Breathing

by Cheryl Renee Herbsman

  “Why not?” she blurts.

  I shrug. I just ain’t in the mood this year.

  Stef sighs, gives me a hug, and traipses off. “Call me!”

  I hate to say it, but that girl was riding on my nerves.

  Mama and I are spending our evening in front of the TV. I’m hoping Jackson will call. She’s drowning her depression in a quart of rocky road. She always gets like this when she loses her job. I damn near begged her to explain about my asthma. But she wasn’t hearing it. She sure can be stubborn. Now I can’t tell whether it’s the unemployment she’s upset about or back to my daddy leaving or everything together.

  She’s sitting over there on the couch in a hideous flowery house-coat, fluffy pink slippers on her feet like it’s the dead of winter, flipping through her magazine, sighing.

  She talks about how my daddy left her high and dry and tries to act all chummy with me, like we’re in the same boat. But I tell you, this boat here is a yacht compared to her dinghy. We ain’t the same at all. Jackson loves me, and he is coming back. Sometimes I wish Dog was home more in the evenings instead of being out with his friends. At least when he’s here we just focus on the TV without all the chitchat.

  “Stef ’s mom called today. Said Stef and Joie are planning to go to the county fair tomorra,” Mama says. And I know she must know that I declined their invitation, so I don’t say nothing. “Sure sounds like fun.”

  I try to act like I’m focusing real hard on the TV, though I haven’t a clue what this show is about. It’s one of them summer pilots of a new series, but I haven’t paid a lick of attention all night.

  “All them rides, corn dogs, cotton candy . . . Savannah!” She sits up. “I’m talking to you.”

  “I ain’t interested in the fair,” I say to settle her down, but I keep my eyes on the screen.

  “Since when?” she shoots back at me.

  It’s true. Generally speaking, I’m a pure T sucker for the fair. But this year I just don’t feel like it. I shrug. “Prob’ly won’t be good for my asthma. All them critters and whatnot.”

  “That one’s gonn’ come back to bite you on your butt,” she warns.

  “You best hope Jackson don’t invite you out to a farm or a rodeo, ’cause you sure ain’t going.”

  We sit quiet for a minute, her staring at me, me staring at the TV. “Come on, Vannah,” she says. “It’ll do you good.”

  “Why don’t you go?” I snap. “Maybe it’ll do you good!”

  “Now that’s enough,” she says.

  “How long you been sitting on this couch?”

  I can see I done crossed a line by the pulsing of the vein in her temple. She’s going to blow. We square off. I try to look tough and contrite at the same time, which is near about impossible. I reckon I hit a raw nerve.

  “Don’t you disrespect me,” she says, looking like I might have chosen the wrong moment to do so. “Maybe you’d like to be on punishment, Miss Sassy. I suggest you go to your room and you can forget about going to the fair or anywhere else or talking to Jackson for the next two days. How’s that?”

  Her voice sounds sort of shrill. If there’s one thing I know, it’s when to cut bait. I head to my room, not caring about any of it, except not talking to Jackson. But lately our phone conversations seem awful dry anyhow. Maybe it’ll be good for us to miss each other for a little while.

  I take out my journal and doodle images of Jackson. It’s his eyes I fix on, the eyes that draw me in. Can’t hardly find the way to show that special look in them, that look I first saw out at the beach when he smiled at me.

  Dog comes busting into the room, just back from his evening out. “Mama’s taking me and Dave to the fair. Too bad for you. I hear you’re on punishment.”

  Jackass. I stick my tongue out at him. Very mature, I know, but it seems to suit the moment.

  “Mama!” he cries like a two-year-old, “Vannah stuck her tongue out at me.” Then he smiles, all evil.

  “Good Lord!” Mama calls.

  I put on my headphones, crank up my music, and pull out my current romance, Bedazzled by the Butler. For now, that’s the only escape I got.

  14

  Walking down the beach, I watch the waves roll in and back out, just like they did the day me and Jackson had our surfing lesson. But today, the waves seem too loud, the warm sand under my feet too hot.

