6 Seconds of Life

by Tonya F Fitzharris

  “Yeah, they’re a great bunch of girls,” Doyle says, suddenly snapping back into a conversation with me—I’m surprised he even remembered I was here. “Listen, I’m on pledge duty tonight so I have to go around and make sure they’re properly doing their assigned jobs. But I would love to find you later tonight and continue this conversation,” he says, scrolling through his phone and crossing his mammoth arms across his chest. I watch his veins flex each time he presses a button.

  “Ok,” I find myself blurting out.

  “Great! Catch you later, sweetheart,” he says, speaking over me. As he leaves, he gives me a gentle, French-style peck on my left cheek.

  I feel a wave of heat erupting from my stomach. I throw down my ice-cold beer that he so kindly re-filled for me, hoping to turn down my fiery body temperature.

  The boldness that the beer sends rolling back in to me is surprisingly refreshing. It makes me feel relaxed in this stressful situation. I scan my eyes around the room, but I can’t find Darby or the other sisters anywhere. This would usually require me to exit the situation as quickly and discretely as possible, as to avoid any further embarrassment by having to lean against the wall like a loner and bop my head to the music. Nothing is more horrifying. But I don’t run. Instead I just hang out by the keg and get a refill. And another. And another. By my fourth cup, I decide to sit on the basement stairs to avoid the brush of too many bodies hurling for a prime spot around the beloved keg. I need a break. Nearly a hundred freshman girls that, in this first week of college, are overcome by the novelty of free keg beer just for showing their cleavage are crammed in the confines of this shamble called a house.

  The air is moist and misted with stale alcohol and pot as it wafts down towards me. I feel a longing so intense in manifests itself into a stomachache. Owen. I need Owen. Where is my phone? God, I want to see him so badly. After a good four minutes of fumbling for my phone in my purse, I let it ring ten times before I hang up. He told me to call him when I was done at the party so I could come over and spend the night. Why is he not answering now?

  “Maura? Where the hell are you, girl? Get up here and take a damn shot with me!”

  Darby’s voice is a murmur in the back of my crowded thoughts. I decide to ignore her for now because a) I’m comfortable here, and b) taking a shot right now might result in my first visit to an emergency room. I flip open my phone and call Owen two more times. Still no answer. And I feel too drunk to leave him a message.

  I cling on to the railing of the basement stairs as if it will somehow provide me with the comfort I’m looking for right now. I start to feel sweaty and cold, all at the same time. My hearing starts to go fuzzy, and I can’t make out the lyrics to the booming music that is coming from the first floor.

  Oh god.

  Oh god oh god.

  I toss my cup to the side and sprint down the stairs. There’s a laundry room straight ahead of me, and I’m hoping there will be a giant sink in there that I can expel the poisonous contents of my stomach into.

  But two shadowy figures make me freeze.

  Owen.

  And some random blonde girl.

  I drop my purse and it makes a loud thud when it hits the ground. They both step out of the shadow. The blonde looks me up and down. Owen looks un-phased.

  “Hey Maura, I had no idea this was the party you were going to tonight,” he says. My name sounds new and fresh in his voice—like he’s never uttered it before in his life.

  “Me either,” I respond as I keep my eyes glued to the ground. The blonde girl takes the bottles from Owen’s hands and pushes past me towards the stairs. I draw back into the shadows, hoping to make myself small enough to just vanish.

  “You having fun?” he asks once we hear the basement door snap back into its frame.

  This feeling that’s gushing through my body right now…what is it? I don’t know. But there sure is a lot of it. I feel his fingers wrap together with mine.

  “You okay?”

  How do I answer that? What word would suffice?

  “Who…who was that Owen? What did I walk in on?” I ask, my voice wobbly.

  “Well, that was Anna. And you walked in on us collecting more beers from the refrigerator,” he states, edged with utter annoyance. “For the party that’s going on upstairs. You do remember that party, right?”

  “Anna…” I repeat, my voice scratchy in my throat.

