Breathing (24 page)

Now I know he doesn’t think I’m crazy enough to stand there by myself when things have suddenly gone and turned all creepy. So I follow right on behind him.

As we get closer, we can see they’re all kicking at something, and I’m hoping it ain’t some poor beached sea creature, the way they’re bashing at it. But I don’t smell that awful smell of decaying flesh, so maybe it’s just some driftwood they’re breaking up for a bonfire or something.

“Get back!” Jackson yells in a voice that sets my teeth on edge. I ain’t clear for a minute if he’s talking to me or them boys. But we all freeze nonetheless. “What the hell’s a matter with y’all? Get out of here ’fore I call the cops!” He lunges like he’s going to get them, and they turn tail right quick.

As they disperse, I see what they were kicking—a boy. And as I get closer, I suddenly realize it’s Dog down there—all crumpled in a heap.

“Lord God a’mighty!” I scream, dropping to my knees beside him. “Dog! Are you okay? Can you talk? Call an ambulance!” I yell, but there ain’t nobody around but us. I’ve told Mama we need a cell phone for emergencies. I don’t care what they cost. Not a priority, my butt! “You were supposed to be at Dave’s! Where’s he at?” I holler at Dog, then feel bad for yelling when he’s so messed up.

He’s groaning. His face is swelling, and blood is spilling from his mouth and nose.

Jackson scoops him up like he ain’t nothing more than a bundle of twigs and starts hauling him back towards the truck. I follow along, thanking God we decided to walk out this far on the beach tonight, thanking him, too, for Jackson being here to scare them boys off.

My heart is pounding real hard. Jackson’s withering under Dog’s weight. That boy ain’t exactly small. Finally, Jackson sets him down real gentle in the sand.

“Y’all wait here. I’ll be right back,” he says, and takes off running.

I’m scareder than a bear in a buzzing beehive. Dog is beat up bad, bruised and broken, and I don’t know what to do. And the sight of Jackson’s back running in the other direction is choking me up.

“Dog? What happened?” I ask as tears prickle my nose. “Can you talk?” He just barely shakes his head. My mind floats right back to the other day when I saw him with those bigger boys at the beach. I should have said something to Mama. I meant to ask Dog about it later. I just forgot.

There’s an awful lot of blood coming out his mouth, and his face is turning purple. I hold his head in my lap and cry, praying Jackson is getting help.

But then I see his truck tearing up the beach. He pulls right up beside us. “Get in,” he says to me. Then Jackson heaves Dog up and puts his head on my lap again. The three of us are going to be pretty squished up in there with my brother laying down, but that doesn’t matter. Jackson covers him with the blanket out of the back of the truck and hops in on my other side. We head straight for Mercy, nobody saying a word.

“Go call your mama,” Jackson says, soon as we pull up to Emergency.

I scramble out the driver’s side to obey, noting how it’s strange being at Mercy and me not being the one in need of help. I ain’t got a lick of change on me, so I rush back to the truck to find some. I dig some coins out of the seats and run to the payphones while Jackson gets help for Dog. The orderlies rush out with a gurney.

The phone rings and rings, and I fear I’m going to lose it if she ain’t home. Finally she picks up. “Mama!” I cry, feeling like a little kid, relieved to hear her voice.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, knowing by my tone it’s serious.

“We’re at Mercy,” I say.

Before I can explain, she says, “Damnit! Did you forget your inhaler again? It’s been too much excitement. I been saying it to Denny over and over. It’s just too much—”

“Mama!” I cut her off. “It ain’t me. It’s Dog.” And I realize how strange that is, for once it ain’t me causing all the commotion and worry.

Dead silence hangs on the line. Then she goes, “Dog? Whatcha mean?”

I can feel my tears lining up again. “He got beat up real bad. He’s bleeding and bruised.”

“But he’s at Gina’s,” Mama says in a small, confused voice. Then it finally hits her that maybe he’s not. “We’ll be right there.”

Jackson and I sit side by side in the metal scoop chairs in the waiting room. I’ve got Dog’s blood all over my khaki shorts, and it’s all over Jackson’s T-shirt, too. There’s a couple of not-too-clean-looking fellas watching the TV, a young guy sleeping across three chairs, some hairy dude looking like he’s fixing to puke, and an old lady with blue hair sitting all proper with her hands in her lap like she’s at church.

