6 Seconds of Life

by Tonya F Fitzharris

  “Maura!”

  He seizes my arms and throws me to the ground in a basket hold. I kick my legs into the air and strike him right in the middle of the chest, knocking the wind out of his body and sending him tumbling back onto the bed.

  “Owen...I’m…I’m so sorry,” I whine as I dive towards him.

  But his hands fly up and stop me cold.

  “Are…you…fucking insane?”

  Yes. I am. I shouldn’t do this. I should leave—try to save any shred of dignity that I may still have. But I can’t. This is just happening.

  “Owen,” I murmur, letting my exhausted pile of limbs collapse onto the ground. “I need you. I’m so sorry about everything that happened in the past. But…I love you. I love you and I know you still love me. Right?”

  My voice is panicky and my eyes dart like a crazed coke fiend as I wait for his response. He drops his head in his hands, running his fingers through his wet locks. So I just sit, motionless, trying to figure out what to do. What I can say to get him back.

  “I know that I need help, and that something’s not right with me. I never told you, but I was on medication for a while, and I stopped it. I should have never stopped it…”

  My whole being jitters with excitement at this sudden revelation. Yes, I can get back on medication. I don’t care if it numbed me before—I need to be completely numbed of everything. Then I can regain some kind of control of my life, and…

  “Maura, just stop…”

  “No, let me finish! I can get back on my medication and then I’ll be normal again, I’ll be the same girl you fell in love with last year!”

  I crawl across the floor like an amputated bomb victim and grab onto his hands, begging him to lift me up and carry me safely away from this war. I give up. I need him to be my hero.

  But he pulls away.

  “Maura, I’m sorry. But I…I can’t be with you again. It just didn’t work. And it sure as hell won’t work now.”

  I need to scream, to smash something. I jump up and latch on to the side of his desk so hard my hands feel like they’re going to split right open. I must have shaken it as well, because his computer monitor is tipped over now. I watch as he dives down and rescues it just seconds before it crashes into the ground. Everything is happening so slowly, like a silent film reel that’s struggling to keep turning.

  It just didn’t work.

  It will never work.

  You will never have me, Maura.

  He grips my wrists tight in his hands, squeezing and shaking me. I force myself to stare into his eyes. I want him to tell me that even if he can’t compress himself into these hideously dark places in my fucked-up head, he’ll be waiting on the other side. That he’ll help me figure it out. That he made a mistake, and he sees how much we both need each other right now. I can figure this out. I want to learn how to start having fun again. I don’t want to be miserable anymore. I can teach myself how to be happy again. I know it. I stand completely still, and he finally loosens his grip.

  “I can’t help you anymore, Maura.”

  I can’t help you, Maura.

  “But, yes…yes you can!” I cry, inviting myself into his arms for a hug. He doesn’t fight it. “You can Owen.”

  “I’ve tried, Maura. I’ve tried so hard. But you’ve just been slipping further and further away, and I really think there’s just too much distance between us right now. I don’t know what happened to change everything. I thought taking a break would help you really realize your feelings for me, but it just pushed you too far away.”

  Tell him about Doyle. About what happened in the hotel room.

  JUST TELL HIM.

  “Owen…I…”

  “Hey, are you ready to go?’

  Both of our heads snap up.

  There’s Alex. Standing right in the doorway.

  Alex.

  “Alex?” I cry. I’m dizzy. I’m going to pass out now.

  “She came to visit for the weekend. We…we’re”

  I can’t hear another word. I just can’t. I punch my fists into his chest and make him fall back on to the bed, his head only inches away from smashing on the frame.

  “What are you doing you fucking crazy bitch?” Alex screams out, running over and taking his head into her lap.

  No. This cannot be happening.

  “Honestly, you need professional help. You’re acting completely insane, and I can’t deal with it anymore,” Owen says as he stands up, throwing open his closet and grabbing a handful of clothes. “You need to leave. Now.”

