Four Seconds

One. Two. Three. Four. Her gaze broke from the dash and rolled to the lights which flickered to green, and it was an empty mind all the way home. Have dinner. Feed Timothy. Have a shower. Brush teeth. Read a chapter. Place a kiss on the bedside photo. And turn off the lamp.

As usual, she woke to the screech of her own scream, sweat draining from her armpits and back with her chest convulsing so intensely she was unable to breathe. Like clockwork her Gran walked in with a torch, the light revealing her swollen eyes and tensed body. With a weak smile, she came over, got Amber to take a tablet and held her till she drifted into a slumber. A few hours later it was seven, a cool light was seeping through the cracks of the curtains, and despite that winter melting away, the room felt menacingly cold. Amber pulled the blankets up to her chin and breathed deeply out watching the icy vapour form then dissipate. She turned to face the bedside table and curled into the fetal position wedging her hands between her thighs.

Shortly after her hands had warmed up, there was a gentle knock at the door. “Amber, I made you breakfast.”, called Gran, “Can I come in?”

Not moving, she let out a depleted moan, which had become the signal that it was okay to come in. The door nudged open enough for her to turn on the main light, followed shortly by her trudging in with a tray of fluffy pancakes with banana, and a steaming hot chocolate. “Thank you.”, murmured Amber, as the tray got placed down beside her, “How’s Grandad this morning?”

“He’s okay. Ha-”, Gran cut herself off. “Enjoy the breakfast.”

Amber knew what she was going to say, and it wouldn’t have made any difference if she did or didn’t say it, she still knew what day it was. Avoiding looking at the bedside photo, Amber took her phone and continued watching the movie she’d started the day before as she ate breakfast. Watching other people's written lives was the only thing that kept her mind present, as she immersed herself in to Matthew McConaughey throwing himself at Kate Hudson. And once the credits started rolling, she was wisped back to her bedroom.

She’d already scheduled a day off work and planned to spend it with Gran and Grandad. “Thanks for the pancakes,” Amber whispered, as wandered into the kitchen. Gran nodded thankfully and gestured for her to leave the plates by the sink. Grandad was sitting at the table reading the newspaper intently. She sat down opposite him cupping her chin in hands, “Anything interesting in the papers today?”

Not looking up, he replied, “Not particularly. It’s ridiculous though, this Jessica Yardmen, she should not be in parliament.” He turned the paper to Amber, and there was a picture of Yardmen, nose flaring, pointing a manicured finger and in bold quotes above her head ‘HE IS A KNOB.’

She chuckled. “Who’d she say that about?”

“The prime minister.”, Grandad smiled. That was the other special part of her day, when they discussed politics, or made fun of them, because for a moment it felt like her Dad was sitting across the table. They’d purposefully pick arguments from opposing parties just to get into a heated debate, even when it got too personal, they both loved antagonising each other. She smiled at the replaying memories but when her eyes stopped twinkling, the vision was gone. Amber went quiet and stiff, forgetting to breathe. “Let’s go the florist today,” piped up Gran, “We could all do with the fresh air.” She took an unusually long breath after finishing the sentence, prompting Amber to get up.

Since moving in with her grandparents, Amber drove them and herself around, partly because of their age and decaying reaction time but mainly so she’d never fear the road, she’d disciplined herself not to. When they pulled up to a red light, she tapped her right fingers four times on the steering wheel. Now it was something she didn’t notice she did. After the final tap, she felt safe, she knew the drive from there was going to be safe, until they stopped at the next traffic light, when she’d had to tap again.

At the florist, Amber decided to wait in the car, hoping she could weave her way back in time behind her eyes. In the shop, Grandad was making conversation with the staff as Gran chose the flowers. A few minutes passed. Bringing her back was a familiar beat playing on the radio, a soft guitar leading into an angelic voice. When she realised this was The Cranberries, the car door swung open, and Amber threw up. Kneeling outside the car she held her hair back as more vomit made its way up. Grandad had run out, “What’s wrong?”

A loud cry rattled from Amber, “Turn the radio off!”, she wailed. Everything became white noise and blurred as the grandparents hoisted her off the ground and back into the car. She couldn’t stop the cries, and there was a hazy image of Gran dialling three numbers, the last thing she saw before the blurriness turned to black.

It was Friday, 11^th of February 2022. Amber was sitting in the back with Eric, while Mum and Dad were in the front. The family was on their way home from a nice dinner in the city. It was ninety’s night on the radio, Torn was playing just as the rain started to glitter onto the car. Amber leaned back, “Thanks for taking me out tonight. It was really fun.”

“Well, you’re only eighteen once,” replied Mum, glancing over her shoulder.

“Not true, she’ll be eighteen for the whole year,” Eric said, not looking up from his phone.

“No shit,” Amber retorted.

“Language!”, Mum and Dad snapped together. Amber rolled her eyes and leaned over to whack the phone out of his hands.

“Oi! Did you see that? Mum? Dad?” Eric barked. They didn’t bother looking back.

“Sort it out between yourselves,” Dad sighed. Eric bent over to grab the phone now lost under the front seat, while Amber heroically stuck her tongue out. There was nothing left to say, so she turned away and started looking out the window, watching the lights go by. Through the specs of rain, the lights looked like fireflies. After the long stretch of highway, they steadily stopped at some traffic lights, waiting for one car to go across. In the short transaction at the lights, Dreams began playing.

“Can you turn it up, Dad?” Amber asked, still leaning against the window. The volume increased a few bars, letting Amber close her eyes to enjoy the song. She felt the car stop again but didn’t open her eyes, staying in the moment. The car began to move, she counted to four as they accelerated forward.

Two weeks later, Amber learned a drunk driver had collided side-on with their family car, killing her parents instantly, and Eric passed away two days later when he was declared brain dead. There are so many what-ifs that Amber lives with, those four seconds always bothered and comforted her the most.

Songs Mentioned:

Dreams by The Cranberries

Torn by Natalie Imbruglia