Breathing

by Cheryl Renee Herbsman

  After a couple more minutes pass, I can’t stand it one more second. “DC,” I whisper real loud, pointing to where a watch would be on my arm if I wore one.

  He puts his hand over the phone. “DC?” he asks.

  I ignore him and point to my arm again. He holds up his finger, promising me he’s almost done. I’m pacing the room, ready to pull my hair out, when he finally says, “Okay, I’ll see ya tomorra, bye now.”

  Finally.

  “Job’s all set,” he says, like he’s trying to remind me that it’s ’cause of him Jackson’s here.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate it. Now can we go?” And I head out the door. We all mash into his truck, Mama in the middle between me and DC. Dog rides in the back. I reckon they’re dropping him off at Dave’s. DC drives with one hand on Mama’s knee and she’s got her arm all tucked under his. Something about seeing her be physical with him gives me the heebie-jeebies.

  “Have fun!” DC calls as I hop out of the truck in front of Eddie’s.

  “Y’all be good!” Mama adds.

  Dog puts his hand up to his forehead and groans, “Oh, Jackson, Jackson!” and cracks himself up.

  I don’t say a word. I just run on into Eddie’s hoping to get our regular table. I step inside to see if it’s free, and Lord have mercy, Jackson’s sitting there right in his old usual spot, waiting on me. He looks up and smiles that smile I couldn’t seem to capture in my drawings, sparkling eyes and all. And Lord, but I just melt clear to pieces.

  23

  I can’t hardly move I’m so keyed up. It’s been weeks since we’ve been together. It feels like life has turned to slow motion—like in one of them romantic pictures you see on Lifetime TV or what have you, when the couple is running across some field into each other’s arms—except of course we’re not running through the diner. He’s just standing up by his chair and smiling, kind of like frozen right there. And I’m the same over by the door. Finally I notice folks staring and I make my way over to the table. I reach his side and he leans down to kiss me—powerful, warm, and sweet, like he’s trying to tell me how sorry he is with his kiss.

  “I don’t know what I was thinkin’,” he says. And I know it’s his way of apologizing.

  We sit down and our faces are glowing—I can feel mine is just as bright as his looks.

  Lois comes over and pulls an ink pen out of her big, peroxided hair. “Okay, lovebirds, y’all know what you want?”

  I’m sort of embarrassed, but not really. I like hearing her call us that. Course I haven’t even glanced at the menu yet. I shrug a little and Jackson says, “I believe we gonn’ need a few.”

  Lois raises up her drawn-on eyebrows, smacks her gum, and goes to clear off another table.

  Finally I find my voice. “I missed you real bad, Jackson.” And I love the tickle of his name on my tongue when he’s sitting there across from me.

  “Don’t you think for one minute I didn’t miss you just as bad,” he says, his voice sounding all husky.

  Lordy, I’m blushing. I want to just go on and bawl and nag him about why he won’t move back out here. But I force myself to hold my tongue. Instead, I say, “I sure am glad you’re here now.”

  “Me, too,” he says. “Now let’s get sump’n to eat.”

  I look at the menu, but I seem to have lost my appetite.

  When Lois returns, I’m still at a loss. Jackson orders a cheese-burger, fries, and a Coke.

  “I’ll have the same,” I say, unable to think. She walks off and we go right on staring. “How was your drive?” I ask, feeling awkward.

  “Slow,” he grins. “I wished I could fly.”

  Ain’t he just the sweetest?

  “Everything okay at home?” I ask, wondering if his mama gave him a hard time about this trip.

  He looks all serious suddenly, and for a minute I’m afraid he’s going to tell me more terrible news.

  “I want you to understand sump’n.” He pauses, squirming, looking all uncomfortable. “What I’m doin’ up there, stickin’ by my mama when she needs me, I’m doin’ it in part for you.”

  I feel real bad that here he is opening up and I ain’t got a clue as to what he’s talking about.

  “You understand?” he asks.

  I shake my head no.

  He shifts in his chair. “If I was to run out on her when she needs my help, what would that say to you about the kinda man I am? If I was to up and take off, who’s to say I wouldn’t do the same to you someday? I want you to know you can count on me, Savannah, that I ain’t the leavin’ type.”

