Breathing

by Cheryl Renee Herbsman

  Forget cleaning this pigsty.

  I go out to the kitchen to call Stef, thinking maybe she’d like to meet Jackson later on.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I say.

  “Nothing.” She sounds gloomy.

  “Why so glum?” I ask.

  “I miss Jimmy, and I hate him, too.”

  “Don’t cry,” I say as she starts in to whimpering. “I’m sorry he blamed you at Miss Caroline’s. And may I just say he’s an idiot for dumping you.”

  “You’re lucky Jackson ain’t like that.”

  “You want to come out with us this evening? I’m sure he won’t mind. You haven’t even met him yet.”

  “That’s okay. I’d just be a third wheel.”

  “Come on now. You’re my best friend.”

  “Y’all don’t hardly get to spend any time together. He won’t want me hanging around.”

  “I want you. You’ve just got to meet him.”

  “Some other time, Van. I’ve got big plans to lay on the couch and watch sappy movies and cry all night.”

  “That sounds real productive.”

  “I’ll talk to you later on,” she says.

  After we get off the phone, I find my current romance—Love, Lace, and Lemon Cakes—under the coffee table and snuggle up on the couch. ’Fore I know it, I’m all caught up in the story and next thing I realize, it’s time to get ready.

  By five o’clock I’m showered and dressed and waiting by the window. The clock in the kitchen is ticking louder than a rat pack in a pantry. My book was at an exciting part, so I pick it up again. Just when the big brute and the helpless young woman are fixing to, well, consummate things, I hear a truck pulling into the gravel driveway. I drop the book and jump up. But it’s only DC coming to fetch Mama for dinner.

  The clock says 6:15. Maybe DC will at least be able to tell me what’s going on. “Are y’all just finishing?” I demand soon as he steps foot in the door.

  “Hello to you, too,” he says.

  “Hey. But seriously, now, where is he at? Why’d y’all have to work so late?”

  He gives me a long, hard look, then busts out laughing. “Lordy, V, you got it bad, huh girl?” He shakes his head. “Don’t you worry your purty little head none. They’s predictin’ some weather tonight, so’s we had to get things covered up. Your boy cut out ’bout thirty minutes back. I reckon he’ll be here ’fore long.”

  And no sooner does he finish yapping than another truck pulls up—a blue one, the only one that matters. “Bye!” I call, heading for the door.

  Mama comes rushing out of her room. “Y’all behave yourselves! And be back by curfew!”

  I hear DC whispering something at her and she adds, “Oh, all right, you can stay out till eleven thirty, but no messing around, y’hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” I call. Thank you, I mouth to DC. He winks at me.

  Then I run out the door before she can change her mind.

  Jackson’s standing there all sparkly clean, his hair still wet from the shower. He licks his lips, looking nervous as all hell.

  “Hey,” I giggle. Guess I’m sort of nervous, too.

  “You look right beautiful.” He smiles, reaching for my hand.

  I glance down at his shoes real quick—yep, work boots. I’m going to have to do something about that.

  I want to kiss him real bad, but I look back and, sure enough, there’s Mama staring out at us from the window. So I grab his hand and we get up into the truck.

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I say. Food seems so inconsequential.

  “Me either. Mind going for a ride?” he asks.

  Imagine that—a boy that ain’t hungry. I scoot closer to him. He cuts on the radio. It all feels too perfect, except for he hasn’t said much, and I sure wish he would. I don’t know what to ask to get him started talking.

  “How was your day?” I finally begin, thinking that sounds like a naggy old housewife.

  “A’ight.” He shrugs.

  “How was paintin’?” I prod.

  He nods, then looks at me and smiles. “Good.”

  Lord, how do I get this boy to speak in more than one-word sentences? “I liked watching you,” I say. “You looked . . . real focused, you know? Like I could tell you was really into it and all.”

  He don’t say nothing.

