Breathing Underwater

by Sarah Allen

  “Want an orange or a yogurt or something?” I say. Honestly, she looks like she needs to eat. I try to remember if this is how she looked when one of the failed medicines stopped working. Sometimes the wrong dose would make her sleepy or sleepless, or make her lose her appetite. One type even made her throw up, and I remember eating bananas and white-bread toast with her after she started feeling better. Is something like that happening here?

  “I ate,” Ruth says.

  “You sure? I’ll split an orange with you.”

  “I can’t do perky this morning, okay, Olivia?” She leans back, puts her earbuds in, and closes her eyes.

  Everybody gets tired, even Healthy Ruth. In fact, tired Healthy Ruth will sometimes come watch the National Geographic channel with me, bringing along a cup of her favorite pomegranate herbal tea. For Sick Ruth, though, even the tiniest interaction can be utterly exhausting. Sometimes, at first, it’s hard to tell the difference.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” Eddie calls from the front. “Please keep your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the vehicle at all times. If your destination is not Houston, Texas, you are on the wrong bus, but it’s too late now!”

  Eddie gives a whoop and shifts the RV out of park.

  “You are so weird,” Ellie says, grinning.

  We back out of the lot and head for the freeway. For a while there is quiet driving. Ruth listens to her music, and I lie in my loft, clicking through my camera and listening to the thrum of Ellie and Eddie’s conversation.

  I take what feels like a million pictures of everything around us as we drive. I’m getting pretty good at maneuvering settings for motion shots. I even try to get some good pictures of my loft. I read a few articles from my National Geographic magazines.

  Around one thirty we stop for lunch just outside of Baton Rouge. Eddie fills the RV up with gas and the rest of us head into the Subway next door. Maybe Ruth is distracted or hungry or tired, but for whatever reason she forgets to put her hood up, and when Ellie stands in line behind her, she sees the bass clef tattoo. The skin around it is still swollen and red, raised almost like a brand. That, I think more than anything, gives her away.

  I see the moment when Ellie spots the tattoo. Her brow wrinkles, curious at first, before understanding waves across her face. She looks closely at Ruth, while Ruth is looking down at something on her phone. Ellie pauses for a few seconds, considering. A roiling starts in my stomach almost like I’m the one who’s about to get in trouble. My mouth opens like a guppy out of water, but I’m not sure what to say or even who I’d say it to.

  But Ellie’s shoulders go up and down in a deep breath, and somehow I feel my lungs exhaling along with hers. I see tenderness and worry in the way Ellie looks at the swollen tattoo, like she wants to help, like she’s worried about Ruth hurting. Ellie is here and knows what to do, and I’m not on the spot to smooth over a tempestuous situation. The fluttering in my gut eases up a bit.

  That’s when Ellie steps forward and puts a gentle hand on Ruth’s arm. The soft touch doesn’t jolt or jar Ruth, and she turns around to look at Ellie. So quietly I can barely hear what she’s saying, Ellie says in Ruth’s ear, “Let’s step outside. I think we need to have a conversation.”

  Ruth stares at her, looking both guilty and confused. Ellie motions to the tattoo. Ruth’s shoulders sink and her cheeks grow pink. Her mouth opens for a few moments, but she says nothing.

  Ellie motions to Eddie through the window and as he comes in, she says, “Order for us, will you?” Then she and Ruth walk out the door.

  Through the window I watch Ruth and Ellie. Ruth is looking down, arms folded, jaw clenched. Ellie is the one talking, and she has a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. After a moment, Ellie puts her arm around her and pulls her into a side hug, but Ruth keeps her arms folded. After another minute they start walking toward the RV and Ruth pulls her cell out of her back pocket.

  Eddie and I get to the front of the line. I remember Ruth’s order, even the sauces, and Eddie knew Ellie’s sandwich order without asking. We come out holding four plastic sandwich bags. Ellie is waiting by the front of the RV, and I catch the slight nod she gives Eddie, a We’re okay, I got this kind of nod. As we get closer to the RV, I can hear Ruth on the other side, her voice an angry whisper.