  “Yes. Anna. The vice president of my fraternity’s girlfriend.”

  My heart drops to the floor. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.” He lets go of my hand and brings his fists to his head, tapping his temples and letting a snarl escape his lips. I hate myself for bringing him to this point. I feel like every word that comes out of my mouth lately drives him utterly insane. I’m on the edge of my seat, just waiting for him to break up with me at any moment. And I loathe it.

  “Jesus, Maura. You’ve gotta stop this.”

  “Stop what?” I ask, even though I know what he’s going to say.

  “Suspecting me of cheating.”

  “I didn’t say anything!”

  This undeniable change that has developed between us has been as subtle as water turning into ice. Slowly but surely, he’s been freezing me out, and now we’re both just rigid blocks of ice, unable to warm each other like we always used to do.

  The distance across this icy tundra is unbridgeable.

  “You didn’t have to,” he mutters as he makes his way to the stairs. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but I stop myself. This conversation seems to be over, and I know that if I push him, everything will implode in my face. The door slams and I’m alone in the dim basement with just my anger. So much anger. It’s the only emotion I’ve ever been able to recognize—I almost feel comforted by it. Who am I if I’m not angry? I have a lifetime of anger stuck inside of me. I almost feel like one of those sedimentary rocks, layers upon layers piled on over years and years. Formed forever into a dense stone.

  I’m crying now. I’m not even sure when I started. My tears hit the back of my hands and burn. I’m so, so tired of hating myself. Of feeling nothing. I throw open my purse and yank out my bottle of pills. Ever since they found their way into my life via Dr. What’s Her Name, I’ve been numb. Cold. Empty. And still angry. What’s the point anymore? I chuck them into the trashcan across the room.

  I’ll do anything to break through these stone layers.

  I have to.

  ****

  I’ve felt so disconnected from life for years now, and I think it’s because everyone around me is, well, doing it. I mean, they’re having sex. And I’m not. There’s this whole world that I’m not a part of. It wasn’t such a big deal when I was single, but where I am now, in a relationship with a guy I truly love—it’s the biggest deal in the world.

  And it’s going to officially destroy us if I hold off any longer. I just know it.

  Owen opens the door with one knock, and before I even give him a chance to speak, I’m smothering him with my heavy, alcohol-induced kisses. My tongue bumps into his, and the distance that has been keeping us apart is erased.

  “Sorry,” he whispers when he comes up for air. I don’t respond—my fingers are tingling with the need to touch. I throw my jacket to the ground and grab his arms, feeling the muscles underneath his skin tensing with anticipation.

  I break free and look into his eyes. “I’m sorry Owen, for everything.”

  He nods and pulls me in for a long, slow kiss. It reminds me of the very first time he kissed me. We sat in his car and listened to his favorite CD on repeat, pawing at each other’s fingers, edged with eagerness and ready to explode. He whispered ‘you’re so beautiful’ in my ear, and I knew that I had found my soul mate.

  “What’s going on?” he asks as he pulls away. He has a charming nervousness in his voice, and I feel more reassured than ever that this is absolutely the best decision I’ve ever made in my eighteen years on this earth.

  I give my best impres
sion of a coy, casual sorority girl giggle and nudge him into a horizontal position on the bed. Without words, I’m kissing him hard, letting go of not only everything I’ve been bottling up since we started dating, but for my entire life. All of the loneliness, the fears, the expectations…they’re slowly melting away from me like the sweetest flavor of strawberry ice cream. Our kissing gets heavier. Our hands get friskier. We’re breathing each other’s air. And before I have a moment to really absorb what I have initiated, he has pulled my clothes off and is reaching into the top drawer of his nightstand. My mind is still blanketed with a drunken fog, and I can’t manage to see straight.

  “You ok with this?” he whispers as he fumbles with his drawer retrieval under his pillow. His voice sounds deep and extremely masculine.

  Oh my god.

  This is happening. Right now.

