Breathing

by Cheryl Renee Herbsman

  At that very minute, Jackson walks in, his clothes all covered in paint. He takes my hand, strokes my hair. “You okay?” he asks. As he wipes my tears away with his thumb, I see Mama sliding out of the room.

  I don’t even care about the fact that I’m sitting there in the raggedy old shorts and T-shirt I always sleep in, my hair likely sticking up with bedhead. I repeat my question to him. “Why’d you do it?”

  He looks down at his feet for a moment, then straight into my eyes. “I kept thinking ’bout how you filled out that application for me when you found the yella sign, and then how you took my paintin’ down to the guy at the college. I figured one turn deserves another.”

  I shake my head. “When?”

  “On my day off. ’Member I said I had some business to attend to? The day before that I’d called up the people at the program and told ’em there’d been a problem at home that had prevented you from sending in your letter on time. At first they said it was too late. So I asked ’em if they’d given away your spot yet, and they said no. I offered to fax the letter over to ’em right then. But they insisted on having the original. And they said offers were going out the next day, my day off, to the replacement students. I told ’em they’d have your acceptance by the time their office opened that morning.”

  “How?” I ask.

  “I drove through the night.”

  “To Asheville?”

  He nods. “I stopped for a catnap about three a.m., made it to their doorstep by seven. Then I just waited for ’em to open at nine. I figured I’d come all that way, I wadn’t gonn’ risk just slipping it through the mail slot. After I handed it in and knew it was all taken care of, I went and slept in the truck for a while, then drove back in time to meet you for dinner.”

  “I can’t believe you went to all that trouble.” I turn my head to look out the window, feeling all choked up inside.

  He tips my face back to him real gentle. “You hold my dream. I hold yours,” he says.

  Now what can you say to that?

  “What you scared of ?” he asks.

  I start thinking about how bad off my breathing had got the last few days before he moved back down here. “Maybe I can’t breathe without you.”

  He takes my hand in his and sits quiet for a minute. Then he says, “You remember you told me about the tornada you were named after?”

  I nod.

  “Just like it, you got as much strength and wind as you need. Alls you got to do now is to know that you can do without me or your daddy or anybody. You got to know you can breathe all on your own.”

  Something inside me sort of crumbles right then. Like I know he’s right, that I got to find out if I can breathe on my own, be my own cure, else someday I’m going to find myself laying on a couch for twelve years waiting for somebody to come and rescue me.

  31

  Luckily, I get released from Mercy. I just got myself overexcited is all. When we get home, Jackson and DC stay outside unloading some bags of mulch from DC’s truck. Mama and I go on in the house.

  “Mama,” I tell her, “maybe I might go on and check out the mountains after all.”

  “Praise Jesus!” she shouts, clapping her hands together. “Did Jackson talk you into it? I just knew that boy was one of the good ones.”

  I think back to her little manifesto of earlier this summer and wonder when exactly it was that she changed her mind. But there are more important matters at hand just now.

  “There’s still one thing we haven’t figured on: how we gonn’ afford it?” I ask, not quite looking at her, not wanting to bring up an issue that might embarrass her. “I saved up some money from working at the library, but it ain’t nearly enough.”

  “I thought about that quite a bit,” she says. “If only I’d a managed to put money away for y’all’s college, we’d be Johnny on the spot.” She sighs real heavy. “Two thousand is a lot. But I believe if I increase my hours working for Denny and waitress on the side, we can pull it off.”

  DC walks in and sits down at the table, sweat dripping off his forehead. “Listen here y’all,” he says. “I ain’t trying to play the hero or nothing. But if Savannah’s gonn’ go, I’ma pay for her program.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, amazed that he would do that for me.

  He nods.

  But then dead silence creeps into the corners of the room.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Mama says, turning red, as she hands him a glass of sweet ice tea. “I appreciate your offer, I do. But we’ll manage just fine.”

  “Mama,” I say real soft, “maybe we should think about this. DC is making a real nice offer.”