  I can’t hardly believe my ears. Imagine him, the strong, silent sort going to the trouble of saying all that! Shew! I don’t know how to respond. I mean, I’m all choked up with feelings, nary a word coming out. I grab me a big bite of air and just launch into it. “That was the sweetest, most wonderful thing anybody has ever said to me in my whole entire life.” And good googly moogly, but tears trickle right out of my eyes! I wipe them away real quick. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. I kinda thought of it more like you were choosing her over me.” And feeling ashamed, I look down in my lap, relieved that I didn’t nag him earlier on.

  He reaches over and tips my face up so we’re looking each other square in the eye. “I couldn’t never do that,” he says. “And taking Mary Elizabeth out that night, I swear I wasn’t two-timin’ you. I was thinking about you every minute, about how nobody compares to you.” His face is all serious, and his lower lip is near quivering.

  Then Lois bustles over with our food and asks us all sorts of dumb questions about condoms, I mean condiments! Lord a’mighty!

  Jackson starts to eating, but I can’t quit staring at him. I drink my Coke, but I just ain’t hungry. He gets embarrassed, being watched like that, and starts laughing. He pours some ketchup on my plate, salts it up, and feeds me a few fries dipped in it, just the way I like them. And I tell you, I don’t give a rat’s derrière who’s watching.

  Jackson pays for dinner and suggests heading out to the beach, and I can’t think of any place I’d ruther be.

  “Y’all come back now, y’hear,” Lois calls as we head outside.

  Jackson holds the door for me, then opens his truck for me, too—a real gentleman. We hop on in and ride out to the beach. He parks in the nearly empty lot, and we sit for a spell, staring out at the sky as it changes colors. I’m tucked up under his arm, leaning my head against him and wishing we could stay like this forever.

  “You painted any pictures since you been home?” I ask him.

  “One.”

  “Good for you. Did you bring it to show me?”

  He turns to me with a peculiar look on his face. “I brung it for you to keep,” he says.

  “Are you for real?” I practically scream.

  We go out to the back of the truck, and he pulls out a picture of the beach, an abandoned surfboard laying in the sand.

  “I thought it might remind you of that day, y’know?” he says.

  I hug him as tight as I can. “I love it,” I squeak out when I find my voice. “It’s amazing.” The ocean looks like it’s coming right at you, the sand like it’d be soft to the touch. And off the scene, I can just imagine us playing and kissing and all. I’m overtaken by the beauty of what hides inside of him.

  A couple of folks walking by take a look over our shoulders and mumble about how good his picture is.

  “We ought to bring it by and show it to that guy at the junior college,” I say.

  He shrugs and sets the painting back in the truck under a blanket. Then he takes my hand and we head down towards the ocean. Jackson stands behind me and puts his arms around me, warming me, melting away the gooseflesh that has crept up onto my arms. His body behind me feels like a big ol’ blanket or some kind of safety net, one.

  Staring out to the sea, I say, “You gonn’ be a real painter someday, you know, like the kind what shows his work in a gallery and sells his pieces.”

  “I’on�
��t know ’bout that,” he says.

  “It’s what you want, though,” I say, “ain’t it?”

  He’s awful quiet. I turn to face him and ask him with my eyes.

  “Life just ain’t that simple, Savannah. Regular old folks like us don’t just get to choose like ’at.”

  I ain’t even angry at him for saying such nonsense, ’cause it’s clear as day that it’s just sadder’n hell that he feels that way, like he got old too quick. I tell him, “I’ma hold that dream for you. You mark my word. I ain’t never gonn’ let it slip away.”

  “Then I’ll hold yours,” he says. “College, right?”

  I nod, smiling, and tick it off for him. “Gettin’ the hell out of this hole, getting a job I can count on, traveling the world.”

  “Maybe we can travel together,” he says.

  He squeezes me real tight, then takes my face in his warm, rough hands, and kisses me like nobody’s business. Before I know it, we’re down in the sand and I can’t think of nothing but getting closer to him, wanting to bring our two selves into one, like there’s just a fire inside of me that’s going to rage until we do. And I can feel how much he wants it, too.