DC and Mama come racing in and get taken back to where Dog’s at.

“He’ll be okay,” Jackson says after a while.

I nod. “Thanks for toting him,” I say. Did you ever notice how silence feels so ominous in a hospital? “What you think went on back there?” I ask just to fill the hole.

He doesn’t answer at first. “Got in with the wrong crowd, I reckon.”

“Why wadn’t he with Dave like he told Mama he was gonn’ be? Why didn’t Gina call if he left without Dave? He must be embarrassed as hell, us finding him like that, though he ought rightly to be grateful.” I’m still rambling on like a crazy person when DC comes out.

“Y’all okay?” he asks us.

We nod. “How is he?” I ask.

“He’ll be a’ight. Got a broken nose, a black eye, and a missing tooth. They gonn’ do some X-rays, see if ’n his ribs or his arm is broke and check out his internal organs.” He pauses. “That boy is jacked up but good.”

“We found him at the beach,” I explain. “A bunch of boys were kicking him.” I’m getting all emotional again. “Jackson scared ’em off and carried him to the truck.”

DC puts out his hand, and Jackson shakes it. “You done good, son,” DC says.

For the first time in my life, my brother has to stay over in the hospital and I don’t. It is a strange feeling. I’ve got to admit, there were times when I was younger when I wished it was him that had to stay, that I’d be the one leaving with Gina. But now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right at all. Me, I know how to handle being stuck in this awful place. But Dog doesn’t know a thing about it, and I find myself wishing I could take it away for him. All this time, I never realized how much it must hurt Mama to worry for me like this. I reckon even Dog gets concerned, though he doesn’t show it too often.

After a while, a policeman approaches us.

“I understand you two were witnesses,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, and recount for him everything I can remember about what we saw at the beach.

“That how you saw it?” he asks Jackson, like he doesn’t believe me.

“Yes, sir,” Jackson says.

“You got anything to add?” the policeman asks him.

“No, sir,” he replies.

“Y’all recognize those boys?” He eyes us like he’s expecting us to lie or something.

You can bet if I knew any of them I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him. But sadly, I didn’t recognize a single one, though I’d wager Dog probably knew a few.

“All right, then,” he says, like he’s giving up on us. “Unless somebody can I.D. those boys, we won’t be able to press charges.”

Truth is, it was dark; they weren’t familiar; I was sick with worry over Dog. I doubt I’d even be able to pick them out of a lineup.

The cop swaggers off to flirt with a nurse, case closed.

Mama comes out to tell us to go on home. But she looks terrible shook up, so we decide to all stay out in the waiting area ruther than leaving her here by herself. It’s uncomfortable as hell in them hard chairs, but I doze off from time to time, dreaming of Dog getting the nebulizer and struggling to breathe and being poked with needles and me hiding behind the curtain letting him take my medicine.

In the morning, DC sends Jackson home to sleep. Before Jackson leaves, Mama thanks him over and over and invites him to come by for Sunday dinner, which seems a mite unusual seeing as we usually just have sandwiches or what-have-you on Sundays. Then when Dog gets released, DC drives him and Mama and me on home and helps get Dog situated in the bed. He’s got his arm in a cast, taped-up ribs, a bandaged nose, and a black-and-blue eye. He’s on a whole mess of painkillers, so he goes out like a light. Then DC leaves. Me and Mama sit at the table drinking coffee. She looks awful worn.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Whatever for?” Mama asks, looking up from where she’s been staring into her mug.

I shrug. “I been so absorbed with my own affairs, I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that something was up with him.” Mama still appears confused. “It’s always been my job, looking out for him. I neglected it. I’m real sorry.” And Lord do I feel like my insides are near about ready to gush out of me like water from a busted hydrant.

Mama shakes her head. “He’s old enough to be looking out for his own self. And you”—she sighs real heavy—“you ain’t really his keeper, Vannah, no more than he is yours. I shouldn’t have put that on you. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I should have been checking in with Gina. I’ve been so wrapped up with Denny, I just let it slide. He told me how y’all rescued Dog.”

“It was Jackson,” I say. “I didn’t do nothing.”

“You were there for him. You called me. Y’all did good.”

