Page 13 of Just Ten Seconds

Where I’d once been the one to watch, I quickly became one of fifty thousand girls with brown hair and hazel eyes, vying for the same roles. I always came close but never close enough.

That’s when I met Benjamin, and the curtain rose on the most dramatic story of our life.

I lean back and rub my eyes, the long day catching up to me with a large yawn. My body is exhausted, but my mind wanders.

Each night, I wait until I am so tired that I’m practically delirious. If I go to bed too early, I lie in bed with my eyes wide, staring at the ceiling, and that’s when my mind thinks of … everything.

On my desk sits a gold pocket watch. The front has a picture of a sparrow, its wings outstretched as it soars in the sky. I clench it in my hand as I listen to the song play about dreams of a young couple, the hopes of the future they wish to fulfill. Big or small, they plan to enjoy every moment of building it together.

I rub my thumb over the etching, gliding to the side and flipping the door open. Inside, the time has stopped—10:18 p.m.

I drop the watch onto the desk and pinch the bridge of my nose, willing myself to think of anything other than the past.

The first thing that pops in my head is a vision of Dean walking into the café with Amanda in his arms. That sight did something to me today. I can’t quite explain it, but my heart speeds up, just thinking about him.

The way he held her like a wounded dove, cradling her to his body in protection. And still, despite this pillar of physical strength, his face wore the burden. His show of emotion was the strongest part about his appearance—to be that secure in yourself to show the world your weakness.

And here comes my second wind.

I look up at the ceiling and breathe out a heavy sigh. My lips vibrate with the exhale, and I run my fingers through my hair, wondering why that episode is impacting me still.

Perhaps this is a good thing. It’s gotten my mind off of Benjamin.

No. Just the inner mention of his name has me up and off my chair, walking to my closet and staring at my clothes. At the top of the closet, where the ceiling meets the wall, I see a cobweb.

I take everything out. Every hanger on the pole and sweater on the upper shelf. I toss out my shoes and bags and then go into the kitchen for my cleaning supplies. With a rag and a bowl full of water and dish soap, I start scrubbing the walls. The dust has accumulated, the particles showing when the lamplight hits the beams. I dust the shelf and get every corner. It’s not a large closet, so I can make sure every inch is clean, right down to the baseboard.

I take out my vacuum and get the floor. There’s a small stain on the carpet, so I drop to my knees and give it a scrub too.

When the space is cleaned, I take a towel and dry the shelf before putting my sweaters back in color-coordinated order. I do the same with the clothes on the hangers. My shoes are all neatly stacked on the floor, as are my bags.

When everything is done, I sit on my bed and look at the finished product. A feeling of satisfaction comes over me. And then it’s gone.

I look at the clock and see it’s three o’clock in the morning. I wanted to be tired, and yet I’m exhaustedly awake.

I don’t want to live like this anymore.

The memories of the past haunt my days, and the urge to keep it at bay has me up until all hours of the night.

I should go to therapy, but I don’t have health insurance. Plus, I’m not ready to have someone psychoanalyze me. I know what my problems are.

And still, I can’t stop punishing myself.

Maybe Jackie’s right. It’s time I move on.

Maybe Rita’s right. I should go to a group.

But what if I do all the things and find I’m still lost?

I don’t know why I’m here.

Rita’s suggestion was buzzing in my head all day. When I looked online to find a group, it was more difficult than I’d thought. Well, actually, I didn’t know what to think. But I was surprised the nearest one was a thirty-minute drive away in Middletown. I decided it was now or never.

Right now, I’m contemplating the never part.

“Regina,” the nighttime radio show pours through my speakers, followed by the velvety voice of the romance announcer, Regina Rene. “We’re here tonight with love songs and loving stories to help you connect heart-to-heart. Tonight, a letter from Jack to his girlfriend, Simone. He writes, Seven years ago, I met the woman of my dreams. It only took one moment to know she was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Through the years, we’ve laughed with friends and cried in each other’s arms. Simone, you’ve given me the strength to take on life’s greatest challenges. I can’t imagine my life without you, and that’s why it would bring me great joy to have you as my wife. Simone, I love you. Will you marry—”

I turn the radio off and take the keys out of the ignition. Thumping my head against the headrest, I contemplate leaving. As I roll my head to the side, I see a blue pickup truck. It’s shiny and far too bright for the dreary lot. Makes my tiny gray car look how I feel. Dismal.