  She turns on me. “Don’t start. If I want to work extra, that don’t concern nobody but me.”

  “Course it do,” Denny retorts. “It concerns us all. You think Savannah wants to think of you having to work your butt off for her? You think I want you out at some grease pit every evening? What about Dog? Who’s gonn’ look after him? Look here, doll, I know you been on your own a long time and you used to managing come hell or high water, and I have admired that strength in you since the day we met, but things is different now.”

  “Denny,” Mama interrupts. “I can’t take no handouts.”

  And I see how much it pains her to feel like she ain’t done well enough by us to make things work.

  “This ain’t no handout! Is ’at what you think? That I’m some sort of good Samaritan wanting to help some poor needy souls?” He shakes his head like he’s hurt and confused both. Then he goes, “Ain’t nobody ever treated you right? Ever shown you sump’n called generosity?”

  Mama looks like she’s fixing to cry. I take her hand. “It ain’t pity,” I promise her real quiet.

  “Pity?” DC storms, slamming down his glass of ice tea on the table. “Is ’at what you think? Is it, Porsha?”

  “DC,” I say, “what are you getting so mad about?” Suddenly he ain’t helping the situation one bit.

  “Mad? Here I hoped your mama might one day see me as family, might be starting to believe I’m somebody she can count on, somebody she cares for, and now, come to find out, I’m just as much an outsider as I ever been. Ain’t nothin’ changed for her.” His veins are pulsing in his neck, his face blood red.

  “Now, Denny, that just ain’t true,” Mama starts. “You know I care for you. I do consider you, well, you are becoming family. It’s just that this here’s a lot of money, and I don’t want to feel like you got a hold over me.”

  “A hold?” he demands.

  Mama tries to backpedal. “I want to know we’re together because we care for each other, not because I feel beholden.”

  “What if ’n I say this here’s between me and Savannah and it ain’t got a thing to do with you?” he asks, all huffy.

  “Ain’t no grown man gonn’ be handing my daughter two thousand dollars,” Mama warns.

  “Maybe there’s a scholarship or something through school,” I say, wanting to ease the tension.

  DC glares at Mama. “You are dearly hurting my feelings, Porsha.” She goes over and takes his hand. “I ain’t used to nobody giving me something this big for no good reason.”

  “No good reason?” he storms. “How about a reason called love? That good enough for you? I love you, Porsha. Let me help. Please.”

  Mama just stares at him like he’s some kind of alien from Mars. I’m frozen still in my spot waiting to see what she’s going to do. Then, next thing I know, they’re kissing and crying, and I guess that means I got the money.

  Jackson comes in with Dog trailing at his heels. My brother takes one look at Mama and DC and snaps, “Well ain’t that romantical.”

  “Dog,” Mama warns.

  I’m about to yell at him to give her a break, but Jackson steps in.

  “Hey,” he says real neutral, “be glad for your mama. She deserves some happiness, don’t she?”

  And right away I can see Dog soften, like he finally saw something from her view ins
tead of his own. Now why it took Jackson to make him see, I don’t know. But there it is.

  DC says, “Savannah’s going to the mountains.”

  “Yee-haw!” Dog yells.

  I catch Jackson’s eye, and he looks real proud. It still hurts something fierce to think about leaving. But like he said, it won’t be for too long.

  Mama starts fixing food for everybody, and DC goes, “Savannah, can I ask you sump’n?”

  “Sure,” I reply.

  “You never did tell me why you call me DC—like I’m some sort of citified Yankee from up by the Mason-Dixon Line. Can’t be from my name, ’cause what would the C stand for? You know my name is Dennis Johnson. And I ain’t never told you my middle name, but it’s Darryl. So what’s the C?”

  I blush till my eyeballs go red. “It’s nothing,” I say.

  But of course now everybody wants to know, and they won’t let up.

  “Fine. The C is for caterpillar, okay? ’Cause of your mustache. It reminds me of a big old hairy caterpillar.”

  “Savannah!” Mama chides. “I never! Mind your manners.”