  I won’t help you, Maura.

  There’s no one left to help you, Maura.

  I try to remember what I was thinking when I left my dorm and came here. What the hell gave me the indication that coming over and throwing myself at Owen was anything resembling a good idea. But just bits and pieces float around in my water-filled brain; they’re distant, like someone else’s memories. Not mine. None of this is me.

  “Maura…”

  He watches me like he used to do back in high school, with a look that’s supposed to be meaningful. But it’s not anymore. I push past Alex and leave without another word.

  00:00:01.117

  The end

  “Maura, we need to talk about your future at college.”

  I don’t turn around to look at him. I pretend to be enthralled with the twenty-foot canvas hanging in front of me. Two bright blue streaks intersected by a mustard yellow streak. That’s all.

  “Do you know what your GPA was for last semester?”

  I consider myself a person who is open-minded, but I’ll never understand how something like this is considered art. Why my father believed that surprising me with a trip to San Francisco for my 19th birthday would be a good idea is beyond me. During the entire flight, he insisted several times that I talked about how amazing the museums here were supposed to be back when I was in middle school. I in turn insisted that he made this up in his head, so desperate for the memory of a pleasant conversation that he dreamt up his own.

  “A 1.6.”

  His foot is tapping on the ground now, echoing against the nearly empty white washed room. The only other person in here with us is a security guard who sits on a stool in the corner. He narrows his eyes at us and whispers a dramatic ‘shhhhh.’

  “Do we have to do this now, Dad?” I murmur, keeping my focus on the art.

  “You’re on academic probation for the fall, Maura. Do you understand that? You’re not going to be allowed to go to school at Fisher.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. He keeps dancing back and forth around me, trying to look me in the face as he assaults me, but I won’t let him.

  “Do you even care at all?”

  We are hushed again, this time a little more aggressively. I shove past my ignorant father into the next room. I’m out of the contemporary section. Thank God.

  “Yes, Dad. I care,” I say as I let my eyes fall on a new piece—a painting of a bridge.

  “Really? Because I’m having a hard time believing that right now,” he hisses over my shoulder.

  All of the colors are almost faded into one another. The blue-grey sky engulfs the clouds, and the brown-black bridge smudges the faces of the shadowy figures trying move across it. A debilitating crack has developed in the middle, and the whole structure is on the verge of collapsing. A group of panicked people stand on one side, trying to collectively gather up enough courage to just run to the other side before everything falls apart. But only one person has actually done it.

  “You can believe what you want to believe, Dad,” I say. I thought it was only in my head, but he’s looking at me again, so I guess it was out loud.

  A young boy wearing a tattered white shirt and a black scarf stands alone on the other side. The wind tosses his hair into the air as he looks down over the edge, transfixed with the world below him. The other people, stranded on the opposite side, call out to him, but he doesn’t look.

  It’s almost like he’
s ready to be free.

  “Your mother and I have spent quite a bit of time talking about this, and…”

  I spin on my toes and lurch out of the room. He’s right on my heels, ready to push me into round two. I end up in the middle of an open hallway that divides each of the galleries. There’s a coffee stand and small groups of people whispering to each other, enjoying their caffeine boosts before venturing on to the next hall of art.

  “You guys spent time talking about me? That’s a surprise. Maybe you should focus your conversations on other more pertinent issues,” I say, slouching down into an empty chair next to the stand. The young, pimply-faced guy working it looks up, waiting for me to take my order. I shake my head and look at my feet.

  “YOU are our main issue right now,” Dad says, pulling up an empty chair next to me even though he wasn’t invited to. I make sure to blatantly roll my eyes and cross my arms across my chest. Why can’t he just let us have one day? Just one day where we can spend time as a family without having to listen to his insipid demands?

  “We love you, Maura.”

  I can’t even stand to hear such a thing. I fidget.

  “I…I love you, Maura. And I’m sorry if I don’t say it enough.”

