The Art of Breathing

by T. J. Klune

  “Tyson, I love you,” he says, “but I also love sausage almost as much or equally or even possibly greater than, so I really couldn’t care less about hearing another one of your animal guilt trips. Are all vegetarians this insistent?”

  “Not all of them. But you should thank your lucky stars I’m not a vegan. They’re far worse than vegetarians. What do you call a vegan who likes to masturbate?”

  “What?”

  “A nondairy creamer.” I burst out laughing because it’s fucking hysterical.

  “I don’t get it,” he says, staring at me like I’m the weird one.

  I sigh. “They don’t eat anything that has a face.”

  He grimaces. “Well, when you put it like that. But isn’t that vegetarianism?”

  I am horrified. “No! My God, there’s a huge difference. For one, vegetarians don’t—”

  “Oh, wow!” Corey says, his eyes going wide.

  “What?”

  “I just realized I don’t care about what you’re saying at all. This sure is awkward. Well, it will be if you decide to keep talking.”

  I shake my head. “Hell is going to be a very sad place for you, my friend.”

  “Of course you’d keep talking,” he says. “Can we please finish planning for our trip? The rate we’re going, you’ll still be talking when we’re supposed to leave.”

  “That’s still two weeks away!”

  “I know,” he says. “But you’d still be talking, trust me. It’s part of the McKenna legacy. You can’t hide it, even if you’re a Thompson now.”

  I look back down on the directions I pulled up on Google Maps. Seafare to Tucson, Arizona. Fifteen hundred miles. Driving from the ocean to the middle of the desert in the middle of summer. Yeah, I know. It sounds awful, doesn’t it? Ah, the things I do for my friends.

  “It says it’s 105 degrees today,” I tell Corey.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty good for June.”

  “That’s pretty good? Are you out of your damn mind? No one should live in a place like that!”

  He laughs. “You people from the coasts are such whiny little bitches. It’s just a little heat.”

  “You just said you were freezing and it’s sixty degrees out,” I remind him.

  “Hypocrisy is a double-edged sword. Can we finish this, please? We don’t have a lot of time before you have to go get ready for your date.”

  “It’s not a date!”

  “Oh please,” Corey says. “The man volunteered to come and whisk you away from the house under the guise of taking you out to lunch so we could decorate for your surprise birthday party that you’re not supposed to know anything about. He practically jumped at the chance. The only other time I’ve seen anything act as quick is a dog salivating for a bone.”

  “Two things: One, that was dirty and you should be ashamed of yourself. Two, I’ve already attempted to go down that road and it ended with nothing but disaster, so we’re curbing that permanently.”

  “When in the history of God’s green earth did you ever attempt to go down that road?” he asks me. “As I see it, he kissed a girl, you said you were moving away, he married said girl, and then you hid for four years. Oh, and then there was the little matter of you being underage the whole time he knew you. What’d you think he’d do? Pop your cherry at your sweet sixteen?”

  “No, of course not. Because that’d be ludicrous.” Actually, I did think that for quite some time. I’m pretty sure that’s all I masturbated to for the entire time I was fifteen years old.

  “That’s not the only thing that’s ludicrous,” Corey mumbles.

  “Kid!” Bear calls from the kitchen.

  “What?”

  “Otter and I are heading out. We have some… stuff… to go pick up… at the bank… store. Have fun with your birthday lunch.”

  “That was really subtle,” I hear Otter say to Bear. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than bank store?”

  “I’m an honest person,” Bear retorts. “It’s hard for me to make up lies.”

  “You liar. I love you.”

  “Gross. I love you too.”

  Then there’s the sounds of kissing. “God, that’s all you guys do!” I groan loudly. “Go suck face in the car.”

  Otter laughs. “What do you think, baby? We too old to go park somewhere and suck face?”

  “Your back will start to hurt,” Bear says.

  “Ah, romance,” Otter says, and then the door closes behind them.

  “Can I go watch if they park and suck face?” Corey asks me.