  Mama, Dog, and Dave ran into Stef and Joie at the fair yesterday. I reckon I’m an idiot for turning them down in the first place. All this sadness over missing Jackson just makes me grumpy. Don’t nothing seem to catch my interest lately. Mama was so sick of me hanging around the house all gloomy, she said I can go do whatever I please. But I’m still restricted from phone calls until tomorrow. I’m strolling down the beach, searching for some peace.

  Usually when I walk out here all by my lonesome, I prefer to head down where the sand turns white and the beach is lined with all them fancy vacation homes. But today I’m going the other direction, where the sand looks like dirt and the beach property like a shantytown. Don’t ask me why—suits my mood, I reckon.

  There’s a whole mess of broken glass strewn about. I’ve got to watch my every step. Mama might just shit a brick if she’s got to take me back out to the hospital.

  Right after they got back from the fair yesterday, she got herself a new job cashiering over at the Harris Teeter Grocery, just a twenty-minute ride down the coast. Put on her high-necked flowery blouse and a long skirt, looking the part of the good Southern mama, and made her case, promising to be reliable and all that when she knows perfectly well ain’t nothing changed. Still, it ain’t like there’s all that many folks lined up by the “help wanted” signs. I reckon it’s either her or some high-school kid. Seems to me like the fair did her good after all.

  It’s quiet out this way without all the tourists—no big ol’ ladies in their too-small bikinis, their brand-new straw hats blowing off their heads, no young’uns with a whole big laundry basket full of sand toys and beach balls, not to mention rafts and kites, Boogie Boards and floaties.

  I see Stef and Joie by the water before they see me. The two of them were friends for years before we were all in the same class in fourth grade. Sometimes when I see them together, I still get a twinge of feeling left out, wondering why they didn’t call me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since I wouldn’t even go to the fair with them.

  “What are y’all doing out this way?” I say.

  They run up and give me hugs. “I was just telling Joie how I was afraid you were gonn’ mope around all summer,” Stef says.

  “How was Florida?” I ask Joie. She looks tan and relaxed, her brown curls lightened by the sun.

  “Real fun,” she smiles, giving a broad view of her buck teeth.

  “Sorry I couldn’t call you. My mom wouldn’t let us make any phone calls from my cousins’ house.”

  “I thought y’all were getting a cell phone.”

  “We did. But my mom insisted on getting the plan with the least number of minutes and then wouldn’t let us use the dang thing! What is the point of that, I ask you?” She sets her hands on her boney hips.

  Stef is the only one of us who has a cell phone. It’s ridiculous. Especially with my asthma, I should at least have one for emergencies.

  “I’m having people over to watch a movie at my house this afternoon. Think you can come?” Stef asks.

  “I’m supposed to work,” I say, which is a sincere lie, but I just ain’t in the mood for a bunch of immature kids today. Still, I don’t want to hurt nobody’s feelings.

  Stef may be on to me, ’cause she says, “I thought you get to choose your own hours.”

  “I do, but once I choose them, I’ve got to stick by them.”

  “You want to go get a Coke with us?” Joie asks sort of timidly, like she’s expecting me to say no.

  “That’s okay. I believe I’m just gonn’ walk awhile. I’ll see y’all later on.”

  And I keep going down the beach. I
reckon I was rude, and to my two very best friends, too. But I’m just wanting to be by my lonesome today. I haven’t talked to Jackson for days and it is sure making me miserable.

  Jellyfish season seems to be upon us. I done passed three in a row—the big, fat kind that look something like a brain sitting there on the sand. They give me the willies. I never understand how kids can go up and poke at them with a stick. Makes me want to toss my cookies.

  The birds are calling something fierce; sounds like they’re having an important meeting if you ask me, everybody yelling and getting on each other’s cases.

  All this walking is sure making me tired. Least I got the cool ocean breeze to keep me going. I’ve near about had it. But I’ve got this nagging feeling inside, you know how sometimes you just want to finish something. I can see the end of the beach from here. And it doesn’t look too far, although looks can be deceiving. It’s probably another mile or so at least. But I’ve come this far, and I just can’t give up now. I’d go home feeling worse than when I started.