  “Because I’m old enough to make these decisions for myself, Mom,” says Ruth. “It is so cliché that you are still treating me like a child.”

  A voice in my head responds, It’s so cliché that you’re acting like one. That voice scares me. I try to ignore it, keep it behind a locked door.

  It’s only another few seconds until Ruth comes around the corner and holds her phone out to Ellie. “She wants to talk to you.”

  My stomach plays one quick chord of wanting to talk to Mom myself. Of wanting to hold the phone while Mom says she knows how hard this whole thing must have been for me.

  That stomach knot comes from that same deep place in me, a place I try to keep the door shut on, a place where it would feel so utterly satisfying to put my head back and scream, Everybody just shut up and be happy!

  We step up into the RV. Eddie starts the engine and we pull out of the gas station. I spread the sandwiches out on the table and start sorting them, but Ruth is huddled into her earbuds, so I eat alone.

  Still, I watch my sister. Her face is carefully blank, and she’s staring at her iPod, clicking the pen in her hand and jotting in her notebook. Again and again I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she regret what she did? Or is it more a sense of righteous indignation? Is she annoyed by all the fuss and worry? Is she thinking about what other people think at all?

  Up at the front Ellie speaks quietly into the phone, mostly hmms and yeses and please don’t worries.

  There are still four more hours until Houston. Four more hours until we reach my plan for Something Old, and I try to hold on to that thought. Despite the tense lunch, and even though my Something New plan didn’t go like I wanted, we’re heading to a new city, and a new chance for the treasure shots.

  At least the drive is pretty. The prettiest scenery we’ve been through so far. There are tall swampy trees on either side of us, so green they’re almost glowing, sticking out of a muddy ravine. The perfect chance for about a thousand more pictures. Soon we’re driving across an overpass as tall as some of the trees, concrete keeping us out of the swamp and marsh beneath. The sky is gray-blue.

  A flock of egrets billows from underneath and flies deeper into the swamp. I take a dozen photos, but it’s hard to get a great one when both you and the subject are moving so fast.

  * * *

  A couple hours later we pass over a bridge with a sign that says TEXAS STATE BORDER. It’s got a picture of the Texas flag on it. I instinctively close my eyes and hold my breath as we pass the sign, making my same wish.

  Ruth is listening to John Williams again.

  Maybe the dinosaur skeletons at the Houston Museum of Natural Science will lift her up, like the jazz concert did. On our original drive across the country, our Something Old day was at a museum in Fort Worth. We looked at fossils and dug up very old dinosaur bones. I took that picture of Ruth making a face like the giant T. rex. We listened to “Quest for Fire” by Iron Maiden and laughed at that picture for a long time.

  “Whatever old things we don’t like,” Ruth had said that day, after we’d listened to all her songs, “they can just stay behind. Even things about ourselves.”

  I didn’t know exactly what she meant then, and I’m still not exactly sure, but I have figured out where they have dinosaur bones in Houston. I’ve even asked Ellie about maybe going to the museum, and she said it sounds fun. Getting Ruth to do the same face is probably pushing it, but I could at least get a great shot of her looking up at a big old T. rex head or something like that.

  My phone buzzes and Mom’s picture pops up on the screen. I answer.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, sweetie.” I like the way she says sweetie, like she’s giving me a blanket a
nd Malt-O-Meal when I’m home sick. Not condescending. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I know it’s hard on you.”

  This is why it’s so great talking to my mom. She always ends up saying exactly the right thing, and this time it’s such a relief, all the words and feelings inside me crest like a wave and threaten to overflow. I want to tell her that it is hard. I want to tell her how stuck I feel sometimes, stuck in helplessness and not knowing what to do. But just this acknowledgment from Mom makes it easier for me to go back to being the person who lightens things. Tries to bring a little sun when things are murky. That’s when I feel most like myself.

  “It’s really fine. I’m okay,” I say.

  “She’s going to have some major compensating to do when she gets home.”

  I’m not sure what the sunshine response is to this. After a pause, Mom sighs. “Is she okay?”

  I glance at Ruth. She’s lying on her bed with her face to the wall. “I think so. Sort of.”