  “Yes, please leave,” I tell him. “That would make my life so much simpler. And this fixation you have on my brother and Otter is really unhealthy. They’re related to me. And old.”

  “Can you imagine what it’s going to be like seeing Otter holding a baby?” he asks. “My God, if I didn’t have a daddy kink before, I sure as hell will now. He’s going to be a total DILF.”

  “What’s a DILF?”

  “Dad I’d Like to Fu—”

  “Don’t you dare finish that.”

  “Fuck,” he says.

  The computer chimes. Incoming Skype call. “He’s early,” Corey says as he connects to the call.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting when the window opens up. I know that he’s a drag queen and doesn’t always wear outrageous costumes that I’ve only heard Corey describe, but I can’t help but be disappointed when I’m looking at a thin-looking man named Sandy instead of a fiery diva named Helena Handbasket. Don’t get me wrong, he’s cute in a sort of bookish way, sitting with his legs curled underneath him on what looks to be a very expensive couch. His hair is blond and short and his face is almost gaunt, but from the stories Corey has told me, apparently his personality is a complete reversal when he’s performing. It sounds amazing.

  “Baby doll!” Sandy says warmly to Corey. His voice is slightly deeper than I would have expected. “It’s good to see your pretty face.”

  “Hi, Sandy,” Corey says. “How’s tricks?”

  He chuckles, and it’s a throaty sound, and I wonder if there’s a little bit of Helena in it. “Turning left and right,” he promises. He glances over. “Oh, are you babysitting? Where’s your friend Tyson?”

  “Babysitting?” I say, outraged.

  “This is Ty,” Corey says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squishing my face with his hand. “He just looks like jailbait.”

  “My word,” Sandy says with a purr. “The boys just must be all over you. Honey, you should seriously consider just tattooing ‘twink’ across your forehead and ‘open for business’ across your ass. It’d save you a lot of trouble.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, pushing Corey away.

  “And it’s your birthday, isn’t it? Happy birthday, baby doll. Why, I remember what it was like when I turned twelve years old. Hopefully, you’ll get a big-boy bike this year.” He winks at me.

  “I’m twenty,” I say, realizing I probably sound very ridiculous. “In a couple of days.”

  “And now I feel officially ancient,” he sighs prettily. “Tell me I’m beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” we both intone.

  “He needs to hear that every now and then,” Corey whispers to me loudly. “He’s thirty-one now, and it’s starting to show.”

  “I heard that,” Sandy says, scowling at the both of us. “When you come into the bar for my show, I promise I am going to embarrass the crap out of both of you.”

  “I’m not old enough,” I say.

  “Darling,” Sandy says, “as long as you stick with me, you’ll be fine. I pretty much own that bar, and getting you in won’t be an issue. No drinking for you, though. You understand me? I wouldn’t want your first time in Tucson to be under the watchful guard of the Tucson Police Department. They’re not known for their hospitality.”

  “I promise,” I say, weirdly giddy that I’m getting into a bar to see a drag show.

  “And besides,” Corey says, “ther
e’s a cop here who would just murder him if that should happen. It’s a love that’s rather unrequited.”

  Sandy sits up on his couch, grinning evilly. “Unrequited? And a police officer? Oh my stars. You tell your Aunt Sandy all about him.”

  My face is burning up, and I wonder very seriously if Corey would suffer much if I strangled him to death. It’d probably be easier to go with stabbing him. “There’s nothing to tell,” I mutter. “He’s been my friend since I was a kid. That’s it.”

  “The fact that your face is now the color of a fire truck says otherwise,” Sandy says. He sounds tickled. “What’s his name?”

  “Dominic,” Corey says in a singsong voice.

  “Very manly,” Sandy says. “And he’s a cop?”

  “You should see him in uniform,” Corey says. “It’s positively mouthwatering. He’s essentially a giant with muscles you just want to bite.”

  That’s pretty much the truth, but I won’t give either of them the satisfaction. “Can we please talk about something else?”

  “Sure,” Corey says. “Sandy, how’s Darren?”

