Breathe, Annie, Breathe

by Miranda Kenneally

  We dated for over three years, even though we were different people: I did my homework every single night and worked hard as a waitress to make money for college. He lived over in the Royal Trail subdivision, did his homework in the ten minutes between classes, ran the mile in the regional track finals, and wanted to work as a firefighter like his father.

  He wanted “forever” to start right after high school. He wanted to marry me.

  That’s why we had the big fight.

  We were at the place where we shared our first kiss: the drive-in movie theater that showed old movies. It’s still one of the most popular places to go in Franklin. As freshmen, we were too young to drive so we walked there all the time. It became our spot.

  When he got older, Kyle worked concessions there on weekends and would sneak me in. That weekend in September, we had just started senior year. We were watching Forrest Gump at the drive-in, and during his favorite part, when Forrest decides to run across the country for no apparent reason, Kyle whispered in my ear, “Marry me?”

  We were in love, and I didn’t want to lose him, but I couldn’t imagine getting married before going to college. My mom has been working as a cashier at the Quick Pick since before I was born—my dad ran off when I was little—and I wanted more for myself. If Kyle could have had his way, he would’ve moved in and had babies with me the week after we graduated.

  “We’ve talked about this,” I replied with a shaky voice. “You know I’m not ready.”

  He slowly pulled his hand out of his jeans pocket. Was there a ring in there?

  “You’re saying no?” he whispered.

  “I can’t. You know I want to—”

  “If you wanted to, you’d say yes!”

  “Kyle, I want to wait until I’ve gone to college and have a job—”

  “I’ll take care of you!”

  “That’s not what this is about—”

  “Either you love me and want to marry me, or we’re over—”

  “How can you put me in that position?” I cried.

  He felt so betrayed, so hurt, that he broke up with me.

  And I missed him so much, my stomach twisted up and it hurt to breathe. Pizza tasted like broccoli. Music hurt my ears. I didn’t know what to do between classes. Who was I supposed to walk with? My bulletin board had long since morphed from pictures of me and Kelsey playing with our moms’ makeup to me and Kyle snuggling and kissing. Who was I supposed to say good night to before I went to sleep?

  At the same time, the breakup really pissed me off. How dare he throw away three years just because I wasn’t ready for marriage? Why couldn’t he respect my dream of going to college, getting a job where I could make money, maybe buying a house one day? I didn’t want to live in a trailer all my life.

  Sometimes when I would talk about college, he’d get a sad but happy face. Like a wince when you have an ice cream headache: it hurts so bad, but the taste is so good. Mom said he might’ve proposed because he was desperate to hold on to me—he was scared I’d forget him when I left for college. I hated her saying that. I would’ve kept dating him! Other than working at the Roadhouse, doing my homework, and reading thrillers about hot FBI agents and lady CEOs that partner to solve mysteries, he’d been my whole life for three years. Besides, he dumped me. Why would he do that if he wanted to hang on to me? None of it made any sense.

  A month later, he was gone. He never got to run his marathon. I was alone. And for a while, Mom rocked me to sleep every night like when I was a baby, but then she started pushing, wanting me to go out with my brother and his friends. I could barely sleep through an entire night or do my homework, and she wanted me to go shopping with her?

  That’s when I blew up.

  “He’d still be here if it weren’t for you!” I screamed, even though it wasn’t true. “If you hadn’t pushed me into wanting to go to college, I would’ve said yes to his proposal. It’s all your fault he’s gone!”

  The blood left Mom’s face. She slammed her coffee mug into the sink. In all my life, I’d never seen her cry like that, the tears streaming down her face.

  My brother rushed into the kitchen, ordered me to get out of the house for a while, and hugged Mom long and hard. When I came home from my walk up to the empty basketball court on Spring Street, passing a bunch of barefooted little girls playing tag, Mom had gone to work, and the relationship we’d had was gone too.

  I knew what I’d said was a lie. I wanted college for me just as much as my mother did. I didn’t mean to lash out… And now I don’t know how to get back to what we once had. How could she forgive me? I blamed her for my loss. For something that was completely my fault.

  It’s my fault he’s gone…

  I cringe at the memories.

  I wish I could run from them.

  •••

  Every Saturday night, I wait tables at Davy Crockett’s Roadhouse.

  I work a couple nights during the week and Sunday brunch too, but Saturday is the big date night in Franklin. It’s the night when I make nearly all of my money, which I desperately need for college and gas. I wiped out the $600 I had to buy new tennis shoes, running clothes, and the first two months of training dues. Matt’s program costs $200 per month, which Nick said was outrageous, but considering I get a gym membership and all the Gatorade, energy bars, fruit, and candy I want at the trails on Saturdays, I think it’s worth it. Not to mention I get the support and expertise of a guy who’s run over thirty marathons and is a certified personal trainer. That’s a billion times better than flailing around the school track by myself.

