The Air He Breathes

by Brittainy C. Cherry

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Tristan…thank you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Can you just let me be?”

  He went to turn it back on, but I placed my hand over his. His hands were warm—rough, but warm. “Thank you.”

  When our eyes locked, I felt his touch grow even warmer. He smiled a true smile. A smile I hadn’t known his lips were capable of creating. “It’s no big deal. I found the freakin’ feathers in Mr. Henson’s shop. It didn’t take much work.” He paused. “She’s good,” he said, gesturing toward the house, speaking of Emma. “She’s a good kid. Annoying as all get out, but she’s good.”

  “Stay for breakfast?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Stop by for lunch.”

  He declined.

  “Dinner?”

  He bit his bottom lip. He glanced down at the ground, debating my request. When our eyes met again, I almost fell over from the single word he spoke. “Okay.”

  The neighbors all gossiped about what it meant, me having Tristan work on my lawn, but I was slowly starting to care less and less what others thought of me.

  I sat on the porch, surrounded by the feathers as he finished the lawn work. Emma played fetch with Zeus.

  And every now and then, Tristan remembered how to smile.

  Later, we sat down at the dinner table, Emma yapping away about a dead bug she found on the porch that Zeus ate. She was being extra loud and extra messy with her spaghetti. I sat at the head of the table, and Tristan sat at the other end. Every now and then I would catch him staring my way, but most of the time he was smiling out of the corner of his mouth at Emma.

  “And Zeus went CHOMP! Like it was the best thing ever! Now he has bug guts in his teeth!”

  “Did you eat the bugs too?” Tristan asked.

  “Ew! No! That’s gross!”

  “I hear they are a great source of protein.”

  “I don’t care, Tick! That’s gross!” She made a gagging face, making us all laugh. “Ooo ah! Oo ah ah!” she said, transitioning into her gorilla speech. For weeks now, she’d been exploring her gorilla roots after watching Tarzan. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to Tristan, but within seconds, I understood that I wouldn’t have to.

  “Oo?” Tristan responded. “Ah? Ahhh! Ahhh!” He smirked.

  I wondered if he knew he made my heart skip a few beats that day.

  “All right, Jane of the jungle, I think it’s time for you to go pick out some pajamas for tonight. It’s getting past your bedtime.”

  “But!” she started to complain.

  “No buts.” I smirked, nodding her out of the room.

  “Okay, but can I watch Hotel Transylvania in my room?”

  “Only if you promise to fall asleep.”

  “Promise!” She hurried off, and as she left, Tristan stood up from his chair. I stood with him.

  He nodded once. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome. You don’t have to go. I have wine…”

  He hesitated.

  “There’s beer, too.”

  That pulled him in. I kept myself from telling him that the only reason I’d bought beer was in hopes that one night he would stay for dinner. After I put Emma to bed, Tristan and I took our drinks outside and sat on the front porch with Zeus sleeping beside us. Every now and then one of the feathers would get picked up by a gust of wind and blow past us. He didn’t talk a lot, but I was growing used to that fact. Being quiet with him was kind of nice.

  “I was thinking of ways I can pay you back for helping me with my lawn work.”

  “I don’t need your money.”

  “I know, but…well, I can help you with your house. With the interior,” I offered. I went on to tell him that I’d gone to school for interior design, and that it only made sense for me to help him out. His house always seemed so dark, and I loved the idea of adding a bit more life to it.

  “No.”

  “Just think about it,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Are you always so hardheaded?”

  “No.” He paused and smiled a bit. “Yes.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” I wondered out loud. He turned my way and nodded.

  “Why do you give food to that homeless man?”

  He narrowed his eyes and placed his thumb between his teeth. “One day when I was running barefoot, I stopped near that bridge and fell apart. Memories were attacking me and I remember just becoming short of breath. An overwhelming panic attack. The man walked over to me, and um, he patted me on the back and stayed with me until I caught my breath. He asked if I was okay, and I said yes. Then he told me that I shouldn’t worry too much about falling apart because the dark days only stayed dark until the sun came up. And then as I started to walk away, he offered me his shoes. I didn’t take them of course but…he had nothing. He lived under a damn bridge with a tattered blanket and a pair of broken down shoes. But he still offered them to my feet.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Most people probably see a dirty druggie under that bridge, you know? A problem to society. But I saw someone who was willing to give his all to help a stranger stand.”

  “I just… That’s so beautiful.”

  “He’s a beautiful man. It turned out he fought in a war and when he came back, he suffered from PTSD, and his loved ones couldn’t understand why he changed so much. He got a job, but lost it due to his panic attacks. He lost everything because he volunteered to fight for all of us. It’s bullshit, you know? You’re a hero until you take off your uniform. After that, you’re just damaged goods to society.”

  My heart was breaking.

  I’d walked by the man under the bridge millions of times, and never stopped to find out his story. I’d thought the things Tristan mentioned about the man—how he was a drug addict, how he was something I preferred to look away from.

