Eleven Minutes

Author’s Note: 11 Minutes is not a standalone piece. It’s a moment pulled from a larger work in progress called “Shayna: Next of Kin”


…She furiously interrupts with an elevated and controlled tone:

“You don’t need to place me on hold. You called me. Put me through to the officer immediately.”

A click. Another voice.

“I’m going to stop you right there.
A name is not information.
I need to know exactly why you contacted me.
Confirm the Rachel you’re referring to.
How did you obtain my contact information?
Who directed you to me?
And before we continue, identify yourself, your department, and your authority to be having this conversation.”

A pause.

Then another.


“Rachel Alexander,” Shayna says slowly, “are you certain you have the correct person?”
The questions come faster, sharper, precise… until they don’t.
Until there is nothing left to clarify.

The line goes silent. Shayna doesn’t move.

Rachel is dead.

She grabs her phone to call Rachel and at the same time, texts “call me immediately” with the belief that her new reality was a mistake.

And for the next eleven minutes, Shayna became someone that nobody had ever met before. Bending forward, vomiting oxygen, and grabbing the back of a chair, breathing in sharp, uneven bursts that wouldn’t settle or form a pattern. They didn’t belong with one another. Her shoulders shook once, hard, then again, and then she made a sound that surprised even her… low, broken, pulled from deep in her chest.

Growling.
“Not Rachel. No. Not Rachel,” quickly, the words tumbling together, louder each time.

Pacing isn’t accurate. Large and small steps. Jumping up and down turning and running from room to room screaming.. Her hands repeatedly opening and closing. She rubbed them against her jeans, pressed them into her hair, and dropped them to her sides again. Her head shook slowly, firmly, refusing.

Ben stood a few feet away. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

Shayna bent over again, bracing her hands on the counter. Her breath was gone but still formed the moment,. “Please. Please. Please,”, staring at the sink like it might answer her. She slid down the cabinet until she was crouched on the floor, knees pulled in, then just as quickly pushed herself back up, as if sitting felt wrong, as if stillness was unbearable. Her mouth kept forming Rachel’s name even when no sound came out.

The house was quiet. Somewhere down the hall a door closed. Water ran in the bathroom. Life kept happening.

Shayna pressed her palms into her face and dragged them down slowly. Her eyes were wet but unfocused, like she wasn’t seeing what was in front of her. Movements sharp, uneven, undeserving. 

“Or now can’t right,” she said out loud, to no one.
“This …. Right.”
“A car” … “she’s just in a car” “fuck you!! No. no”
just strings of words lacking meaning spouting from her consciousness.


Frantically slamming her phone to write Rachel another text. Logic having long since removed from the room, she watched as the text bubble turned from blue to green. She was gone. Her chest rose sharply, then she sucked in air out of muscle memory. Breathing was no longer necessary. Her shoulders folded forward again.

“Not Rachel,” she whispered.

She stood gripping the counter and crawling back up into herself. Her breath slowed little by little, though it kept catching. “Please, Hashem… not her,” she said quietly, voice thin and hoarse.

She stared straight ahead, blinking slowly now, as if waking up.

“Rachel is okay” she said automatically.
“RACHEL IS OKAY”

Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
Minute 10.

Her knees softened.
She caught herself again.
But just for one more minute. 

Shayna had not been in control. She had not known what her body was doing or why. She had moved and breathed and spoke without direction or order. And as the 12th minute struck, a gradual and pained Shayna came back. Without choice. Against her own shattered breath.
One would think she would snap back into control.
She doesn’t.
But reality demands action.

Shayna knew she needed to start.
Grabbing pen and paper, she began to make a checklist…. of things to be done

and in that moment Shayna was Rachel’s big sister…

for the very last time.