  The only negative to Matt’s program? In the gym locker room, old ladies just love walking around naked for some reason. I pray that when I’m old, I don’t have any sudden desire to flaunt it.

  I hip-check the vestibule door open and head out onto the restaurant floor, passing rusted road signs and paintings of Davy Crockett in his coonskin cap. My boots crunch peanut shells every step of the way. That’s what makes the Roadhouse so famous—we serve free peanuts by the bucket and guys can throw shells at each other, acting like Neanderthals.

  I drop beers and Cokes off at one of my four tops and move on to my round. The table seats seven and I generally make big tips off it on Saturdays.

  Tonight, Nick is sitting there with a group of friends and their girlfriends. My brother is barely a year older than me and graduated last year, so I know them all from school.

  “This is my best table, so you better leave me a good tip,” I tell Nick, and he responds by throwing a peanut at my forehead. That earns him a prompt slap on the arm from his girlfriend, Kimberly. “And you’re not getting any free food either.”

  “You’ll serve us beer though, right?” Evan asks.

  “Hell no. I’m not losing my job over you.” I open my notepad and pull a pen from my apron. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Beer,” Evan says with a wide grin.

  I respond by grabbing a handful of peanuts and dropping them on his head.

  “Hey!” Evan shakes them out of his shirt as everyone laughs. Nick has been friends with Evan since elementary school, and now they do oil changes together at the auto parts store. Almost all of Nick’s friends stayed in Franklin and didn’t go to college, and now they work at places like the Buchanan Ford dealership and Total Billiards. Kimberly got a receptionist job at a realty company. Nick takes night classes over at the Motlow community college. Compared with the rest of the kids who grew up in the Oakdale trailer park, I’m pretty different in that I’m moving to college this fall and will be living in the dorms.

  I take their drink orders for real this time—a round of waters, Cokes, and sweet teas. In the back, I scoop ice into cups and let out a long breath. Today took a lot out of me—the six-mile run zapped me energy-wise while finding Jeremiah attractive hit me guilt-wise. I’m sure he’s a great running coach and
all, considering he blasts down those trails like a bullet, but I don’t know that I want to see him again. I need to concentrate on making it through this marathon. But I also liked feeling a spark of something.

  “Hey, where are you?”

  I glance up to find Stephanie, the manager of the Roadhouse, scanning the floor. That’s when I notice I’ve been pressing the dispenser for so long, ice is tumbling off the counter. I let go of the lever as Stephanie grabs a broom and sweeps the ice over to a drainage grate.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m good. Just tired,” I lie.

  Stephanie gives me her worried-mom look. She learned that expression from my mother—they’ve been friends since middle school. They both work in the retail/hospitality business, so they often get together and bitch about bitchy customers.

  “I’m fine,” I say again and press the Coke dispenser to fill the glasses, then evenly distribute them on my tray, add lemons to the rims, and carry the drinks out onto the floor.

  I serve Nick and his friends burgers and chicken strips as fast as I can, to rush them away from my money-maker table, but of course they end up staying a couple hours and throw at least five buckets of peanuts at each other. When they finally pay the check, they split the bill four ways. So annoying.

  Evan gives me a 30 percent tip but won’t meet my eyes when I say thank you. He just pockets his wallet. “You should come out with us after you get off work. We’re camping at Normandy.”

  My face flushes hot. After what happened with Kyle, everybody gave me distance for a few months. But once New Year’s rolled around, life went back to their normal. Guys knew I was single and started asking me out. Did Kyle even cross their minds when I said no?

  Anyway, Evan has been acting weird since February, and I’ve been wondering when this would happen. It must’ve taken him a while to garner the guts, and it makes me feel terrible. He’s a good-looking guy: his brown hair hangs to his eyes and he has great arms, roped with muscles from working in the garage. But I can’t.

  “No, but thank you,” I reply. “I need to sleep in a bed tonight—I’m so sore from running.”

  Evan looks crestfallen. “Maybe next weekend then?”

  I take the damp rag from my apron pocket and start wiping down the round, working to scrub dried, brownish-yellow mustard away. “Maybe.”

  But I know I’ll say no. I already have to listen to my brother doing his girlfriend when I’m at home; there’s no way I’m going camping with them—tents have thinner walls than our trailer.

  “I guess I’ll see you soon, then,” Evan says in a quiet voice. I can’t look him in the eye.