  I stiffen as he leans in and gives me a one-armed hug. I want nothing more than to understand where he’s coming from, and believe the fact that he loves me. I mean, deep down I know he does. But I just can’t do…anything.

  “And we’ve been so worried about you. You have to understand that we’re doing this out of love.”

  He looks at me, waiting for a response. I spin a knife around on the table, letting the tip of the blade brush every so gently against my wrist as it swoops through the air.

  “As I was saying, we’ve been talking, and we came to a decision. You will return home at the end of this semester,” he says, putting on his police officer’s voice. Sharp. To the point.

  I see Mom wander out of the Egyptian Artifact hallway across from us. Her face looks confused as she holds up her map and tries to get her bearings straight. I raise my hand up to wave at her but she doesn’t see me.

  “Are you listening to me, Maura?”

  “Yes, Dad. I was just trying to get Mom’s attention. She looks perplexed.”

  He turns to look over his shoulder. He waves in her direction, even though I know he doesn’t see her.

  “You will also move in with me and enroll in classes at the community college.”

  I gawk as the words roll out of his mouth. My lips feel like two shriveled-up prunes.

  “You will work with me at the police station, filing paperwork and answering phones.”

  There’s a knot constricting my throat. I try to swallow it down.

  But it won’t budge.

  “And you will go back into therapy.”

  It takes every muscle in my body to open my mouth and form a word.

  “Dad…”

  He puts his hand up, signaling that he’s not willing to partake in any sort of discussion with me. He’s pulling his father card, which, in his eyes, means that he gets to be the harsh dictator he’s always wanted to be.

  “This isn’t up for discussion. Your mother and I…we put a lot of trust in you, Maura. You led us to believe that you would be ok in college, hundreds of miles from home. And you just didn’t cut it. I’m sorry honey, but this is the way it’s going to be.”

  My legs flinch underneath my chair, begging me to do something, ANYTHING besides just sit here and listen to this.

  “It’s over now. You’re leaving at the end of the semester,” he states, lowering his hands to the arms of his chair, ready to stand himself up and walk away like he always does. My fingers wrap around the handle of the knife and hold on for dear life. I slide it off the table and throw it in my purse, not even bothering to care if the coffee dude sees me. Ask me about the knife, Dad. ASK ME.

  But he doesn’t.

  And then I decide to make the next move. Without another word I stand up, push in my chair, and leave my father sitting at the coffee stand all alone. And I don’t look back when he calls out my name.

  ****

  The wet rock is freezing, but I do my best to adjust myself and make it somewhat comfortable. The view from here is just too amazing to give up. The setting sun is turning the sky into a gradient pastel explosion—cobalt blue melts into aquamarine blue that melts into electric violet that melts into carnation pink. It’s quite possibly the most perfect rainbow of life that I’ve seen. Serene. Calming. Beautiful. The brick red beams of the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge cut through, almost touching the sleepy clouds. So much mystery. So much romance. I imagine all of the people making their way across its seemingly endless walkway. What are they thinking about? What are they hoping to experience as they stand on the edge and stare out into the water? Are they with someone that loves them? Are they happy? Are they afraid?

  I take off the high heels that Mom insisted I wear to match the repugnant red prom-like dress she gave me as a ‘present.’ ‘It will be perfect to wear out to the special dinner your father and I will be taking you out to tonight,’ she said to me after they came back to the hotel and found me sitting on the balcony. ‘Just forget about everything that happened this morning and let’s have some fun. Your birthday is something to celebrate, honey.’

  Fuck their dinner. They didn’t even notice that I snuck out to test-drive my plan. They were too busy getting dressed in their own rooms and bickering about what time they need to leave for the airport tomorrow afternoon.

  I stand up on the rock and let the wind rip through my hair and smack against my skin. I raise my arms up and let its coldness cloak me. This is probably what it will feel like tomorrow.