  But DC just laughs. “Coulda been worse,” he says.

  32

  With little more than a week to go before I take off, I feel like somebody has mashed down the fast-forward button, like there just ain’t enough time left.

  I had my appointment with Dr. Tamblin. Everything checked out okay. I’m going to have to keep on taking the daily meds, but he believes I’ll find it easier to breathe up there in the mountains, which doesn’t make a lick of sense to me, ’cause as I’ve been reading up on it, sounds like there’s less air up there. But I reckon he’s the doctor. He ought rightly to know.

  I got a letter from my roommate-to-be, Rae Ann something or another. She seems nice enough. She said her bed comforter is blue in case I want to match. I don’t. But I sure am glad she didn’t say it was pink with princesses on it or some such nonsense. She’s from Hendersonville, so she won’t be traveling too far at all. She can even go home on the weekends. I wonder if Jackson might could drive up there to visit me once in a while. Course he’d have to save up enough money to pay for someplace to stay. I don’t reckon they’d allow him up in the dorms. Or maybe I could at least come home for Thanks-giving. Four months sure does sound like a long haul.

  Stef is pissed as all hell that I’m going. I mean, not for real. She’s happy for me, but she’s just wishing I’d be there to gossip with at lunch and to sit with in some of her classes. Truth be told, I’d have been in AP for half my courses and she’s in on-level, so we’d be lucky just to get our electives together. I wonder will she go and make a whole new batch of friends while I’m gone? And how will she feel with me away and Joie ignoring her? Although, truth be told, Stef says the cheerleaders are already losing interest in Joie. I can’t worry over it all, just have to wait and see how it goes.

  Meanwhile, I best spend my energy on getting my stuff together. It ain’t easy finding what I need under all of Dog’s mess. I start by digging my way through the closet for some of my favorite books.

  “Dog! Come get your crap out of my side of the closet!” I yell, fed up with it.

  “He ain’t here,” Mama calls back.

  I go out to the living room, glad for an excuse to step out of that mess. “Where’s he at?” I ask, annoyed.

  Mama’s laying on the couch, her eyes closed. “Jackson took him up to the site when he left earlier on, thought he’d show Dog what all they’re doing.”

  “Why?” I ask, not sure I like the idea of my brother hanging out with my boyfriend.

  “Dog’s been stuck in the house so much, I reckon Jackson was just trying to be friendly.”

  “Huh.” I still don’t get it.

  “Dog may have convinced me not to press charges against those boys, but I intend to keep him supervised when he goes out for a while,” Mama says. “I reckon Jackson felt sorry for him. Anyhow, you need some help?”

  I do, but she looks tired. “That’s all right,” I say.

  “Come on. Ain’t but a few more days I’m gonn’ be around to lend you a hand. You can be all on your own once you get there.”

  I can’t help but feel glad she wants to. It’s lonely packing up like this, trying to decide what to take and what not to. She helps me move Dog’s stuff out of the way.

  “You sure are gonn’ be surrounded by guys with me gone,” I say.

  “Lord, you’re right,” she says, folding Dog’s jeans. “I’d better set myself up some time with Gina or I may never see a romantic comedy again.”

  “Oh, hush. You know DC’ll take you to any picture you want.”

  She sits back against the wall looking pleased.

  “You love him?” I ask.

  She nods. “He sure has grown on me.” We both laugh. “At first, he just came on so darn strong, looking at me like I was the Virgin Mary or something. But, like all men, he showed his true colors down the line. Turned out, I like them colors just fine.”

  “He treats you real good,” I say.

  “He sure does, hon. ’Bout like you and Jackson.”

  My heart fills right up to the top hearing her say that, having her treat us as a real grown-up couple. “I love him something fierce.”

  “I know you do, sugar. Part of me wants to remind you that you’re young yet, not to get your hopes up. Hold on now, don’t get upset. There’s the other part says to just shut up. Y’all have certainly proven me wrong time and again. And I can tell y’all truly have something special.”