  “Why so quiet?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “It’s just too good, too right.” We sit quiet awhile. “I liked the work today. I mean, it ain’t exactly the same as paintin’ pitures. But you cain’t make no money doin’ that. It’s closer to it, though, and a whole helluva lot better than that old machine shop. Left me feeling quiet is all.”

  He pulls into a parking area looking out over a deserted stretch of beach I’ve never been to before. It ain’t dark yet, plus if Mama’s easing up on curfew, maybe we can bend the other rules a bit as well. She didn’t actually say anything about them still being in effect. He grabs a blanket out of the back of the truck and we walk down to the sand.

  Not one second after we lay down, we start making out. I can’t hardly help myself and neither can he. And it feels so good to have his hot mouth on mine, to feel his tongue, so gentle and warm. . . . Not like this one guy I kissed last year—Cory Hallman—who stuck his tongue practically down my throat.

  As much as I’m loving every minute of this, I can’t help but wonder, with nobody around, no threat of somebody telling Mama, what’s to stop us from going all the way? And am I ready for that? And what about protection? Whoo, I done scared myself silly. I pull away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking worried.

  “Nothing,” I say, only that ain’t the entire truth, but then, I ain’t at all sure what is.

  “S’okay,” he says, all tender, “we can slow down.” And he pulls me real close and just stares into my eyes like he’s seeing God.

  “You ever gone all the way?” I ask him. He don’t say nothing.

  “Yeah, you have. I can tell.” I wonder if it was with Mary Elizabeth, but I don’t ask.

  “You haven’t,” he says, like it’s all right.

  I shake my head.

  He shrugs. “It don’t matter none. We won’t do nothing you ain’t ready for, okay?”

  I feel so happy inside—not just ’cause he doesn’t mind waiting, but ’cause I know in my gut I’ve got me one of the good ones.

  The air is damp and warm tonight, my breathing just as clear as day. I ain’t never felt better.

  “Okay if we kiss some more?” he asks.

  I don’t need words to answer that one.

  It starts to drizzle on us. We just laugh and snuggle up closer. But the sky has a strange greenish look to it, and then the wind picks up and the sand starts to blowing all around. We haul ourselves up and back into the truck.

  “Look like a storm coming,” Jackson says, watching the clouds.

  And then, real sudden-like, the sky seems to open right on up and big, fat drops are smacking against the windshield. It’s coming down so hard we can’t see nothing but rain. The wind is crazy loud, and I admit I’m getting scared.

  Jackson cuts on the radio and searches for a news station. The man says there’s a tornado hitting the northeast side of Morehead, which, of course, is just exactly where we’re at. Scared as I am, I can’t help being grateful that the tornado I was named after wasn’t heading in this direction fifteen years ago. What kind of life would I have had with a name like Morehead?

  There ain’t no way to drive in this mess. So we just cuddle up close to each other and wrap ourselves in the damp blanket.

  Lightning crackles across the sky—just two seconds till the thunder hits—meaning it ain’t but two miles off! Hail starts smacking the windows and bouncing up. It’s getting awful creepy.

  And then, Lord have mercy! In the next bolt of lightning, Jackson points just a hair northward and we can actually see the twister! And the wind is blowing something fierce. The man on the radio is warn
ing everybody to take cover, to get out of mobile homes and cars. But where else are we going to go?

  Jackson takes my hand. “Savannah, you trust me?” I nod. “We gonn’ have to get out the truck.”

  “Are you crazy?” I ask, looking out at the wildness of the storm.

  “It ain’t safe here. That twister could head our way any second.

  It’ll pick this truck up like it’s a Tonka.”

  “It’ll pick us up just as easy!” I shout over the din of the wind.

  “Not if we stay low. Come on.”

  And then we see in the flash of lightning, that cyclone is heading towards us.

  Jackson grabs my hand and pulls me out into the maelstrom. We run against the lashing rain till we find a ditch, then lay down in it. He covers my body with his own.

  “I’m scared,” I call out, my body shivering despite his heat.

