Catch My Breath

by Wendy L. Wilson

  Finally spotting the house that looks like hers, I raise my hand to signal Evan to stop.

  “That’s it, I think.” I stare ahead and don’t see any cars in the driveway.

  “Do you want me to park in front of the house?” Evan asks as he rolls slowly by the house.

  “No … park across from the next house so I can sit here and gather my wits before I face her.” I gulp down a truck load of anxiety and nervously rub my hands together, feeling a tugging sensation in my right shoulder.

  “This ok?” Evan pulls to a stop where I told him to. I nod my head, unable to muster up any words at the moment. I’m about to jump out of my skin with the thought of seeing her after six weeks. This may very well kill me, hearing her say we meant nothing.

  Just as I’m about ready to get out and face her, I watch as a silver truck pulls up to her house. A blonde guy jumps out of the driver’s side and rushes to the passenger door. For a minute I think of telling Evan to just forget it then she’s there. Right there … only steps away from me again.

  The guy helps an older gentleman out, holding his arm around his waist to support him. She hops out of the truck behind him and all three of them slowly walk to the door and inside. I crinkle my brows up in confusion. The older man I am guessing is her father. He looked sick. My heart plummets, thinking over how scared she was to find out her father’s results. I can’t even think it.

  All of a sudden the blonde guy comes back out with Alyssa on his heels. She walks behind him to the truck. My heart drops further, knowing full well that this is the guy on the opposite end of the phone only weeks ago. She isn't holding his hand, she isn't walking beside him, there's not anything that would lead me to the conclusion that this is her boyfriend as they stop and face each other talking.

  She flips her hair behind her shoulder, looking down at the side walk and even from here I can read the sadness in her body language.

  "I have to go talk to her," I tell Evan, my heart ready to leap out of my body and blaze a path to her on its own.

  "Whoa, wait. Look." Evan grabs my arm to stop me from getting out.

  I look up and over at Evan before looking back to where he is pointing.

  Alyssa still looks down at the concrete drive, but the guy has moved closer to her and is holding her hand between them. My pounding heart drops into my stomach, causing it to churn and my blood pressure to rise.

  Sucking in a quick breath that I’m unable to let out, I stare at him as he pulls her into an embrace. She doesn't fight it; she doesn't pull away, in fact she clings to him just like she used to hold onto me. I strain my eyes, trying to see where their faces are. Are they kissing?

  "Man, I think we should take off," Evan’s voice breaks through my thoughts, but cannot pull me away from the spiraling freefall that I feel in my body.

  My hands tremble and my lungs become deprived of air until they pull away from each other, waving their goodbyes. She runs up to her porch and he jumps in the truck; I finally take a breath. It's on the tip of my tongue to tell Evan to follow the truck, but then I look back to the porch. Alyssa stands there looking out at the nearly vacant road in front of her house. She doesn't look happy, she looks deep in thought. Then my mind ventures to the frail man they helped inside; her dad. I clamp my eyes closed, a familiar heartache intensifying within me; the same heaviness she may be holding right now.

  Sniffling in a trembling cry, Mom spots me peaking in through the crack in the door.

  “Honey, come in.”

  Sucking in my stomach, I stiffen straight as a board, hoping I can conceal myself from my nosing around. I didn’t mean to listen in, but when I passed by her sobs caught my attention. I couldn’t help but inch the door open just a tad so I could see what was happening. For a moment, I thought maybe Jake or Tristan had gotten in trouble, possibly even gotten a whooping, but then I saw Mom. My eyes followed each and every marbley-ball of water rolling down her face and collecting on her shirt.

  “Honey …” The door swings open and her face smiles down at me, completely free of anger or aggravation. “Come in here so we can talk.”

  She returns to the bed and I follow, taking a seat beside her, but hesitant to say a word. She already explained to us that she was sick, we’ve discussed it separately and I’ve even asked Tristan questions I was curious about, but still day after day I’ve caught her crying all to herself. It’s crushing watching her hurt and there’s nothing we can do.

  Her entire body rises a little with a deep sigh and her arms lie slack in her lap, empty and quivering. I glance up at her face, watching another escaped tear. Without a single thought, my hand reaches out, grasping one of hers.

  “Mom …” I stare at her, not sure whether to ask why she’s sad. I know why and I know why she cries; she cries because she’s sad, so I just stare. She glances over to me, both of us looking at each other eye-to-eye with no words; silence, yet so many things that need to be said or asked. Suddenly her arms fly around me, pulling me into a hug as she quietly weeps on my shoulder. I hug her back, automatically, wishing the pressure of my hands on her back and my chin buried in her shoulders could stop her tears.

  Once I realize she may be at a loss for words like me, I speak up, “Mom, are you sad about being sick?” I still don’t quite understand the gravity of the whole disease, but from Tristan’s reactions, I’ve came to the conclusion that this is serious. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  She leans back, dipping her chin and holding me at arm’s length so she can look into my eyes. I give her a small smile, leaning my head to the side, confused and scared for her.