  I’ve lived out here my entire life and never walked all this way. I can do it, just keep my eyes focused on them big jutting-up rocks at the end.

  The sound of construction comes on pitiful loud, giving me a big ol’ headache. I’d heard there was hurricane damage out here last summer. But I didn’t realize they were rebuilding already. I feel sorry for the folks still living here, what with all that noise. I sure would like to turn back and get away from it. But them rocks are so close now—spitting distance is all.

  Sure wish I’d brought something to drink. I’m panting like a dog. As I reach the rocks, ruther than plopping down in the sand as I’d imagined I would, I decide to climb up to the top, celebrate my victory. And dang is it worth it. Sitting up here, I can look out over the sea like a bird. It’d sure be peaceful if it weren’t for that God-awful racket them construction folk are making.

  I look back there to see what all they’re building, and Lord have mercy, there’s my sign—yellow letters, wooden post, just like I saw it up on the ceiling!

  I trample down the rocks and run up to the trailer to inquire. “Howdy,” I say to some dude with a caterpillar mustache who’s sitting behind the desk. “Y’all looking for painters?”

  “You a bit young to be looking for work, ain’t you?” he says, smoothing down his comb-over. The scent of Aqua Velva is overpowering—just like at school dances.

  “It isn’t for me,” I assure him. “It’s for a friend of mine. He’s the best painter around. He paints beautiful pictures. He’s just doing houses till he gets famous.” I’ve got to calm down or he’ll think I’m carrying on like a crazy person. “Have you got an application I can take him?”

  He eyes me a minute too long, like he ain’t sure he buys it. But then he searches through a mess of papers on his desk and hands over the form. “I need somebody to start next week. Job should last a good few months. Might be sump’n else down the line if ’n things work out.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, nearly busting out of my boots from excitement.

  “Next week would work just fine. Thank you kindly.” And I race my butt down to the beach and jump around like I really am out of my mind. I start running towards home, can’t wait to call Jackson and tell him the good news. My punishment may not end till tomorrow, but Mama will have to cut me a break for something this big. Law, Jackson ain’t going to believe it! Imaginary sign indeed.

  I stop to breathe. I’ve got five or six miles ahead of me. I’m going to have to take it slow. But then I look behind me toward that yellow sign and I know it was worth it, every dang step.

  15

  By the time I get home, dusk is near upon us. To my relief, nobody’s at the house. Mama would have a fit for sure if she knew how far I walked. Now the question is do I call Jackson and hope Mama doesn’t find out, or do I wait and try to get consent? I reckon it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

  I take the phone to my room and dial Jackson’s number, which I’ve got good and memorized by now. Only his mama answers and says he’s still at work. Durn!

  “Please tell him Savannah called and that it’s very important. I’d appreciate it if he’d call me back ASAP.”

  “All right, then. But y’all are running up my phone bill. He’s gonn’ have to pay for that, y’hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply. “And how are you doing today?” I ask, remembering my manners and hoping to make a good impression.

  “I’m just fine,” she says, without any effort to further the conversation.

  “And how about Tyler and Carter?” I ask.

  “They’re all right. Nice talking to you, but I’ve got to run now,” she says.

  “Remember to tell Jackson I called, please,” I add as she rushes off.

  I set the phone down and just stare at it, waiting for it to ring. Did you ever notice that when you do that, it’s a pretty sure guarantee it ain’t going to happen? I try sending my brain waves at it, willing it to ring for what seems like forever. Then, when it suddenly does, I about fall off the bed.

  “Hello!” I pant, my heart racing.

  “Savannah Georgina Brown!” comes Mama’s voice. “You ain’t supposed to be picking up this phone when you know good and well you’re still on punishment, unless you hear my voice come on the machine.”

  Shoot! “Sorry,” I stammer, trying to come up with something quick. “Stef said she might have some kids over and you said I could go where I wanted and I thought it might be her.” That seems convincing.