  Sandy scowls prettily. “That man,” he says. “I do believe he’s a waste of human existence. The nerve he has to even think he can talk to me the way he does. One of these days, I’m going to cut him down to size, the overgrown ignoramus.”

  “Darren?” I tease. “The fact that your face is now the color of a fire hydrant says otherwise.”

  “You need to respect your elders,” Sandy says, flint and steel in his eyes. “I’m not above putting a sassy little twinkie boy like yourself over my knee and giving you a proper education with the palm of my hand and my flogger. On stage. Bare-assed. In front of everyone.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say meekly.

  “That’s better. Now, you boys all set? It’s only two weeks away, you know, and if you’re anything like me, you probably should start packing your wigs and feather boas right now.”

  “I don’t have either,” I say sadly. “What have I done with my life that I have nary a wig or feather boa?”

  “Oh, Tyson,” Sandy says, “that can be easily remedied. I do believe I still have some leftover Cher wigs from my early days. As my drag mother Vaguyna Muffman used to say, ‘Helena, aside from the stage presence, the accessories of the queen are her most important asset. Make sure you’re careful to protect them when getting spunk shot on you in a twelve-man gangbang because come is very hard to clean from Lycra and feathers.’”

  “That’s… sage advice,” I say.

  “Isn’t it? Vaguyna did have a way with words, bless her heart. Now, you’ll be staying with me, Tyson, while you’re both here, as long as you don’t mind sharing the bed with Corey in the guest room. And you know you can stay as long as you like. Mi casa is your casa, and all that. And, Corey, it’ll be lovely to finally have you home. It’s been far too long.”

  “Missed you too,” Corey says, blowing a kiss. “We’ll be ready. It’s probably going to take us two days to get there. I’ll let you know where we’re at.”

  Sandy nods. “Take your time and—”

  He’s cut off when a dog howls in the background. “Wheels!” he shouts, looking annoyed. “That animal, I swear.”

  “You got a dog?” Corey asks. “I thought you hated dogs.”

  “I do,” he says, and I wonder just what kind of diabolical person could hate dogs. “But I’m doing Paul a favor. He and Vince are on vacation right now and won’t be back until next week. They’ve already been gone two weeks, and this little asshole is pooping on my nice duvets.”

  “It’s revenge because you hate dogs,” I say.

  “I didn’t say I hate him,” Sandy says. “Just dogs in general. Wheels is… not quite a dog. More machine than mutt, I think. You’ll see when you get here. I love the little bastard, even if he makes my life a living hell.”

  “Vince is Paul’s boyfriend,” Corey tells me. “And Paul is that Bear clone I was telling you about and Sandy’s best friend.”

  “Is Bear your older brother?” Sandy asks me. “Corey’s told me about him. Bear and Paul can never meet. I shudder to think what would happen if they do. Our world as we know it could cease to exist. Either that, or there’d just be one long high-pitched conversation that would make no sense whatsoever.”

  “We’ll keep them far apart,” I tell Sandy.

  “Where are Paul and Vince?” Corey asks.

  “Asia,” Sandy says. “They were supposed to go in the spring, but Paul’s nana got sick and they postponed the trip. She’s doing much better now and threatened Paul with a swift ass-kicking if he didn’t stop hovering over her, so they decided to go while they could.”

  Sounds like something Mrs. Paquinn would say.

  “Why Asia?” Corey asks.

  Sandy rolls his eyes. “Long story, baby doll. Let’s just say Vince wanted to see fortune-cookie factories.”

  Uh, okay? Because that totally makes sense.

  “They’ll be back by the time you get here,” Sandy says. “We’ll have ourselves a blast before we send sweet innocent Tyson back to the coast.” She smiles, and it’s a wicked thing filled with all sorts of promises that I don’t know quite how to take. “Of course,” she says, her voice a growl, “he won’t be quite so innocent then, now, will he? Tyson, tell me, dear. You ever shot your load onto a drag queen’s feathers?”

  “I honestly can’t say that I have,” I admit.