  “Oh honey, I don’t even know where to start …” she pauses, searching my face. “I’m not sad for myself, but I am worried about you boys. I can handle the pain and I will handle anything that comes my way, but you boys …” she looks at me and her eyes glaze over again making the vice on my heart tighten. “I don’t want you to have to go through this … .seeing me sick and maybe even … ”

  I look at her face and although she never answered Jake’s question directly, I can see it in her eyes.

  “Will it kill you … this sickness?” I’m not sure where the question came from or why I worded it like a sickness is some sort of a murderer, but the thought of it stealing my mom away makes me feel like it is and suddenly, a slow burning hate for this disease starts to bubble in my veins. “You didn’t really answer Jake the other day. Will it?”

  Her eyes flick over to the side of my head and cool fingertips are instantly swiping my hair back behind my ear in a steady rhythm back and forth and again. Ordinarily if Tristan or Jake was a around, I’d shy away from this sort of affection that makes me feel like I am five rather than ten years old, but I don’t mind it right now. Her tears have slowed and she has a slight smile on her face as she watches her own hands ruffle up my hair, so I’ll welcome her treating me like her little boy, because I am.

  She sighs with a bit of a laugh and stops moving, bringing her hands into her lap along with mine. “Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good.” I don’t laugh, I’m too afraid of her answer. “Yes, it will.”

  Now my eyes fog over before I can even think to stop it. Spilling over, I take a breath and ask what I need to know. “When?”

  “Oh honey,” she looks shocked by my bluntness. Usually Jake and Tristan are the inquisitive ones that throw what is on their minds out while I sit back and take it all in, quietly. “Maybe three to five years. I have plenty of time, but I still worry. It’s not leaving that I’m most worried about.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s that this disease will rob me of my life gradually … everyday. I fear the day when I won’t be able to take you to the park or give you hugs or just say goodbye.”

  With that I understand; I see it. I throw my arms around Mom fiercely, knowing now that each day has to count.

  "Hey,” Evan gets my attention as I stare out the window deep in thought. “She's going to see us if we stay here
. You saw her. Now I think we should go. After all that, I don't think this is a good idea anymore," Evan says in a tone I'm not used to, all joking and pestering set aside as if he can read just what all of this is doing to me.

  "Yeah, let's go."

  Ten minutes later we are headed to my house.

  “Just keep driving for a bit. I need to think.”

  Pressing my forehead to the glass, my mind flashes with images of the car wreck and the last time I felt the cold panel of glass against my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing all thoughts to the back of my mind, especially the thoughts of her. She did move on. She went back to him. Why would she go back to him after what we had, not to mention after what he did to her? Despite the cool glass my face heats up, from what I'm not sure; maybe anger at him for taking her away from me or maybe humiliation for thinking what we had was something. Pulling my head back for a second, I tap it back to the glass with a thud.

  "Hey, ok! No, slamming your head through my windshield. This is my grandpa’s truck and I'm not covered on his insurance."

  Slumping down in my seat, I glare at him.

  "Ok listen. It's hard for me to be serious, you know that, but..." pausing, he glances over to me as if he’s thinking.

  There are no words he could possibly offer to help pull this knife out of my heart.

  "Ok..." His tone is serious, so I sit up straight and give him my full attention. Looking forward at the road as he drives, he goes on, "I used to know this gir...person and something had happened to them that was..." He takes a heavy breath before continuing.

  "Well it was pretty traumatic and sometimes certain things would trigger bad memories for them," pausing again, I frown in confusion of where this discussion is going, yet curious to hear the rest. Letting out another deep breath, he pushes through the topic, “When those memories would surface, this person had a tendency to hold their breath so that’s where I came in. I figured it out pretty fast what was happening and I would always remind them..." Evan glances back at me, an unhealed wound flickering in his eyes. "I would always remind her to breathe."

  He looks forward again, clearing his throat. Piper. A part of me thinks to question what happened or ask if it’s her that he’s talking about, but I know it is. Staring down at my hands, guilt and foolishness engulfs me. Here I am feeling sorry for losing a girl I barely knew and he has been hung up on the same girl for years. Life just sucks sometimes.

  As if reading my mind, Evans voice fills the small cab of the truck, "My point is that sometimes life is shitty! You don't always get what you want, you know that, but you have to just keep breathing. When you think about the crappy points of your life, just remind yourself to breathe."

  I stare at him taking in every word, knowing he is right. I watched my mom get sicker and sicker until she died, I watched my dad walk right out of my life and never look back and I nearly lost my brother and my own life; I can survive this … I can move past it; I can.

  Looking up at the road, her face flickers through my head, her soft smile and bright blue eyes so clear I could nearly reach out and run my hand over the softness of her skin. Breathe, I tell myself silently.

  "Turn around."

  "What? Where we going?" Evan asks as he takes the first exit we come to.

  "You feel like doing something ridiculously stupid and permanent with me?" I laugh.

  "I'm always up for doing something stupid, but the permanent part sounds a little like marriage so I might need you to elaborate." Evan's smartass tone returns as he turns back onto the interstate, headed towards downtown.