  I feel myself nod and he smiles. Not necessarily a seductive smile, but a real smile—it’s almost too big for his face. His arms disappear under the comforter and maneuver for a moment, while I try to swallow all of the stomach bile that has crept up into my throat. I shiver when his bare groin leans against my leg. He tosses an empty silver wrapper onto the floor and pulls himself on top of me. Our bare skin has become one. All of my organs swell up and threaten to burst right through my skin. I feel so much passion and longing and sheer joy seeping out of every fiber of my being that I just can’t let myself be afraid. This moment is just too…right.

  The air in his dorm room is chilly, and his skin feels deliciously warm as I lean against it. I wrap my arms tight around his torso and hold on. His lips brush my neck and my bare chest and I push my nails into him as I lose myself. I am more alive in this moment than I was on the day I was born.

  Finally.

  “I love you Owen.”

  His eyes meet mine. They’re so full of love and acceptance and exhilaration. I know that as long as I can always look into them, I’ll be okay. I’ll be happy.

  “I love you too Maura.”

  00:00:03.511

  Another ice cream date

  “Hey,” I say, trying to make my voice sound somewhat happy and cheerful even though I’m actually terrified.

  “What are you doing here? I told you I had to study tonight.”

  He won’t even look up from his desk. Shit. This is going to be far more difficult that I anticipated. I look down at the paper bag in my hands and feel like a fucking idiot. Bringing over ice cream is not going to fix this. I don’t know if anything will.

  “I just…I wanted to see you.”

  “Why?”

  I feel myself about to cry, but instead I will my lungs to take a few deep breaths. I cannot cry right now. I cannot let his coldness defeat me.

  “To talk. Because I love you Owen. And I just want to figure this thing out that’s happening between us. I know we can.”

  He keeps his eyes tightly focused on his computer screen as I invite myself into the room and let the door close behind me. I force myself to take a few steps towards him. No reaction. I reach out and lay my hand on his shoulder. His muscles clench.

  “Look, I’m sorry I got upset the other day,” I spurt, even though I know I don’t really mean it—I had every right to get upset. But apologizing is the only way to appease him and just end this inane fight once and for all.

  “About which event? There’s so many to pick from these days.”

  Ouch.

  “The message from Alex. I’m sorry I got jealous.”

  I focus on my fidgety fingers as they grip on to the paper bag for dear life. I know I shouldn’t say the next thing. I know it will make him uncomfortable and feel ‘psycho-analyzed,’ but I just can’t help it. He doesn’t see what I see.

  “I just…I just don’t understand why you feel the need to keep protecting her. It’s very obvious that she’s starting to develop feelings for you, Owen, and…”

  “I’m SO FUCKING TIRED of having to explain to you that we’re just friends! Jesus! I don’t know what it’s going to take to get that concept through your thick skull. She has a BOYFRIEND now, Maura. One she’s actually quite serious with,” he screeches, pounding his fist on the desk.

  “Oh. That’s good for her. I’ll have to ask her about it,” I whisper.

  I’m trying, Owen.

  I’m trying so fucking hard.

  “Don’t bother. I’m not sure she wants to hear from you right now.”

  My heart breaks. I know that things between Alex and I haven’t exactly been smooth since Owen and I started having our issues, but I had no idea she had started to actually dislike me. I’ve asked Owen dozens of times why she was giving me the cold shoulder, and he’s never once been able to give me any sort of answer or support. I just want to have fun and avoid drama at all costs, he says. I take it as leave me the fuck alone, you’re crazy, and my best friend can do no wrong.

  “You told her that I got upset by the message? Jesus Christ Owen, I thought that was between us. Why do you have to go and tell her every damn thing?” I yell. The sheer volume in my voice makes both of us react—I jump up and start pacing the room while he massages his temples. My heart is about to beat through my chest and I’m covered in sweat. I feel like if I sit down and even try to do any of my fucking stupid relaxing techniques, I’m going to have a heart attack. I need to keep moving.