  Mom knows what I mean, and sighs again. “We’ll be there soon,” she says, partly to reassure herself, I think.

  “Totally,” I say. “And Ellie and Eddie are here. Really, Mom, we’re doing great.”

  I hear her turn on the tap. I imagine her in the kitchen, filling a pot to cook ravioli or broccoli or something. “You know,” she says. “It’s so much harder seeing you guys go through something difficult than going through it myself.”

  My throat catches. Mom’s words feel like spotting my reflection in a mirror, or like she’s defined something I hadn’t quite known the words for until now. Even my bones feel like they’re responding to how true this feels. How waiting and watching, being able to offer no tangible comfort, feels like being on a stationary bike trying to catch up to someone far ahead who’s calling out for help. How I’d jump at the task of climbing Everest if only it meant bringing my family, bringing Ruth, some peace.

  It’s a relief to put such concrete words to my frustration. And, especially, to know someone else feels the exact same way.

  I pull out my smiling voice. “That’s why you’re such an awesome mom.”

  “The force is strong with this one,” she says.

  “Guess what?” I say. “I was googling, and there’s this museum, the Houston Museum of Natural Science, and supposedly it’s got these awesome dinosaur skeletons. I asked Ellie if we can stop there.”

  After I hang up with Mom, I go back to my window. It’s much greener than I expected for Texas, especially in the summer. There are tall trees everywhere, good for climbing. We pass several stucco apartment buildings. The sky is gray and threatening rain, and I hear the rumbling of thunder every once in a while.

  There’s a snort from below and I turn around. Ruth laughs, looking at her phone.

  “I thought you’d get a kick out of that,” Ellie says. She’s turned around in her seat, looking back at Ruth.

  “His mouth is so huge,” Ruth says.

  “What?” I say, peering over.

  “It’s a Steven Tyler meme,” Ellie says.

  Part of me wants to ask more, to put myself in on the joke, but I decide it’s best to leave things as they are. Not only did Ellie manage to fairly seamlessly get Ruth on the phone with Mom about the tattoo, but she’s gotten a laugh out of her afterward too.

  I’m relieved.

  And I wonder what Ellie has that I’m missing.

  Then my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Ellie.

  Ellie: How’s your arm?

  Me: Much better, scrapes are going down.

  Ellie: Any secret tattoos I need to know about?

  I snort.

  Me: Well I was thinking about getting something on my forehead …

  Ellie: Ha. Ha. Not.

  Ellie: In all seriousness, I know that must have been really tough and confusing for you. I’m glad you got to talk to your mom, and if you need someone in person to talk to, I’m just a spit take away.

  I look at my phone for a minute, not sure how to respond. I want her to know how relieved I am, that I want to curl up in my loft and let her and Eddie take care of everything. I also want to say something that will make her laugh, or at least make her worry a little lighter.

  Finally I settle on something simple.

  Me: Thanks. I’m okay.

  Ellie: Okay. If you’re ever not, I’m here.

  * * *

  We drive through downtown Houston fairly quickly. We start passing from tall business buildings to neighborhoods, and soon we pull the RV into the driveway of a small brown-brick home with a lawn so freshly mowed there are grass clippings lining the walkway.

  A tall woman, her blonde hair up in a messy bun, runs out to meet us, and Ellie is the first one out of the RV. Darcy’s got a tan that wasn’t there last time I saw her.

  I’m still in the RV and can’t hear what they’re saying, but Ellie pulls Darcy into a tight hug that lasts for a long time. I follow Ruth out of the RV. Finally, Ellie releases her daughter. Eddie puts his arm around her, and they all turn toward me and Ruth.

  “Hey, guys,” says Darcy. “It’s been a while.” She slides through her parents’ arms and gives us hugs, first Ruth, then me. I’ve always thought her voice was deeper and older than her looks suggest. She looks Ruth up and down and grins, revealing two slightly crooked incisors. “Cool hair,” she says. “I could never pull that off.” She sounds genuine, genuine enough that Ruth’s mouth twitches up into a smile.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  Ruth just ignored me last time I tried to compliment her hair. Two minutes with Darcy and she’s already got a rare Ruth smile. I should be used to that bubbling of unfairness deep in my rib cage, but it still fizzes like tides against a cliffside every time. Of course, I don’t say anything, though. I’m not going to make things worse.