  An hour and an half later I am sitting back in Evan’s truck, parked in an alley behind a store called Tatt-it. Evan has his arms crossed in the driver’s seat, staring at me like I just willingly let someone saw off my arm. Looking down at yet another bandage on my body, a stinging sensation pricks at my skin feeling as if I just dipped it in scalding hot water.

  “Ok, so that was more stupid than I can do right now. I hope that solved your problems, because that is going to look ridiculous when you’re eighty years old and sporting bat wings instead of biceps. All you’re going to see is some blob of ink and all your grandkids are going to be like …” He raises his voice an octave to sound like a child and I laugh at his sarcasm. “Papa, why’d you scribble all over your arm? That’s a funny looking birthmark? What’s that black thing?”

  I crack up, pulling my seat belt over my shoulder before Evan fires up the engine. Looking back down at the bandage, I take a deep breath and let it out.

  For years I've felt like I was jumping from one life altering event after another. It’s been ongoing since I could remember. When my life would find some sense of normality, disaster would strike and I'd be back to dealing with some bullshit that left me wondering why, just like now.

  Even though I used to stay busy with football, kept my grades up and worked my ass off every available second, I still continued to try to catch my breath from a sequence of events the led to me being one of three brothers trying to raise ourselves.

  I'd catch my breath between being a positive role model and supportive friend to my younger brother.

  I'd catch my breath from struggling with nonstop training and studying to ensure a scholarship along with working every available second to help make ends meet, that I hardly had time to enjoy being a teenager.

  I'd catch my breath between remembering every moment that I had watched Mom’s ALS get crueler and harsher until eventually her worn out body had to give up the fight.

  Now, catching my breath has become second nature.

  So this, this will be my reminder to stop and breathe when I’m drowning; to breathe when my life is spinning out of control; to breathe when I think I can’t go on and to breathe even if it means I won’t have her in my life.

  SUNDAY NIGHT COMES IN a hurry and suddenly it is the night before fall semester starts, the day I will begin to move forward in a whole new life … without football … without her. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I hit the button to light it up and see that it is only 9:21. Sighing, I run my hand over the picture icon then tap it before I change my mind. I have forced myself to not do this since I saw her in front of her house on Monday, but I have to. I have to see her like she was when we were together and she was not with him.

  Bringing up the first picture, I smile at the looks on our faces. Alyssa has her eyes crossed and her tongue hanging out of her mouth while I am cracking up. I tried to play along for most of the pictures but her insane, goofy expressions had me laughing so hard I couldn’t match her dramatics.

  Swiping my hand across the screen, I flip to the next picture and chuckle. Her attempt at a duck face looks more like a kissy face while mine looks like I’m trying to roll my tongue. Shaking my head, I flip to the next and grin wider as my heart slowly slides into the pit of my stomach. In this one, I’m looking at the camera, smiling while she is pulling me to her side planting a huge kiss right where my dimple is.

  Pressing my lips together, the familiar presence of that feature dips into my skin and I wish so badly I could feel her lips brush across it. Sinking back into my pillow, the softness surrounds my face and I close my eyes, wanting to get lost in memories of her for just a moment.

  My hand vibrates and a loud chime sounds from my phone, startling me and interrupting my sulking. Looking down, my mouth drops open in shock; it’s Tristan. For weeks he has refused mine and Jake’s calls, even after Evan kindly dropped off a new company phone for him as well. Now out of the blue, he is calling. I don’t even let it get to the third ring.

  “Hello.” I lay still in bed. What on earth prompted this call and do I really want to hear what he has to say?

  “Judd …” His voice shakes. "I just wanted to hear your voice and know that you’re alright."

  I should be touched, but instead it lights a fire inside me that I have been holding at bay since the day we were in that car.

  "Had you picked up the phone the last twenty t
imes I've called you over the course of three weeks, you would have probably come to that conclusion a little faster, Tristan," I spit out, fury racing through my veins."Did it ever occur to you that for weeks I was sitting in the same hospital as you and I may have needed someone to talk to?" I raise my voice and grip the phone until my hand is numb.

  "To hell with you, Judd, I'm still laying in a hospital bed," his venomous tone now matches my own.

  Honestly, I don't even know the extent of his injuries. The doctors had relayed to Jake and I as to when Tristan had woke up and that he was doing better, but never the details of his condition.

  "And I know this, but you ordered the hospital to keep all visitors out. I'm your brother and you almost killed me because you had a bad day, yet you won't even see me. Really? What the hell, Tristan!"

  I'm so sick of him being so selfish. I know he is still in the hospital and I know what it feels like to want to be out of that bed so bad that you can practically taste it, but I don't think I would have made it if it hadn't been for Jake and Evan being there nearly every day. They kept me from sinking into despair. I've lost a lot just like him, but I'm not shutting the people that care about me out. All he does is run from everything.

  "I shouldn't have called."

  The phone goes dead before I can say a word and I stare forward at the wall of my bedroom in utter shock that he called then hung up, just like that. Does he really care or is he trying to ease his conscious over the fact that his temper nearly cost both of us our lives?

  Still gripping the phone in my hand with it pressed to my ear, a tap, tap, tap sounds to my right and I glance up to the window. It slides open with a sharp scraping noise and Tiffany’s face comes into view.