I don’t want to upset her, but I can’t seem to hold my tongue. “How come he wadn’t at Gina’s?”

Quiet little tears roll down Mama’s cheeks, making me wish I’d have kept my mouth shut. “I called her from the hospital. I lit into her like you wouldn’t believe.” And she laughs through her tears. But then she looks real serious again. “Gina said she thought I knew Dog and Dave had quit hanging out a week or so back, said they had some kind of fight, got ill with each other and hadn’t spoken a word since. She thought I hadn’t called her lately ’cause I was mad at her over it. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I been so busy with Denny and all that I just hadn’t had the time to call.”

“So where does Dog go every day?” I wonder out loud.

“According to Gina, Dave and Dog started hanging out with some boys from St. Bartholomew’s earlier in the summer. Course she didn’t know about it at the time.”

“The school for juvies?” I ask, appalled.

“Come on, now. They’re not ‘juvies,’ ” Mama says. “They’re troubled, but, yes, they did go there during the school year.”

“Dog!” I exclaim.

“Apparently, Dave got scared off a week or two ago and backed out. But Dog just ditched him and kept on with those boys. I believe he’s learnt his lesson.”

“What about the cops? Are they gonn’ go after those boys?”

Mama sighs. “They say they can only press charges if Dog identifies them. I don’t know how likely that is to happen. If I know Dog, he’s gonn’ keep his mouth shut. School will be starting up in a couple of weeks, and he ain’t gonn’ be out my sight until then.”

I put my hands over my ears. “Don’t talk about it. Summer is
not
ending, not ever.”

Mama laughs a little. I reckon she is seriously overtired. “Can’t put a hold on time, darlin’. It marches on whether you like it or not.”

I lay my head on my arms, wishing it wasn’t so.

S
avannah, get me a Coke!” Dog calls from where he’s laying up on the couch.

Get me a Coke, fix me some cheese grits, find me the remote
. I am sick to death of that boy and his demands. I wish he’d go on and get well so he can get out my hair. With Mama busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest, trying to prepare this unexplained traditional Sunday dinner, and Dog, ornery as ever, making requests every five minutes, I’m fixing to lose my mind.

“Vannah, check and see if the potatas are cooked off for me, please,” Mama calls in a strained voice.

“Since when do we have a big ol’ Sunday dinner anyhow?” I ask.

Mama holds out a wooden spoon in a threatening manner. “Looky here, I thought it’d be a nice way to say thank you to Jackson. I could sure use a little more help and a little less lip outta you, missy.”

It is sweet of her and all. I just reckon Jackson would have been as happy with burgers and fries. But I ain’t going to rain on her parade. I check the potatoes and set the table for five. She sure is cooking up a feast. She even bought a big old ham like it’s Christmas or something. She’s doing collards and mashed potatoes with gravy, corn on the cob, fresh baked biscuits and green bean casserole—the kind with the little fried onions on top. She even made an apple pie and a Jell-O mold for dessert.

“You coulda waited till I can eat it, too,” Dog whines. He can’t have nothing but soft foods since them boys kicked him in the mouth.

“You can have some mashed potatas. And who you think I made the Jell-O for?”

Dog whimpers.

By the time DC and Jackson arrive, Mama and I have got the table set up with a feast fit for a king. Even though we put a place for Dog, he ain’t up to coming to the table. Mama brings him a tray on the couch with the mushy stuff. He looks like he could just cry. Ham’s his
favorite
favorite and we don’t hardly ever get to have it.

I sit beside Jackson, and DC sits by Mama. We have ourselves one hell of a meal, laughing and joking, everybody feeling easy and comfortable. It seems so strange and also so perfect. The men even help us clear the table. Then they go hang with Dog and watch a baseball game on TV.

“I sure wish I could have talked you into that program,” Mama says as we’re washing up the dishes.

“What’s done is done,” I say, hoping to put a lid on it.

“But it’s what you’ve always wanted—travel, seeing the Blue Ridge Mountains, a chance at college—it don’t make no sense, Van.”

My stomach starts in to aching. “It just came at the wrong time is all. I reckon it wasn’t meant to be. I haven’t given up anything, though, not really. I’ll still get to college. I’ll go check out the mountains, too. You’ll see. You worry too much,” I say, trying to seem cheerful as I put aside the last of the dishes.