Since When Was 30 Seconds Forever?

**This story contains descriptions of a traumatic event. Reader discretion is advised.**

My toes gripped the edge of the diving board. I shivered as the early morning air rushed past me, daring me to dive in like my friends who stood behind me. I glanced over my shoulder at my four partners in crime, all giggling in anticipation. This was what I got for sticking ice cream down James’ back. I smiled. It was worth it. 

I was to race my brother, who was five years my senior, down to the bottom of the pool and hold my breath for thirty seconds. I would swim then back up and we would see who would be the first. 

I looked over at my brother, with his long red hair falling to the middle of chest, a cocky but wonderfully kind expression written on his face. He looked over at me and smiled. 

“Ready, Hallie?” he taunted. The whole of his being was competitive and ready to win. And being the only girl in a family of four boys, I replied in kind. Jutting out my chin and crossing my arms, I said, “Game on.” My friends behind me tried to hide their mirth. 

I whirled ‘round and gave them one of my fiercest glares of which I was famous for. They snickered, but halfheartedly, knowing I was concocting another form of punishment for them. I spun back to my starting position, my hair cut short so it didn’t whip my face. I had never tolerated my hair touching the back of my neck ever since I was little. My mom always disapproved, but hadn’t been able to do anything about it. I smirked, thinking of how she’d probably have a similar reaction to what I was doing now, versing Harlan in a stupid dare from my friends instead of being at school working on a science project—which she thought I was doing. It would not have gone over well. 

“3-” My hands gripped the edge of the diving board until my knuckles were white. 

“2-” I stared around the empty pool, all blue and empty and cold and mysterious. I looked at the sign that said “Lifeguard on Duty”-

“1-” I was slightly lightheaded and then I realized it was because I had been holding my breath. I got so mad at myself but I had the sense to take a deep breath before James cried, “Go!” 

My fingers hit the water and felt as if they were turning to ice. I would’ve gone straight to the surface and begged for a towel if I hadn’t seen Harlan halfway to the bottom of the eight-foot pool. With a sudden spurt of determination, I urged myself downward. 

I reached the bottom just two seconds after Harlan and sat, butt down (thank God I had ear plugs). That meant I would have to swim extra fast on the way up. I began to count when I heard a muffled cry in the water. 

I told myself it was just Harlan trying to distract me from counting, but when it persisted, I looked over and saw Harlan’s white face and then, with horror, his hair stuck in the drain. 

He was pulling at it but it wouldn’t come loose. I was frozen for just a second but then my legs began to work and I swam over to where he was, planting my feet on the bottom, gripping his hair as tightly as I could, beginning to pull...

***

A boy riding his bicycle with a small girl on his back. The boy had long red hair and the girl had cropped blonde hair. It wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone unless they had looked closer. Then they would’ve seen the blood gushing from a cut just above the girl’s eyebrow and noticed the girl’s unconscious figure. They would’ve noticed the boy’s concerned expression and the desperation in his eyes. But, as it was, there was nobody there that saw it. 

We had been riding for several hours along the dirt road from the farmer’s market. Dad and Mom had decided to drop us off there and drive back home. Our home was so isolated back then, that you would have to bike around five hours to get back home. Harlan had got off and said that I could try. I did and I began to get the hang of it when I veered into a small side trail, and the bike lost control after skidding over a few loose stones. I had rushed at a high speed down a steep gravely slope until the bike hit a rock and I flew over and fell headfirst in a little creek with many sharp stones. 

Harlan had, as quick as anyone could, found me, rinsed my wound off in the creek, and when he couldn’t find anything to stop the blood, he ripped off a piece of his shirt, tied it around my head, and had pedaled on, knowing there was thirty minutes still to go. 

The makeshift bandage, within the first five minutes, had quickly flown off into the hot summer afternoon air of Kansas. He had pedaled, his legs and heart pumping, up the steep hill to our house and, after knocking on the door, had fainted from exhaustion. 

Mom, of course, had managed to get me to a hospital in time and apparently, I was there for a day or two, though I don’t remember much. I was told later that they had to give me a blood transfusion and six stitches, but all I remember was the dull throbbing in my skull and panicked faces that still remain hazy in my mind. The only clear image that I concoct of that place is in the parking lot, when Harlan picked me up from my wheelchair with his rough hands but set me down in the backseat as gently as if I were an expensive set of delicate china. I remember his red hair tickling my face as I leaned on his shoulder before I drifted off to sleep. 

After we had gone back home, I was helped from room to room by my brothers because I hadn’t been able to walk properly yet, but walking hurt my head so much that I ended up spending most days in bed, staring at my ceiling and praying to God the pain would all go away. Soon, however, I had become dimly aware of lots of bustle in the house and piles of boxes in my room. My brothers were too busy to walk me around anymore, so I had begun to learn how to walk by myself again.

I learned later that we were moving to a bigger city in Virginia because of Mom’s work. When we moved, we found out that the farmer’s market was only a five minute walk from our house. Harlan always walked me there. 

He was going to tomorrow. 

***

In that split second, eight feet underwater, my fingers clasped tightly around my brother’s hair, blinking from the pool water stinging my eyes, I relived how Harlan saved me all those years ago. How he’d rode miles on a bicycle with me on his back to keep me safe. And now he was going to drown here, because his sister wasn’t strong enough to save him. 

No, I thought with sudden resolve, my knuckles getting white from how tightly I was gripping his hair, a fire beginning to burn within me. I’m not going to leave him. 

I pulled for what felt like forever, my hands burning and my eyes burning with hot tears that disappeared into the water. When his mouth peeked open a little, bubbles drifted out, and his eyes closed, I gave one final tug and he was free. Large chunks of red hair floated in the water around the drain. 

I craned my neck to glare at the underbelly of the pool, light dancing through it as it taunted me with its distance. In response, I took my arms and hooked them under Harlan’s armpits, pushing off the floor of the pool, beginning to kick my legs as hard as I could. 

He was deadweight at first, but that fire within me—the need for his survival—kept my legs pumping as they kicked back and forth, my heart racing, my body screaming at me to stop. I thought I couldn’t go on any longer when I burst through the top of the water, Harlan bobbing up beside me while James’ voice rang out, “Thirty seconds–”

“Help!” I screamed. My friends, after a split second of initial shock, quickly jumped in the water and helped bring him out onto the edge of the pool. 

“His pulse is gone!” Maddy cried. I ran over to him, the noise of my feet slapping on the hard, wet concrete. One look at his pale and lifeless face and, though completely overwhelmed with fatigue, I placed my hands atop his chest and began pressing down repeatedly with all my weight. My friends stood and watched me because they didn’t know how to do CPR—they watched me cry in desperation and agony, snot falling from my nose into my brother’s face, tears splashing his pale cheeks. 

Don’t go Harlan, I thought miserably.

I saw water and throw-up spurting out of his mouth just before I fainted. 

***

Harlan took my hand, and no matter how old he was, I swore that I would always let him do it. Saturday was Farmer’s Market. Today was Saturday. 

On the way there, we stopped for ice cream. I got vanilla, he got neapolitan. The summer sun was lovely and beat down on our face, as if wishing to assure us that all was right with the world. A light breeze blew past us as we sat at a little bench, staring across the street to the town pool. 

I squeezed his hand tightly and began to cry.