  But then he pulls away, breathing real hard. He sits up and puts his head in his hands, pulling on his hair.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  “Nut’n,” he says. “We just got to slow it down is all.” Then he smiles at me real big and takes my hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

  We walk along the beach, and I tell him all the details about Mama and DC and how they got together, how strange it was that the sign I felt sure was for him might just have been meant for her, except of course now he’s here to paint for DC, so maybe it was for him after all, too. I tell him all about Stef and Jimmy and that crazy Hal. When I’d told him all this on the phone, it felt more like reporting on my day-to-day activities, but now, it’s different, like we’re connected, and somehow that helps me understand my own feelings better.

  I ain’t never been a big churchgoer. And I don’t mean to be blasphemous or nothing, but right now in this moment, I find myself feeling like a devout member of the church of Love. I reckon Mama would say I’m just a hopeless romantic. Maybe them folks from Jane Eyre’s Victorian era would think I’m immoral. But I swear, there ain’t nothing else in the world this pure.

  24

  I didn’t hardly sleep a wink last night, floating on a cherry cloud. I should probably wait awhile, give Jackson some time to get into his groove with the painting and all. But I don’t think I can hold up even one more second. I know he’s supposed to be at the building site at seven thirty. I believe I’ll pack him up some biscuits and jam and a Thermos of coffee, just in case he didn’t get a chance to eat at his cousins’ beforehand. Lounging in bed just a moment longer, I stare at the painting he brought me, which is leaning up against the wall. His talent just leaps off the canvas.

  I try to be real quiet in the kitchen. But sometimes things just bang when you don’t intend for them to.

  “Savannah, what in the world are you doing up so early? It ain’t but seven o’clock,” Mama whines, dragging herself out to the kitchen and helping herself to the pot of coffee I just brewed.

  “I couldn’t sleep no more. I figured on bringing Jackson a little something in case his kin weren’t up yet to fix nothing for him.”

  “Lord, child. I reckon he can find breakfast all on his own.” Mama shakes her head. Then she says, “If you’re taking some up there, though, you may as well bring enough for Denny and the others, too.”

  And before I know it, she’s packing up a great big basket of a feast, with cut melon and sausage and bacon and even fried eggs!

  I start laughing. “Mama, there ain’t no way this mess is gonn’ be good by the time I done drug it up there.”

  Her face like to fall in on itself for a minute, then she smiles real big. “Okay,” she says, “hop in the car. Give me a minute to fix my face and I’ll run you up there.”

  I pack all that food up into the car and sit down to wait for her. I’ve got to admit she sure is changing for the better with DC in the picture. He may irritate me something awful at times, but he does seem to have a calming effect on Mama. Plus, now that he’s gone and brought Jackson to me, he’s pretty much bought my approval.

  When we arrive, Jackson is already hard at work, painting like it’s the most important job there is, all focused and serious. Dag, but he makes me proud. Them other guys ain’t even started yet, just hanging about laughing and being silly. I can see he’s made an impression on DC. Soon as we walk up, DC points to Jackson and raises his eyebrows up at Mama as if to say, I knew we could count on him.

  I reckon Mama was right. DC sure does have his good points.

  When Jackson sees me, his eyes light right on up, but then he looks sort of awkward, like he ain’t exactly sure what to do. He looks over to DC for authorization or what-have-you. He is his boss after all.

  “You eat yet?” DC asks him as Mama and I unload the picnic basket. “Smells mighty good.”

  Jackson shakes his head no.

  “Come on over here and grab some of this grub yer lady brung us, ’fore the boys clean it out!” he yells.

  I hate to see that beautiful picnic getting tore up like that by all them hands. Ain’t exactly how I pictured the whole thing.

  Jackson snags a biscuit and scoops some fried egg onto it. Then he walks over to me and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “You do all this?” he asks. I smile. And I swear on the Holy Bible, but there is a wave of heat between us like to set a forest on fire. “Thanks. It’s good.” He finishes it off in two bites. “I reckon I best get back to work.”

  And I understand. I may not like it. But I get it.

