpses around the room to see which sisters are around, and then pulls me toward the corner of the foyer instead of the door.

  “You know, rushees are forbidden to drink during rush week, and STRICTLY forbidden to fraternize with any sorority sisters outside the parameters of these parties,” she says is a rushed voice while cupping her mouth. “But I like you, and I want to know more about you.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

  Of course.

  She leans in closer. “Listen, some of us are going to a party later tonight at one of our favorite fraternity houses. You should come.”

  I stare blankly back at her, as stiff and expressionless as if she were speaking Hungarian. The words that are coming out of her mouth are completely unrecognizable to me, and I’m too fearful to let her know.

  “Meet me outside of your dorm at ten.”

  “Ok...” I peep.

  She grabs me and hugs me in a way that lifelong friends do after years of separation—deep and brimming with wonderful memories. “As far as I can see, you’re a Beta through and through.”

  I glide out the front door.

  ****

  I’m attending my first college party before I have even attended my first class. Is this bizarre? It feels that way. In truth, I don’t even care to go—what I really want is to go hang out with Owen. Things have felt distant and cold between us for weeks now, most likely because of the fact that we still haven’t had sex—which is totally and completely my fault. I know and accept this. But that right moment just hasn’t come around. Not that I know what a ‘right moment’ is even supposed to look like. But he’s started wanting to hang out less and less since the beginning of the summer—fraternity socials and dorm parties and meetings upon meetings with his freshman advisor as he tries to bring all of his crazy habits together in some sort of tangible major are always keeping him away. He’s continually busy and I’m always trying to catch him at a free moment. I was hoping that tonight could be just us so we could talk and try to figure things out, but no. He is once again hanging out with his new brothers, putting in ‘quality bonding time’ as he likes to call it.

  But alas, I need to seem cool. Together. Happening. I really want these girls to like me. I NEED them to like me. So I trudge forward with them as we parade down Acorn Street, a beautiful road packed with distinctive clothing boutiques, tiny bistros with names like ‘Deb’s’ and ‘Grandma’s,’ and skyscrapers that disappear into the cloudy night sky. Apparently this evening’s social event is just a pre-party for the main event—an all-Greek celebration at the top of one of Philadelphia’s tallest buildings, which, I have been told, gives dazzling views of the city. I’m honestly looking forward to seeing the city from this angle more than I am for this party. Party before the party, actually. One of the sisters asks me if I’ve ever been to the city before I came for college but I can’t think of the answer. I’m not drunk enough to let myself be as relaxed as I need to be. I have an inflammation developing in my stomach and the nauseating feeling that I’m going to fail epically tonight.

  Darby’s shrieking voice calls me back to reality and gets the other girls excited—there is a collaborative “wooooo!” from them as we stagger down the street. They wave to all of the pedestrians, saying hello and asking them what their plans are for the evening. I stumble forward with them, feeling much drunker than I was just ten minute ago. Tonight I had the opportunity to learn just what “pre-gaming” is—pounding as many lemon drops and tequila shots as humanly possible in the hour it takes to flat-iron your hair and sloppily apply your make-up. I only took three shots (while the other girls lapped me at least twice) but it served its purpose. One of the girls produces a small flask out of her hot pink handbag and takes a chug. My stomach lurches at the concept of drinking any more right now. Instead, I eavesdrop on the sisters as they flaunt their personal delinquencies for all to admire—including the poor people passing by. Discrete they are not.

  As we push our way through the crowd and into the front doors, I am taken aback. The inside of the fraternity bares a striking resemblance to that of that dingy bar that Owen dragged me to all summer—emblazoned with neon beer signs, posters with nearly naked women, and an assortment of other alcoholic signs and symbols placed prominently throughout the common living space. Off to the right, there is a huge bar, and Darby tells me that there are additional bars in the adjacent rooms. An astounding selection of bottles, shot glasses, and imported beers are scattered about on the thrift store furniture, and rancid pizza crust is mashed into the faded, heavily stained carpet. Not to mention the fact that my feet are sticking to the ground with every step.

  “To the keg, my ladies!”

  I follow Darby’s lead, and two other sisters grab my hands as we weave through the crowd. We form a human chain—and I’m in the middle.

  A polite pledge is standing next to the keg, ready and willing to help us fill up our plastic cups.

  “Good evening, dear ladies of Theta Beta. It’s a pleasure to see you here in our humble abode for our grand celebration,” he states in a monotonous tone. We giggle in unison at his obviously forced and generic greeting.

  “Nice try, pledge Gilbert,” shouts a tall, rugged guy who appears from behind us. His eyes look almost wolfish as he narrows them to analyze the wayward pledge. “But you fucked up the last sentence. Go review your script before I pull your pledge pin right now.”

  Pledge Gilbert drops his head and stalks away in defeat while wolf dude rolls up his sleeves, flexes the tiny muscles in his fingers, and seizes control of the tap.

  “Who’s the asshole?” I ask Darby.

  “Oh, that’s just Doyle. He’s not an asshole in real life, just when it comes to dealing with pledges,” she states, snapping her pink gum and emitting a blast of fresh, cherry-scented air from her mouth. She pulls a mirror out of her purse to check her make-up. I want to tell her she looks flawless, but instead I unbutton the top button of my shirt in an attempt to show my miniscule cleavage.

  “So you know him?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and re-buttoning my shirt when some blonde kid with a popped-up collar widens his eyes at my chest.

  “Oh yeah, since freshman year. He’s a great guy, one of my closest friends, actually. Like the
big brother I never had. I’ll introduce you!” she sings, her eyes widening with the prospect of making a love connection.

  Before I have a chance to stop her, Darby stretches her arm out and grabs Doyle by the sleeve. They exchange hellos, and I feel my body break out into a red flush as he runs his eyes over my body. One of the sisters next to me says something that I think is supposed to be a joke, and I start laughing manically and far longer than I should. Doyle just won’t stop sneering at me. There’s something on the edge of his tongue that he wants to say, but I watch as he swallows it down.

  1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4.

  “Doyle, I would like to bestow upon you the great pleasure of being the first Alpha Pi brother to meet my future little sister. This is Maura!” Darby says. She shoots me an over-emphasized wink and slinks away behind Doyle, leaving me unaided in the corner. He takes a long swig of his beer, letting his brown eyes peek out over the edge of the cup, waiting for me to say something. I kick at an empty cup on the ground.

  “Well, hello there Maura. It’s so nice to meet you. How do you like Theta Beta so far?” he asks, dropping his cup and bringing his eyes away from me as he scans the crowd that has just burst through the doorway.

  “I love it, actually. Everyone’s been really nice so far,” I say, sounding like a fucking idiot, I’m sure. Some other guy comes up behind me and shakes Doyle’s hand, and they engage in a momentary conversation about their plans to get this party to be more stimulating. I’m fairly certain I heard one of them mention something about a kiddie pool filled with mud that’s ready and waiting in the back yard.

  I inhale the rest of my now tepid beer to try and subside the queasiness that’s bubbling up inside of my stomach. The ear-splitting techno music shaking the walls seems to be thumping even louder, and I can feel it pounding under my feet and up through my body.