  She hesitates, I expect while she turns that one over in her mind.

  “All right, I suppose you can go, I’m just calling to say I’ma be late.

  Can you fix supper for the both of y’all?”

  “Dog ain’t here,” I say. “Ain’t seen him all day.”

  “Where’s he at?” she barks.

  “I expect he’s with Dave, where he’s always at. How should I know?” I bark back.

  “All right,” she sighs. “I’ll be home ’fore long. You have a good day?”

  “It was okay,” I say, just as I hear a beep on the phone. “Is that all?” I snap, anxious to click over.

  “I was trying . . . ah, hell. I’ll see you later then,” she grumbles, and clicks off.

  I mash down the flash button. “Hello, hello!” I yell, praying he hasn’t hung up.

  “Savannah?”

  Shew! It’s him! “Jackson! You got to come down here! I found the sign! The wooden one with the yella letters, just like I said. It’s all the way out by Morehead. Can you believe I walked all that way? Anyhow, I got you an application. And the man said they need people to start next week. So I’m sure he’ll hire you. You just got to come fill out the application and then you can move back down here.” Okay, I know I rambled on there, but I am positively floating on pride. The sign is real. And I found it for him! I’m near about ready to bust!

  But there’s just pure dead silence on the other end.

  “Jackson, you there?” I say, thinking maybe we got cut off.

  “I’m here,” he says, real quiet.

  “Well, damn, boy, what’s wrong? Didn’t you hear what I said? I found the sign. This here’s what you’re meant to be doing.”

  “Vannah”—and I can tell by his voice this ain’t going to be good—“I cain’t just up and leave.”

  “Why not?” I say, as my big balloon of excitement deflates into a little old useless piece of rubber. “You got things straightened out with your brothers, and you’d be making money to help out. . . .”

  “Mama still needs me here. And I’m expected down at the body shop.”

  “But don’t you see? That sign has got to be important, don’t it? Jackson?”

  Somebody’s beeping through on the other line, but I ain’t answering it. Time seems to have stopped, as I wait for him to speak.

  “Sorry,” he says real soft. “Look, I got to go. I’ll call you tomorra.”

  “Wait,” I sa
y, trying to keep him on the line till I figure out how to convince him. “You done any painting since you been home?”

  He’s real quiet. “I hadn’t had time.”

  “You had time here. Don’t you want to get back to it?”

  “Look, I really got to go. We’ll talk soon.” And he hangs up, just like that.

  I cut off the light and climb under the covers in my clothes.

  You know how them mobsters like to tie a person to a big ol’ concrete block and drop them into the water? That’s just how my heart feels—sunk.

  Mama barges in and flicks on the light. “Good Lord, Savannah! What are you doing?”

  I look up at her with my tear-blotched face.

  “What in the world happened?” she asks.

  I just shrug.

  “You were fine when I spoke to you not half an hour ago.”

  I’d like to answer so she’ll leave me alone. But I’ve got all these desperate feelings inside of me, and I can’t figure how to explain it all. It’s like when my breathing won’t let me get air in. Only now my feelings won’t let me get them out, like they’re all stuck inside my chest.

  “Talk to me,” she demands. “Did something happen with Stef? Are you ill? Do I need to call the doctors?”

  I shake my head from its perch on the pillow.

  “Jackson?” she asks, dang mother’s intuition.

  I nod.

  “When you were supposed to not be on the phone?”

  I nod again and start in to bawling.

  “Well,” she sighs, “looks like you already been punished for that one by the looks of you. Come on, now. It ain’t the first time your heart’s been broken.”

  Oh, like that helps.

  “It wouldn’t hurt so durn bad if you weren’t such a hopeless romantic. You set your expectations too high, shug.” She sighs and pats my back. “You had any supper yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “The better looking they are, the less you can trust ’em,” she mutters, then heads off to the kitchen to do her motherly duty of feeding me, while I hide under the covers, wishing I’d never been born.