  I dive right into her arms and hug her but good. I believe I just now realized how much I’m going to miss her.

  Jackson and Dog come straggling in just in time for supper.

  “Where y’all been at?” I ask, glaring at the football in Dog’s hands.

  The cast on his arm is all muddy and starting to tear.

  “Dog helped me run a few errands. So I tossed the football with him some down at the beach.”

  I’ve got to admit I am mad. What’s he doing tossing a football with Dog when we ain’t got but a few more days together?

  “You don’t own him,” Dog grumbles.

  “Shut up!” I yell. “While you were out playing ball, I been digging through your mess all afternoon! And I’m just sick of it!”

  Jackson comes right over and kisses me real gentle, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Them errands was for a surprise for you. Don’t be mad.”

  I settle, but I ain’t appeased. We sit down to eat, and I feel sunk in my worries. I ain’t at all sure I want to leave. Meanwhile, Jackson and Dog are cutting up and cracking jokes. I feel left out. Is it weird to worry about your brother stealing your boyfriend? Not like in that way. I just don’t want them to get to be too good of friends. I reckon I’m just jealous.

  I don’t find out my surprise right away. But on my last day at home, Jackson acts nervous and excited. And believe you me, it’s catching. He’s got me all on edge.

  He picks me up at the house around suppertime. Mama’s grinning like she knows all about it. Me and Jackson get in the truck and drive and drive until he pulls up on a real pretty piece of beach. It’s wide and flat and the waves are rolling in real gentle. He takes a duffel bag from the back of the truck and leads me to a spot of his choosing.

  He sets out a tartan picnic blanket I reckon he got from his aunt. I sit down feeling all fluttery. He takes out two of them fancy champagne glasses—you know the tall skinny ones? I always wondered how folks in the movies manage to drink from them tiny openings without their noses getting in the way. Course neither one of us is old enough for champagne, so he fills them up with Sprite. He sets those down in the sand and unloads from his bag a beautiful picnic supper. There’s barbecued shrimp, corn salad, and potato salad.

  “Where did you get all this?” I ask him.

  “My aunt made the corn salad and your mama made the potato salad, but I fixed the shrimp myself.” He’s blushing proud.

  “Mm-mm. I a
m sincerely impressed,” I say. I can see his bag ain’t empty yet. “What else you got in there?”

  “Don’t be nosy.” He smiles and holds up the champagne glasses. I take one and he says, “To following dreams.”

  I clink his glass, but suddenly there’s a big ol’ lump in my throat and I ain’t sure that Sprite’s even going to have room to go down. But he holds my hand and we drink to our dreams.

  “Now that you’re staying down here, you really ought to call that dude at the junior college,” I say, thinking he might just need a little push to get going towards his own aspirations.

  “I was just fixin’ to tell you about that.” He starts in to blushing. “I went by there with a few more of my pieces. He wanted to show ’em at the student gallery.”

  “Jackson! That’s amazing!” I cry.

  He shrugs. “’Cept he can only show students’ work there.”

  My heart sinks for him. It just doesn’t seem fair. There must be some way around it.

  “So he got me to sign up for some evening art classes at the college.” He peeks up at me like he knows I’m going to explode. And of course I do.

  I knock him down with a hug and gush over him going after his own heart’s desire. I just can’t get over how happy I feel for him, as if it was my own wish coming to light. I near about smother him with hugs and kisses. Two dreams coming through all at once, seems near about too good to be true, which makes me nervous. Finally, we settle down and start to eat. The sauce is nice, but the shrimp is a bit rubbery.

  “I reckon I overcooked it,” he says.

  “No, it’s good,” I tell him. I’m just so tickled that he went to all this trouble. He brought real plates and forks and everything—no paper or plastic. And we’ve got most of the beach to ourselves, except for a few beachcombers down the way.

  He pulls out Hello Dollies for dessert. Some folks call them seven-layer bars, but I prefer the name Mama always used when she’d make them when me and Dog were little.

  “Don’t tell me you bake, too?” I ask him.