  “Shh,” he says. “It’ll pass. We’ll be fine.” And then he starts talking, yelling over the noise, I imagine to calm me down. “My daddy used to call twisters the devil’s tail. We’d wait ’em out in the cellar when they’d come through, and he’d tell us stories about storms he’d seen when he was comin’ up.”

  “I was named after a tornada that was heading for Savannah, Georgia!” I shout, laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation.

  Lightning cracks open the sky, with thunder right on its heels. I grab on to Jackson real tight. Just then, we hear a crash, but the devil’s tail swirls on out to the ocean, taking the wind and driving rain along with it.

  We wait awhile, laying side by side in the ditch. I’m real glad for his warmth and calm beside me.

  He wipes the wet hair out of my face and smiles. “Named after a tornada, huh? Life with you sure ain’t dull.”

  We laugh and look into each other’s eyes.

  “Savannah,” he says, sounding all serious.

  I touch his lips with my fingers, almost wanting to shush him, afraid of what might come out.

  “I love you,” he says with this look in his eye like he almost can’t bear it.

  “Hallelujah!” I cry, making him laugh again. “I love you, too.” And he kisses me real good.

  As the rain lightens to a drizzle and the wind chases the twister out to sea, we head back to the truck. It’s just where we left it; the cyclone didn’t get it. But the windows are all smashed. We climb in, soaking wet, and clear the glass off the seat with the blanket.

  Suddenly I realize I am starved. I wish we could go out to dinner like we had planned on. But I know we got no choice but to head home—what with the truck a mess and us soaking wet and all.

  Mama’s going to be fit to be tied.

  25

  Mama and DC are already home when we get there. Apparently, they gave up on eating out, concerned about where we were all at during the storm. Mama nearly flips when she sees us, wet and bedraggled.

  “Come in the house this minute!” she yells. “Good Lord, Savannah, y’all could have been killed.”

  “We’re okay,” I tell her. “Jackson knew what to do.”

  She glares at him and scolds, “Y’all should have come straight home once you heard about the storm.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but by the time we heard about it, we needed to head for cover.”

  “Don’t fret now, Porsha,” DC says. “They did a’ight.”

  “Get dried up and I’ll fix us some supper. Gina should be here any minute with Dog. I’m guessing you didn’t eat yet.”

  “No, ma’am,” Jackson replies.

  DC brings Jackson a clean sweatshirt and pair of jeans he had in his truck. They don’t fit too well, but at least they’re dry.

  Then Dog tramples into the house. Gina honks out front and Mama and DC run out there to check in with her.

  “Did y’all see that twister?” Dog asks, his eyes glowing with excitement. “That was the coolest thing ever. We heard it picked up two cows over at the Larsons’ farm and set ’em back down by the Kellys’. Damn, Savannah, you look like hell. What happened to you?”

  “Me and Jackson got caught in the storm.”

  “Where were you at?”

  “The beach up by Morehead,” I say.

  His expression changes and his tone turns obnoxious. “Up at the beach at night, huh?”

  “Hush,” I warn.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Mama,” he says, just as she and DC walk back in.

  “Won’t tell Mama what?” she asks, sounding concerned.

  “Nothing,” I say, giving Dog the stink eye. Seeing this as a good moment to exit, I go get cleaned up. Then we all eat Mama’s fried chicken and corn on the cob. After dinner, we all five of us watch a movie together. I even get to snuggle up with Jackson on the couch without Mama saying a word against it.

  When the movie ends, Mama and I wash up the dinner dishes. Jackson wanders over and puts his chin in his hand on the counter, just staring at me.

  “Quit!” I tell him. He’s embarrassing me.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Find something else to look at,” I say, even though I am, of course, loving every minute.

  He starts flipping through a People magazine that’s laying on the counter. After a few more minutes, he goes, “What’s this?” holding up a letter addressed to me from school.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Probably just my schedule for the fall.” But this little bitty piece of me is wondering—what if it might could be about that program in the mountains?

