Seven Minutes       
By Jessica DiMaio

I was seven and it was my first Holy Communion. I was walking solemnly up the aisle with one hand folded within the other, just as they had taught us, when Jason Montgomery, walking in the opposite direction from the priest with a mouth full of wafer, suddenly jabbed out his arm and shoved me in the shoulder. My black patent leather shoes slipped off the slick wood floor, and I found myself airborne for what felt like actual minutes. I landed hard on my bottom, sitting upright with my white-stockinged legs splayed in front of me.

The entire church froze. The lady at the organ even stopped playing the hymn. I saw every head in the church swivel toward me in one motion. I looked to the front, and even the priest was staring at me, a look of concern shining over his white robes.

That did it. I felt my face flush hot and my throat tightened in that about-to-cry way. I jumped up as the tears began to fall and I ran towards the entrance of our dome-like church, pushing through the curvy doors.

The cool air felt good on my hot skin when I got outside, but that didn’t last long. My teacher, Mrs. Mason, had followed me. All I wanted was to sob into the puffy sleeves of my white dress, but no, I had to get my communion or else I wouldn’t be able to get into Heaven.

At the time, going to Heaven seemed a small reward compared to facing everyone in the church. Resentfully, I let Mrs. Mason lead me back inside, and I took my place at the end of the line. The whole church watched as I sniffled all the way to the priest, who said, "The Body of Christ, amen," and then added, "Are you all right?"

I walked back down the aisle to my seat. I narrowed my eyes as I passed Jason Montgomery, flashing him a look of pure hatred. His head was hanging down and he stared into his lap. All the girls began to whisper as I sat down. "I saw what happened!" "That Jason Montgomery!" "He’s going to be in so much trouble!"

The priest talked some more and we sang a few songs. My tears had dried up, but I didn’t bother singing. I was mad. The funny part is that I had never really thought much about Jason Montgomery before. He was just a regular boy in our class, not the most popular and not the most nerdy. He was just there. But now he jumped from the gray background of my world into harsh, vibrant color. He was the enemy.

Our parents collected us after Mass and took us out to the parking lot to go home. The sky was the smoke color of dusk and lightening bugs were blinking in the dandelions that had sprouted overnight by the chain link fence of the lot. I saw Jason walking with his parents, their faces tight with anger as they scolded him. His head was still hanging down, his eyes on his black loafers. Now was my chance.

I broke from my parents and ran across the lot, shoving Jason with all my might and then wrestling him down, getting him in a headlock. Jason hadn’t counted on me having brothers.

"Hey! Hey!" Jason grunted into my elbow. "Let me go!"

"I hate you!" I screamed at him.

Jason kicked out his leg, hooking it around my ankle so that I stumbled for the second time that day. But this time I took him with me, gripping his neck tight as we fell in a heap on the cold concrete. Both of our mothers grabbed us and pulled us apart. Jason stared at me with stunned brown eyes, his face red and his breath coming in quick pants.

"Jason," his mother said sternly, "I think you owe this little girl an apology for what you did today."

Jason looked up at her to see if she was kidding. She just stared back at him, obviously serious, so he turned to his father. His father, like mine, was watching us in mild amusement, but he nodded his agreement.

"I’m sorry," Jason said sullenly.

"Now, Casey," my mother said, just as sternly, "Don’t you have something to say to this boy about the way you just attacked him?"

I stuck my tongue out at Jason and try as she might, I could not be bribed nor threatened into any other response.

Throughout my Catholic school years, Jason Montgomery never faded
back into gray. We were sworn enemies. If he said the wrong answer to a question in class, I would laugh long and hard. If I went up to bat in softball, he would yell, "Easy out! Come on, everyone, move up closer!" We made things worse for each other in junior high. I shot up almost a head taller than him, and I would call him, "child," and "little boy." Unfortunately, I also grew breasts, and I could count on getting my bra snapped at least four times a day. Neither of us was allowed to have a zit in peace, it would always be scrutinized and ridiculed.

After our eighth grade graduation ceremony came the parties. Most of them were just normal parties, in someone’s backyard during the day, but Michael Jacobson’s parents went out of town for a weekend, so he had a different kind of party. It was at night, in his basement with dimmed lights and bean bag chairs and a tape of heavy metal ballads. His sixteen-year-old sister was upstairs with her boyfriend, so she didn’t care what went on with a bunch of eighth graders.

The week before we had all played Spin the Bottle at Tracy Robert’s party. I had never been kissed before, so I had spun the empty 12 oz. Pepsi bottle nervously, secretly hoping it would point to Michael, the dark, curly-haired troublemaker who all the girls had crushes on. Instead it fell on Toby Johnson, who was just an average boy that I had maybe talked to a couple of times since the age of five. We pecked on the lips and there it was——my first kiss. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I had always imagined my first kiss being this life-altering experience, with music swelling and my legs turning to water or rubber or whatever, like all the books and movies told me. Kissing Toby was about as passionate as kissing my hand, and I couldn’t even pretend to have a crush on him.

At Michael’s party we watched videos and giggled about who we hoped we would kiss this time. When the pizza was gone, Michael announced that we would be playing a different kind of game: Seven Minutes In Heaven.