  He winks. “First time for everything. They’re just going to eat you up. I, for one, can’t wait to witness the carnage.”

  “Super,” I say. “Fun. Neat.”

  “Corey, you going to see the fosters while you’re here?”

  Corey shakes his head slowly, his mouth going into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t know if I’ll have the time.” The voice he speaks in is softer, almost fluttery, and it’s Kori through and through. He told me once that sometimes that Kori made him feel safer when he was upset. I didn’t understand it then because I’d had no experience with the bigendered before. Now, I wonder about it.

  Sandy turns to look behind the couch. “Wheels! You better not be shitting on my imported area rug!” He looks back at us. “Have to go, baby dolls. I need to see how fast a two-legged dog can run.” He winks and the screen goes blank.

  “Two-legged dog?” I ask.

  “I have no idea,” Corey says. He sounds more or less like himself again.

  “Your friends are weirdly fascinating.”

  “They think the same about you, so it’s all good.”

  That’s comforting. I think. “And why the hell did you bring up Dominic? I told you that was over and done!” I punch him in the shoulder.

  “It needs to be said,” he retorts, slapping my hand away, “that just because you want to act stupid doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

  I knock him over, and we roll off the couch and onto the floor. He tries to tickle my sides (which honestly I hate because I tend to bray like a hyena in heat), so I retaliate by grabbing both of his hands and squeezing my knees against his hips. As he looms above me, it dawns on me how very sexual this position is, me on my back with my legs wrapped around his waist. He smiles down at me, and I think to myself that he just might be the only person in the world who has ever looked at me this way, filled with love and adoration and maybe something a little bit more. He says he broke up with me because we were never meant to be, but I don’t know if that’s exactly true. I see the way he looks at me sometimes. We’re best friends, sure. But I didn’t want it to end. It never burned with the adolescent fire I had for Dominic, but it was sweet. It was kind. And above all, it felt safe.

  He’s watching me now, a curious smile on his face, and I wonder what he thinks when he looks at me like this. Does he think of the past as much as I do? Not everyone is mired in the way things used to be like I am, but I think he and I are almost the same.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “I need to get that,” I say.

>   “Just a minute,” he says, staring at me hard.

  The knock comes again.

  “Corey, come on.”

  “Hold on.” He wriggles above me, and it goes straight to my dick. So unfair.

  The door opens and Corey says, “You’ll thank me for this later,” before he bends his head down and kisses me deeply. There’s a brief flash in my head, and I think to myself that this could work. This could work if I really wanted it to. I only needed to push everything else from my head, and we could be happy together. We could have a life together. I don’t care if he’s bigender, transgender, gay, or any other type of person as long as he’s my person and I don’t need Dominic, I never needed Dominic, and I don’t need him that way, not Dominic. Dominic. Dominic.

  “Oh,” Dominic says, his voice strangely flat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back.”

  Corey pulls away slowly, flitting his tongue out against my lips as our connection breaks. The smile on his face is filled with nothing but mischief, and I almost reach up and slap him for being so goddamn fucking stupid. I know what he’s trying to do, but it doesn’t matter. I am going to murder him later when there aren’t any witnesses.

  “Don’t mind us,” he says, sitting up and straddling my waist. “We were just having a frank exchange of ideas.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Dom asks, his expression giving away nothing. And for the life of me, I can’t quell the overwhelming feeling of guilt that rushes over me, though I have no idea what the hell I should be feeling guilty about. Well, aside from the fact that I’m pinned under my ex-boyfriend who just used my mouth for exploratory research while my first love (I swear I’m not a teenage girl) stares down at me like he doesn’t even know who I am. I don’t know how I find myself in these situations. They just seem to happen to me.

  “Yes,” Corey says to Dom, rubbing his hands over my chest. “And trust me when I say that the ideas I’m having are certainly meant to be exchanged.” He gyrates his hips slowly, and I can’t even begin to express my horror at this blatant slut sitting atop me. That fucking skank!

  “Good for you,” Dom says, sounding bored. “Tyson, you ready to go? Or should I come back later after you two finish?”