  “Did I forget to show you that?” Mama asks. “I believe it arrived a week or two ago. I’m sorry. I thought I told you about it.”

  Jackson gets a mischievous smile on his face and opens the letter. “Let’s see what courses Savannah’s gonn’ be taking this year.” He opens the envelope and I race over to grab it away, scared that if it is my schedule, looking at it’ll make it happen—just like with ol’ Miss Caroline’s whiskers. He runs through the living room and I chase after him, tackling him to the floor in front of the TV. We’re laughing. Mama and DC are smiling, watching us.

  “Move!” Dog shouts. “I can’t see.”

  Jackson slides to the side and looks at the letter. “This ain’t no schedule,” he says.

  A strange feeling of dread rolls right over me. I grab the letter from him.

  Dear Savannah Brown,

  You have been selected for the honor of spending the upcoming semester in the Program for Promising High School Students at the University of North Carolina at the Asheville campus in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. This program is designed for the best and the brightest and will be attended by students from throughout the Carolinas. Attendance in this program will strongly increase your chances for an academic scholarship to any one of the UNC campuses for college.

  Please sign and return the enclosed acceptance form from the dean of the university no later than August 10th. Plan to depart for Asheville on the 30th. The program fee is $2,000 for the semester.

  Congratulations! We are very proud of you and know you will represent our school with dignity.

  Sincerely,

  Principal Mary McTierney

  There’s a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I got it—the invitation to that program up in the mountains!

  Jackson finishes reading over my shoulder. “Hell, girl! You didn’t tell me you were that smart. But you best go on and send it in. It’s nearly due.”

  “Send what in?” Mama asks.

  While I sit there dumb, Jackson takes the letter out of my hand and brings it over to Mama. I’m nervous about her seeing the amount at the end.

  She reads it through and covers her mouth with her hand. “Well, I’ll be. Savannah, that is unbelievable! I am real proud of you, sugar. I don’t know, though, Asheville sure is a long way off. What about your medical care? I’ll call Dr. Tamblin tomorrow and see what he thinks.”

  “What’s in Asheville?” Dog asks. “What the hell is everybody talking about?”

  Mama shows
the letter to DC on the couch and Dog reads over his shoulder.

  “Some kind of goober fest that’s gonn’ be,” Dog mutters, turning back to the TV.

  “Savannah,” Mama says, sounding all choked up. “How in the world did this happen?”

  “Mrs. Avery put my name in for it. I didn’t say anything ’cause it seemed so unlikely I’d get picked and all.”

  Mama shakes her head. “You did it, hon. You’ve been wanting to get outta this town since you could talk. You earned your chance. And a possibility of a scholarship to college!”

  She’s right, about all of it. So why is my stomach all tied up in knots? “What about Jackson?” I say, remembering that feeling I got just this morning that he’ll be back again. “We been trying to find a way to be together all summer and his mama ain’t likely to let him go gallivanting off to Asheville. I . . . I’m not sure about this.”

  Mama looks to Jackson for assistance.

  “Savannah,” he starts, real quiet.

  “I got to think,” I say. “Don’t rush me.” I feel like that ol’ devil’s tail has moved right into my gut.

  Sunday morning DC called one of his contacts that knows a glass man who’s going to come over and fix the windows on the truck.

  I feel bad about not bringing breakfast up to the site today. But I am worn out, and I have a lot on my mind.

  I’ve been thinking on how Jackson said he loved me last night. I reckon that storm brought us something good. Going through an experience like that binds people together somehow in a way I don’t quite understand.

  So when I consider that program—something I was hoping against hope I might get a chance to go to—I feel uncertain. And even if I did decide to go, how in the world would we afford it? Seems like there’s no point even getting worked up over it.

  Meanwhile, I can’t stand that Jackson’s leaving tonight. It doesn’t seem right. I keep reminding myself about that feeling I had yesterday, about him being here again, about us being together. My feelings haven’t never let me down yet—not even that yellow sign. He ended up working for DC after all. So he must be coming back, which means I simply just can’t leave.