  “Because she’s my best friend,” he growls. He slams his fists down on his computer this time and the monitor tips over, causing it to spark. The smell of burning wire makes the tiny hairs in my nose itch. He mumbles a few obscenities and picks the monitor back up as if nothing happened. I lower myself back down to his bed and cover my face with my hands.

  I give up.

  He does too. I hear him typing again, as if we didn’t just get into a massive screaming match. I guess it’s nothing outside of the norm these days. I’m pretty sure our fellow floor mates in both of our dorms know us as the ‘crazy arguing couple’ instead of our actual names.

  “I brought ice cream.”

  I wait motionless as he continues to bang the keys. In the past year and half that I have known Owen, I have never seen him put quite so much effort into an assignment for school.

  Except for when he’s avoiding me.

  “What kind?’ he finally asks, and I feel myself breathe again.

  “Mint Chocolate Chip.”

  I do my very best to keep my voice flat and unemotional for the remainder of this interaction. I don’t want him to know why I really came here—what I’m really feeling in my heart.

  I NEED you, Owen.

  “No thank you,” he states, as if he’s politely declining a waitress offering a refill on his breadbasket.

  “What? Why no thank you? I thought you liked it now,” I say, feeling the panic bubbling in my chest like scalding hot water.

  Don’t let him see how much you’re hurting.

  Don’t let him see how much you truly need him.

  “It tastes like shit.”

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  “I said IT TASTES LIKE SHIT,” he screeches, careful to enunciate each of his words as though I’m somewhat deaf. “I think that’s pretty self-explanatory.”

  His voice is loud, and it frightens the tears right out of me. I start sobbing and struggling to catch my breath. “Why…why are you being such an asshole?”

  But he offers me nothing. This once remarkable, compassionate, witty man who made me fall in love with him through his eloquent words has absolutely nothing for me now. The clicking of his keyboard is the only sound he dares to make.

  “Owen…please.”

  “I really need to study Maura. Could you please respect that?”

  His emotionless tone is more than enough.

  I get it.

  He doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

  I push the carton of shit-tasting ice cream off his desk and turn away before I have a chance to see it splatter its vomity greenness all over his linoleum floor.

  00:00:03.20
6

  The worst day. Ever.

  “Thanks for agreeing to go to the movies with me.”

  “No problem,” he says, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and keeping his pace at least five steps ahead of mine. I pick up my feet and break into a jog until I’m at his side, my boots hitting the puddles left from two days worth of rain and soaking my pants. The droves of fellow movie patrons shift in the opposite direction of us, off to finish up their night with a few drinks at the bars, laughing and just generally enjoying each other’s company. But not us—I’m lucky I even got Owen to agree to come out with me tonight. It’s the first time he’s graced me with his presence in three days.

  “It feels like forever since we did anything like this,” I say, reaching out for his hand. But it won’t come out of his pocket, so I settle on looping my arm through his. He won’t look at me. My chest restricts my lungs and I struggle to breathe.

  “Do you want to come back to my room for a little while?” I ask, trying my best to keep any traces of desperate begging out of my tone.

  “I don’t know, Maura. I have a test tomorrow morning that I haven’t studied for at all…” he answers much too quickly, twisting his arm so mine falls out of his. He elongates his strides to position himself back in front of me once again. My jaw tightens and my teeth grind against each other, as if doing so will somehow frighten the pathetic tears of rejection that are flowing through my head.

  He hates me.

  I’ve driven him away.

  He’s going to finally break up with me.

  I know it.

  “Please Owen. Please.”

  I hear how frantic and miserable my voice sounds inside of my head, but I let the words out anyway. I don’t know what else to do. I’m petrified that if he turns his back on me and leaves me standing here alone in the street, I might just cease to be. He stops and looks down at his watch, expelling an aggravated huff loud enough for everyone around to hear.

  “Five minutes.”

  I want to jump and cheer with victory and throw my arms around him in a hug, but he’s already through the front door of my building and running up the stairs two at time.