  “Come on, V,” Mama says. “We can check back with the boys later on.”

  “I think I’ll stay and watch awhile, if it’s okay,” I say. “I promise not to get in the way,” I add, looking first at Jackson, who nods, then at DC, who shrugs.

  After Mama goes, I find me a shady spot and literally watch Jackson paint, the way his arm moves up and down, the way he’s careful around the edges, the way he wipes the sweat from his brow onto his shirtsleeve. I’d like to stay and watch him all day. But the smell of that paint is rightly teasing my lungs, triggering my dang asthma. Even with the daily meds, something this strong messes with me.

  I take a few pulls on my inhaler and walk a ways from the building to get me some fresh air. And law, but one of my special feelings comes slamming over me like a big old tidal wave smashing me down to the ocean floor. The feeling is so big and so exciting, I can’t hardly contain it, and I feel like I might pass right on out.

  I reckon DC must have seen me swooning. He comes running over and holds me up. “Savannah! Y’okay? You need a go to the hospital?”

  His stinky old smell of sweat and cigars brings me back down to earth. “Naw. I’m okay. Just had a little episode. It ain’t nothing.”

  He sets me down in the shade and carries on about the fumes being bad for my breathing and maybe he ought to tote me on home. I just wave him off, not caring about nothing, ’cause the feeling I had, the big old walloping feeling that came over me, was the sense of me and Jackson being together again, that this just feels right. I reckon it could mean he’ll be visiting real soon, maybe even regularly, who knows.

  I go up behind him and whisper, “You’re awful cute when you’re paintin’.”

  He tries to hold back his grin. “Shut up, girl. You best go on home.”

  I can’t help myself, though. “You tired of me already?” I ask, as I accidentally on purpose lean up against him for a moment.

  He drops his paintbrush right in the dirt. “Savannah!” he whispers, looking embarrassed.

  Ol’ DC looks our way and yells, “V! You best get out his way if ’n you want that boy to be done ’fore dark.”

  I smile real big at him, but inside I’m rolling my eyes something serious. “I guess I’ll go on and
get going then,” I say to Jackson. But I wait to see if he protests.

  “I’ll come get you soon as I clean up,” he promises, which sends a thrill right on up my chest.

  I make as if I’m leaving, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I find a spot behind some trees and watch him lose himself in the steady motion of color. Them other guys are using spray guns and rollers, but DC trusted all the detail work to Jackson, seeing as he’s a real painter and all.

  After a while, Jackson goes over to a bucket of turpentine to clean his brushes, and without any effort to find me, he looks directly at me and winks! I reckon he knew I was here all along. That wink only makes the heat inside me flare up even worse. I best head down to the beach for a swim before I’m accused of arson. I use DC’s phone to call Mama, and she agrees to come give me a ride.

  The day drags. Ain’t nothing fun when I know Jackson is so durn close by and still so dang far. It’s like my body knows he’s near and it just won’t settle down. I try the beach, the hammock, the TV, music. I even go to work at the library for a few hours, even though I’m not scheduled for today.

  Back at home, I start cleaning up our room, but Dog’s shoes are so stinky I can’t hardly stand it.

  Have you ever noticed how much you can tell about a person by their shoes? Seriously now, it’s quite informative. Mama, she wears low heels—pretty, but practical. Both of the pairs she owns used to be colorful, but now they’re all faded and worn.

  Me, I wear flip-flops. I get a new pair from the Family Dollar Store at the beginning of every summer, and come fall they are clean wore through. This year they’re blue with green polka dots. I reckon flip-flops say I go on and let everything out, which I believe is true about me—honest and forthcoming.

  Jackson mostly goes barefoot when we head down to the beach, a sure sign that he’s a trustworthy soul—nothing to hide. But when we go out, he wears his work boots all tied up tight, which explains why he has a hard time sharing his feelings.

  Then there’s Dog, whose feet are so offensive, seems like any pair of shoes he puts on just curls up and dies. He’s got about fifty-eleven pair of tennis shoes, most of them outgrown—all just as smelly and worn as a cowboy’s old boot. You know what them cowboys are always stepping in. Yep, and Dog is sure full of it.