  Good to know.

  The bridge is so, so beautiful from this angle.

  I’m glad I got to see it in its entirety.

  We didn’t make it to our scheduled tour of the bridge today, thanks to my unexpected departure from our day of family fun. But that’s okay.

  I’m going to see it tomorrow.

  And my view—it will be perfect.

  ****

  “Can we talk?”

  My hotel room is dark. The sun has set and a steady, hail-filled rain smacks into my window, threatening to shatter the glass and soak everything inside of my little world. Mom creaks the door open and drops her head in. I knew it was only a matter of time before Dad sent her over to try and get through to me.

  “I’m not going to try and stop you,” I say, leaning my forehead against the icy glass, hoping that it can somehow make the radiation in my head dial back a few notches. She steps in and reaches for the light switch, but I mumble for her to leave it before she has a chance to even make contact with it.

  “What’s going on Maura? And don’t even try to tell me it’s nothing.”

  My hands are wild and they need to move. I can’t stop them. I start pulling at a sliver of wood that’s coming apart from my windowsill, putting every bit of energy I have left into ever so carefully removing it.

  “Well it is nothing,” I say, watching her glide across the room and sit in the desk chair. She glares at me for a moment, as if her undergraduate degree in Accounting somehow equipped her with the proper skills to read my body language.

  “Maura, you gotta give me something. Show me some sort of emotion. I have no idea what’s going on in your life. You come home and tell me that you were RAPED at some sorority party, and then you refuse to pick up my phone calls. What the hell is going on with you?”

  Being surrounded by her voice in this shoebox of a room makes me feel like I’m drowning. I paw at the handle of my window. I need air.

  “You have to talk about it, honey. Remaining mute isn’t going to fix anything.”

  I look at her and try—really, honestly try—to open up my mouth and just let it all out. But I can’t. I have years of frustration and heartbreak towards my mother built up. I just don’t know how to knock it all down. I don’t know how
to let her in. I don’t think I can.

  “I just want to be alone,” I mutter into my sleeve.

  Why didn’t you try to have this conversation with me years ago, Mom? Why weren’t you only concerned with chasing after your miscreant husband, doing everything in your power to win him back, even though he didn’t want to be?

  “No, I’m not taking that as an answer right now. You can’t live your life alone.”

  “Sure I can.”

  Why didn’t you notice that something was wrong with me? Why didn’t you question why I never came out of my room? Why didn’t you help me when Dad was constantly wielding his unnecessary punishments on me?

  “Maura…”

  “I’m serious, Mom. I’ve watched you do it for most of your life. So why can’t I? Why can’t I just live my life alone?”

  Her face drops. I can feel her thinking. Preparing some polite statement in her head to explain away any ideas I may have about her.

  “What…what are you talking about? I was with your father for twenty years. I would hardly call that being alone,” she says, her voice hushed and fast like she’s afraid for anyone else to hear her words.

  “Do you even remember who you are anymore Mom? What you were like before Dad came in and stole everything from you?” I ask, staring directly into her eyes, challenging her to finally just be fucking honest. It feels so good. I feel alive for just another moment.

  “What the hell are you talking about? This is getting quite upsetting…” she says, her voice still so full of patience. Never fluctuating.

  But I want to hurt her. I want to hurt her so bad that it snaps her back into place.

  It’s the least I can do for her before I go.

  “You don’t. And because of that, you’re alone, Mom. Just like me. Welcome to the club.”

  Everything in the world falls silent now. I can’t even hear the rain anymore. I crane my neck and try to look out the window to see if it’s stopped or if I’ve just suddenly fallen deaf, but it’s too dark. All is see is my own battered reflection. Mom finally moves. She pulls a tissue out of her purse and dabs her eyes a few times.

  “Maura, can we just have an honest, heartfelt conversation? I’m trying desperately to reach out to you here, and I need you to meet me halfway. Please.”