  Nick stops fawning over Kimberly long enough to give me a quick hug. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” I lean into the hug. He subtly stuffs more tip money in my apron, and I give him a smile.

  I wait tables until midnight. Then it’s time for side work. It’s my turn to scrape gum off the bottoms of tables, which is just about the worst task ever. The worst is refilling all the glass ketchup bottles; a good night is when I don’t drop a bottle on the floor. Next, I roll a hundred sets of silverware for tomorrow’s brunch shift, and then I clock out.

  I pull my apron off and search my bag for my keys as I enter the parking lot, and soon I’m tucked in my car. I swipe my cell on, hoping to find messages, even though I don’t really want to deal with anybody. The only text is from Mom, asking me to pull her blue shirt off the clothesline when I get home. Ok, I text back, then scroll through my contacts. I always flick past Kyle’s name quicker than anyone else’s. Really, between him and Kelsey, there’s nobody in the Ks that I can talk to anymore. But that’s sort of true for the As, Bs, and Ws too. I drop my phone in my tote and start the ignition. I drive past Sonic, where kids from school are hanging out over Cherry Limeades and onion rings. My heart pangs when I spot Kelsey’s bright blue Mustang convertible.

  I head to the drive-in movie theater, to the spot I shared with Kyle. I make it in time for the last half of the late showing of Clueless, that Alicia Silverstone movie from the nineties. It’s about this rich, hilarious girl who does nice things for people.

  I buy some popcorn from the concession stand, then sit on the hood of my car and laugh at all the funny parts, wishing he was laughing along with me.

  Marathon Training Schedule~Brown’s Race Co.

  Name Annie Winters

  Saturday

  Distance

  Notes

  April 20

  3 miles

  I’m really doing this! Finish time 34:00

  April 27

  5 miles

  Stupid Running Backwords Boy!!

  May 4

  6 miles

  Blister from HELL

  May 11

  5 miles

  May 18

  7 miles

  May 25

  8 miles

  June 1

  10 miles

  June 8

  9 miles

  June 15

  7 miles

  June 22

  8 miles

  June 29

  9 miles

  July 6

  10 miles

  July 13

  12 miles

  July 20

  13 miles

  July 27

  15 miles

  August 3

  14 miles

  August 10

  11 miles

  August 17

  16 miles

  August 24

  20 miles

  August 31

  14 miles

  September 7

  22 miles

  September 14

  20 miles

  September 21

  The Bluegrass Half Marathon

  September 28

  12 miles

  October 5

  10 miles

  October 12

  Country Music Marathon in Nashville

  TODAY’S DISTANCE: 5 MILES

  Six Months Until the Country Music Marathon

  Today is what Matt calls a “rest” day.

  This means our team has to run five miles before we do seven miles next Saturday. Five miles does not seem like rest to me. I’m beginning to think a radioactive spider bit my running coach.

  I wonder if it’ll be a Jeremiah-free day—I didn’t see his Jeep parked near the rest of our cars this morning. Maybe he’s off working with runners training to run the Boston Marathon or something fancy.

  Matt’s making us run around downtown Nashville this weekend, because we’re all sick of the trails; plus he wants us to get used to running in the city since we’ll be doing that during the marathon itself. He made us memorize our route today—it’s important to understand a course before you run it. You need to know where the hills are, so you can steel yourself. It’s
also crucial to know which coffee shops are runner-friendly and will let you use the bathroom if there aren’t any porta-potties nearby. And just in case we get lost, Matt hung a bunch of orange ribbons on various light poles and street signs. Like Hansel and Gretel and their crumbs.

  Our team started out at Music Row, home to all the country music labels, and now I’m coming up on mile 4. The largest building in Nashville—the AT&T building—looms over the city. Everyone calls it the Batman building because its spires stick up like Batman’s mask.

  I run past a smattering of trees that surround LP Stadium, where the Titans play. Titans tickets cost a few hundred apiece, so the only time I’ve ever been to a game was when my brother won a pair of tickets from a radio station contest. I loved the cheering crowds, the cotton candy. It was just an overall good day. Remembering the energy in the stadium gives me the extra oomph I need to push through this mile as I head toward Bicentennial Park—the finish line.

  When I see the final orange ribbon, I sprint toward Matt and arrive to cheering and clapping from the people who finished a few minutes before me. Matt hands me a cup of Gatorade, checks his watch, and writes my time on his clipboard. “You did good today, Annie.”

  I lick Gatorade off the cup’s rim so it doesn’t get my hand sticky and then take a sip. “Am I getting faster?”