  “I had no idea this place was so nice,” Ellie says. “And it’s that cheap?”

  Darcy nods. “Chelsea and I have our own laundry room and everything. And the basement has plenty of windows, so we get light. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  “You sure the Garcias don’t mind the RV?” asks Ellie.

  “No, no, not at all. They’re super nice. And we have our own back entrance, so we won’t be in their way at all.”

  The group migrates toward the side of the house.

  “So what are college classes like?” Ruth asks, sounding like she’s actually interested. “What are you studying again?” Like those moments with the meme, the tattoo, the plum, I’ve seen Ellie have some kind of magic that helps Ruth breathe just a tiny bit easier, and it’s clear Darcy has some of that magic too.

  Please, oh please, I think, let it work wonders.

  And let just some of it rub off on me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At the restaurant we go to for dinner, Ruth orders seafood like she usually does, although she barely picks at the shrimp salad and crab cakes. I offer her some of my barbecue ribs, but she says no and goes back to nibbling. I wonder if Ellie or Eddie notices in the midst of excited conversation with their daughter.

  The happy news is Darcy keeps us all laughing. The three of them are good at telling family stories, the memories from their past, in a way that includes those of us who weren’t there. Ellie tells us about a time when they all went to an art exhibit and spent over an hour looking for Darcy before they finally found her asleep under a bench in the Matisse room.

  “We had called security and everything,” she says.

  “What can I say?” says Darcy, shrugging. “I was tired. Also six.”

  We’re all laughing when the waiter comes to refill our drinks. Even Ruth manages a short snicker, and I’m glad. Maybe she’s just been tired, or fighting off a summer cold or something like that. I’m still not exactly sure where the signs are pointing—normal blahs, virus, bad day, or something else. I’m still watching the signs.

  And tonight, at this restaurant, I’m hopeful. It
’s sometimes a struggle for Sick Ruth to muster energy or interest in what’s going on, even when it’s something Healthy Ruth normally likes, so I’m taking her investment in the meal and the conversation as some good signs, and I relax a little.

  I decide I like this restaurant a lot. The dark wood tables are classic, but the neon signs and posters crowding the walls and the chattering from all the tables around us add a casual, easy air. The sweet potato that comes with my ribs is overflowing with butter and cinnamon and marshmallow. The talking subsides, the sign of a good meal. It sort of fills you up all the way to your fingertips, and then you get into a rhythm.

  Darcy is the first to break the silence. “So remind me what you guys are doing while you’re here?”

  “Oh yeah,” Ellie says. “What was that museum you were asking about, Olivia?”

  “Ooh!” Darcy interjects. “We should go to the aquarium! It’s an absolutely awesome one.”

  “Aquarium?” Ruth says, picking apart a roll. “That sounds cool.”

  Ellie’s looking at me and my brain starts clicking fast. If Ruth seems interested in something, that’s important. Yes, the museum has dinosaur bones, like last time, but it doesn’t have to be exactly the same, does it? All it needs is Ruth and Something Old. I could figure out something else, couldn’t I? If Ruth wants to go to the aquarium?

  “Yeah,” I say. “The aquarium sounds great.”

  There’s another thought in my head, telling me Something New already didn’t go how I wanted, and now this, and don’t I always end up compromising on what I really want? And then another thought. An even less happy thought. A question, wondering if Ruth would have thought the aquarium sounded cool if I’d been the one to suggest it.

  Are these thoughts really me? What about the other thoughts, already beginning to flip through my mind, confident I can think of something great, even if it’s not dinosaurs? Both voices are playing their song loudly in my mind, like earbuds playing a different song in each ear.

  Darcy says something to Ruth, and Ruth laughs. Regardless of the confusing jumble in my head, there’s a relief that comes anytime Ruth is happy. I home in on that and try my best to make my mental earbuds play that song the loudest.