  It was amazing how our minds crafted stories for strangers who probably needed love more than our close-minded judgments.

  It was so easy to judge from the outside looking in, and I couldn’t help but think that Emma was learning from me. I needed to be careful of how I treated others in passing, because my daughter was always studying my every move.

  I bit my lip. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “I don’t know. Is this going to become a regular thing? Because I hate questions.”

  “This will be the last one for tonight, I swear. What is it you listen to? With those headphones?”

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “Nothing?”

  “The batteries died months ago and I haven’t found the nerve to change them yet.”

  “But what were you listening to?”

  His thumb landed between his teeth and he bit it gently. “Jamie and Charlie. A few years ago, they recorded themselves singing, and I just held onto the tape.”

  “Why haven’t you changed the batteries yet?”

  His voice lowered. “I think hearing them again will kill me. And I’m already pretty much dead.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “I know, but still, I am sorry. But I can’t help but think…if I had a chance to hear Steven’s voice one more time, I would take it.”

  “Tell me about him,” he whispered, which surprised me. He didn’t seem the type to care, but any opportunity I could find to talk about Steven, I took. I didn’t want to forget him any time soon.

  That night we stayed on that porch remembering. He told me all about Jamie and her silly humor, and I invited him into my heart to meet my Steven. There were stretches that passed where we didn’t speak, and that seemed perfect too. Tristan was broken in all the same places I was shattered, yet even more so because he lost his wife and son. No parent should ever have to lose their child; it seemed like such a hideous kind of hell.

  “So, I have to ask. The wand on your pointer finger…what book is that?”

&nbs
p; “Harry Potter,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  “Oh. I’ve never read those books.”

  “You’ve never read Harry Potter?” Tristan asked me, his eyes wide with concern.

  I chuckled. “I’m sorry, is that some kind of issue?”

  He looked at me as bewildered as possible, and he was definitely silently judging me. “No, it’s just, you always have a book in your hand, and it’s insane that you’ve never read Harry Potter. It was Charlie’s favorite. I believe there are two things that exist in the world that everyone should read because they teach you pretty much everything you need to know about life: the Bible and Harry Potter.”

  “Really? Those are the only two things?”

  “Yup. That’s it. That’s all you need. And well, I haven’t read the Bible, but it’s on my to-do list.” He snickered. “That’s probably part of the reason I’m currently failing at life.”

  Every time he laughed, a part of me came back to life.

  “I’ve read the Bible, but not Harry Potter, so maybe we can give each other the Cliffs Notes versions.”

  “You’ve read the Bible?”

  “Yes.”

  “The whole way through?”

  “Yes.” Holding my hair up in a ponytail, I turned so he could see the three cross tattoos behind my left ear. “When I was younger, my mom used to date and ditch a lot of guys. At one point, I really thought she was going to settle down with this one guy named Jason. I loved him—he always brought me candy and stuff. He was a really religious guy, and Mama told me that if she and I read the Bible, then maybe he would love us and would be my new dad. He even moved in with us for a little while. So for weeks I sat in my bedroom reading the Bible and one day I came running into the living room shouting, ‘Jason! Jason! I did it, I read the Bible!’

  “I was shaking with excitement because I wanted that, you know? I wanted a chance to have another dad, even though mine was the best. In my mind, if I had a new dad, then maybe my mama would be my mama again instead of someone I hardly knew anymore.”

  “What happened with Jason?”

  I frowned. “When I got to the living room, I saw him loading his suitcases into the back of his Honda. Mama said he wasn’t the one and had to leave. I remember getting so mad at her—screaming, crying, wondering why she would do that. Why she would mess it up. But that’s what Mama does. She screws things up.”

  Tristan shrugged. “It seems like she did a decent job with you.”

  “Minus the lack of me reading Harry Potter.”

  “Your mom should date a wizard next time.”

  I laughed. “Trust me, it’s probably next in her lineup.”

  Around three a.m. he stood to leave, and I hurried inside, bringing out a pair of double-A batteries for his cassette player. He hesitated at first, but then placed them into his player. As he walked across the lawn with Zeus, he hit play on the music, placing the headphones over his ears. I watched his footsteps pause. He covered his face with the palms of his hands and his body shook.

  I dropped down to my knees, watching the suffering that engulfed his spirit. A part of me wished I hadn’t given him the batteries, but another part was happy that I had, because his reaction meant he was still breathing.

  Sometimes the hardest part of existing without your loved ones was remembering how to breathe.

  He turned back my way and spoke. “Do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  He gestured toward the house. “Hold her tight each day and night, because nothing’s promised to us. I just wished I would’ve held on tighter.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tristan

  April 4th, 2014

  Three Days Until Goodbye

  “This one’s really nice if you are looking for something strong,” the funeral home director, Harold, said to my mother and me as we stood staring at caskets. “It’s full copper, which has excellent resistance to corrosion. It’s stronger than stainless steel, and provides a remarkable life for your loved ones.”

  “That’s very nice,” Mom said, as I stood completely uninterested.

