Breathing (26 page)

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 am 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.

“My Aunt June made those,” he confesses. They’re awful good.

“I am so proud of you going after that dream of yours. Maybe we do get to choose after all, huh?” I say, nudging him on the shoulder.

He smiles like he might be a little embarrassed for doubting me in the first place.

“Wait till Mama hears about this. You tell your own ma?” I ask him.

“Not yet. She don’t think paintin’ is serious work,” he says.

“You should tell her just the same. I know she’d be proud.”

He digs a hole in the sand, sticks a candle in it to protect the flame from the breeze and lights it. Then he hands me a present—a small rectangular box wrapped a bit haphazardly in red paper.

I cover my mouth. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

“Go on and open it,” he encourages.

Real slow, I tear off the paper, wanting to make this moment last. I hesitate before opening the box. Oh my word! It’s a delicate gold chain with a pretty little gold heart hanging on it.

“That way you’ll always know my heart’s with you,” he says, and he’s blushing for real.

Law! I reckon I’ve got to forgive him for hanging out with Dog my last week at home. I don’t know what to say. I have all these feelings inside me—ecstatic joy and fierce pain and profound love all mixed together. I wish he could just sense what’s going on inside of me without me having to struggle for words that couldn’t possibly even touch it.

“Wait here a minute,” he says. He grabs his bag and runs a short distance down the beach and next thing I know, he’s setting off fireworks—gold and green and red—just for me! And I say a prayer real quick just to make sure I don’t go and wake up.

A
ugust 30 arrives. Somehow it crept up on us, and I ain’t at all ready. I mean, my bags are packed and all, but I just ain’t ready. Laying in bed for the last few minutes, I wonder, what if my breathing goes all topsy-turvy when I’m on my own? What if I do need Jackson for real? But I can hear what he’d say already:
Can’t nobody do your breathing for you, girl. It’s time for you to see you can do it your own self.

Mama comes in just then to get me up. “How you feeling?” she asks.

“Terrible,” I say.

“Come on, now, it ain’t so bad.” She sits on the edge of my bed, pushes my hair out of my face.

“Thank you for everything.” My voice is thick with feeling.

“I’m real happy for you,” she says, her voice trembly, “and proud to boot. First one in the family to actually make it onto the college track, mm mm mm.”

“Hate to interrupt this little love fest,” Dog moans from his bed,

“but can y’all shut up? I’m trying to sleep.”

Mama and I just laugh.

After I shower and get dressed, I come out for breakfast, though I can’t imagine eating nothing. My stomach is all tied up in knots. My eyes nearly pop out of my head as I see DC walking through the door—minus his mustache! He actually looks sort of decent without it.

“Whatcha think?” DC asks.

“Not bad,” I say.

“Guess you can’t exactly call me DC no more, huh?”

I laugh. “You may have shaved off that hairy caterpillar, but you always gonn’ be DC to me.”

I hug him real hard, knowing it’s thanks to him I’m going at all. He takes my stuff out to Jackson’s truck, which has just pulled up in the drive.

“Dog, get out here and come say bye to your sister,” Mama yells.

“Bye!” Dog shouts back from the bedroom.

“Dogwood Booker Brown!” Mama yells.

He knows he’s in trouble now. He ambles out of the room in his boxer shorts, his eyes all squinched up. The cast on his arm is looking ratty, but his bruises have faded.

“See you, Savannah,” he says, and actually manages to sound sort of somber.

“Don’t go taking over the room,” I say. “I’m only gone till Christmas.” I’m afraid to even think what that poor room is going to look or smell like when I get back.

Jackson, who has just walked in, says, “You go on ahead and make as a big a mess as you want, Dog. That room is yours.”

I swat Jackson on the arm. “Thanks for backing me up.”

He smiles. “Denny and I are gonn’ build you on an extra bedroom and an extra bathroom, too. With me and him coming by all the time, one bathroom ain’t enough.”

“Are you serious?” I squeal. I look from his face to Mama’s to DC’s, and I see that they are!

“When you come back in December,” Jackson promises, “you gonn’ have your very own bedroom. What color you want it to be?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I say, “I want a mural. I want your art splashed across my walls. You surprise me.” And I can see he’s pleased. Just think, no more NASCAR posters, no more junk all over the floor, no more stinky socks or sweaty clothes on my bed. My very own room! Now I admit there’s a part of me wondering if that extra bathroom is ’cause DC might be hoping to move in here one day. If that feeling I had of them being in it for the long haul is true, I reckon he will.

“Y’all better head out, or Savannah’s gonn’ miss her train,” Mama warns. She hugs me real hard and starts to cry.

I can’t believe this is even happening. I stand at the threshold, afraid to take that first step, my breathing getting just a mite crunchy. But I take a couple puffs off my inhaler, steel my nerves, and step outside.

Mama, DC, and even Dog stand on the steps waving till we’re out of sight. Now me and Jackson have got our last two hours together till we get to the station. To be honest, I’m scareder than that canary caught by that cat, I tell you what.

The car ride seems to go by awful quick. We hardly talk at all, just listen to music on the radio. He drives with one hand and holds mine with the other. Strange that this here might be our last chance to talk in person for four whole months, and both of us are all clammed up. Course Jackson ain’t never been big on talking and me, well, I’m just too durn nervous to open my mouth. As we get further from home, I scoot closer to him, lean my head on his shoulder, try to memorize the way he smells—like the beach and paint—and the way he feels—soft, yet strong and solid, warm. In fact, come to find out, what he feels like is home.

“Jackson,” I say, swallowing hard, fixing to tell him to go on and turn us around.