  “And over here, if you’re looking for something a bit higher class, then you want to look into this beauty.” Harold’s fingers brushed against his goatee before he patted the inside of another casket. “This is solid bronze, which is the strongest and longest-lasting of any casket material. If you are looking to send your loved ones out in style, this is the way to go.

  “There’s also the option of the hardwood caskets. Now, they aren’t as strong as these ones, but they are shock-resistant, which is nice. They come in different types of hardwoods such as cherry, oak, ash, or walnut. Now, my personal favorite is the cherry finish, but that’s just me.”

  “Fucking creep,” I muttered under my breath, my mom the only one to hear me.

  “Tristan,” she scolded, turning away from the funeral director. “Be nice.”

  “He has a favorite casket. That’s fucking weird,” I hissed, irritated with Harold, irritated with my mother, irritated that Jamie and Charlie were gone. “Can we get this over with?” I complained, looking into the empty caskets that would soon enough be filled with my everythings.

  Come back to me.

  Mom frowned, but went ahead and handled the details that I wanted to pretend didn’t exist.

  Harold took us to his office, where he wore his creepy smile and talked about shit that annoyed me as each moment passed. “For the tombstones we also offer wreaths for the holiday season, vases for flowers, and blankets for the colder months—”

  “Are you shitting me?” I murmured. Mom placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, almost as if to stop me from snapping at Harold, but it was too late. I was too far gone. “It must be really nice for you, huh, Harold?” I asked, leaning forward with my eyes narrowed and my fingers laced together. “It must be a good fucking job to offer sad fucks blankets for their loved ones. To get them to pour all their money into stupid shit that doesn’t matter because they are in a vulnerable state. A blanket? A BLANKET?! They are fucking dead, Harold,” I shouted, standing up from the chair. “The dead don’t need blankets because they don’t get cold. They don’t need wreaths because they don’t celebrate Christmas, and they don’t need flowers because what’s the point?!” I hollered, slamming my hands against his desk, sending papers flying.

  Mom stood up and reached for me, but I yanked my arm away. My chest rose and fell, my breaths becoming harder and harder to control, and I could feel the wildness that was living within my eyes. I was losing it. I was falling apart more and more as each second passed.

  I rushed out of his office and leaned my back against the closest wall. Mom apologized to Harold as my hands formed fists and began to slam against the wall behind me. Over and over again, I slammed my fists against the wall. My fingers were turning red, and my heart was turning cold as it all began to set in.

  They were gone.

  They were gone.

  My mom walked out of the room and stood across from me, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Did you get the blanket?” I asked, sarcastically.

  “Tristan,” she whispered, the heartbreak audible within her soft words.

  “If you did, you should’ve gotten Charlie a green one, and Jamie purple. Those were their favorite colors…” I shook my head, not wanting to talk anymore. Not wanting Mom to try to make me feel better. Not wanting to breathe.

  It was the first day that their deaths felt real. The first day I came to the realization that in three days I would have to say my final goodbye to my world. My soul was in flames, and every inch of me felt the burn. I shook my head more and more, cupped my hands over my mouth, and howled into my sadness.

  They were gone.

  They were gone.

  Come back to me.

  “CHARLIE!” I screamed, sitting up in my bed. It was still pitch black outside, and my sheets were soaked in my own sweat. A slight breeze passed through my window as I tried to shake off th
e nightmare that was more real than ever before. My nightmares were my past memories that came to haunt me.

  I watched as a light turned on across at Elizabeth’s house. She walked over to the window and glanced my way. I didn’t turn on my light. I sat on the edge of my bed, my body still burning hot. The light flooded over her face, and I watched her lips move.

  “Are you okay?” she questioned, crossing her arms against her body.

  She was so damn beautiful, and it annoyed me.

  It also annoyed me that my shouts probably awakened her almost every night. I walked over to the window, my eyes still heavy with the guilt of not being there for Jamie and Charlie. “Go to sleep,” I told her.

  “Okay,” she replied.

  But she didn’t move to her bed. She sat on the ledge of her windowsill, and I leaned against mine. We stared at one another until my heartbeats slowed, and her eyes faded shut.

  I silently thanked her for not leaving me alone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elizabeth

  “Rumor has it you’re banging an asshole,” Faye said over the phone a few days after I’d sat up with Tristan after his nightmare. I hadn’t spoken to him since then, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  “Oh my gosh, that is not a rumor.”

  “No, but it sounds more exciting than Tanner whining about some dude cutting your grass, even though I remember offering you a certain guy named Ed to trim your bushes. But really, though, are you okay? Should I be worrying like Tanner is?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Because that Tristan guy is a total dick, Liz.” The worry on the end of each of her words was sad. I hated that she was worrying about me.

  “I can talk to him,” I said quietly. “About Steven, I can talk to him.”

  “You can talk to me about him, too.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it’s different. Tristan lost his wife and son.”

  Faye went silent for a moment. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I doubt anyone does. People mainly judge him from the outside, I think.”