Breathing (8 page)

Mama struggles to get her too-tight work shoes on, looking more irritated by the second. “Eleven thirty is too late for a twelve-year-old,” she says. But I can see the pressure is getting to her. “Where are you planning to be out so late?” she asks him.

“Me and Dave were invited to a party,” he says.

“Where at?”

“A friend’s house.”

“What friend?”

“Just some kid we met down at the beach.”

“Do I know his parents?”

“Forget it. I’m sleeping over at Dave’s.”

Mama sighs, beaten down, and finally caves. “Eleven o’clock for the both of y’all. And there had better not be any drinking going on at these parties, y’all hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and run out of the room before she can change her mind. Guess I owe Dog one.

 

 

Jackson and I meet at Eddie’s for dinner, then walk down to the beach to wait for it to get dark. It’s crowded as hell down there, everybody trying to get a good spot to watch the fireworks. Junior and Billy Jo have got blankets spread out in the back of their truck, which is parked right in the middle of the sand. They’re trying to lure a bunch of girls up with chips and beer.

“You want to set up there?” Jackson asks me.

But I just keep hearing Mama’s rules in my head. And even though there’s all these people around, I know I ain’t supposed to be in the back of that truck under any circumstances. Plus them boys get mean quicker than a drunk in a bar fight, and I reckon the beer’s going to help that right along.

Jackson looks at the goings-on in the truck and says, “I believe I’d ruther walk some if that’s okay.”

Lord am I relieved! We walk and walk, but there just ain’t no privacy to be had on the beach tonight. After a while, though, the crowds thin out and we’ve got a little more room to ourselves. He sits down in the sand and I plop down between his legs, my back to his chest. A shock of excitement hits me as my body touches his. But the humid air makes it too warm and sticky to fully enjoy a cuddle.

I’m thinking about how Mama let me come out here, knowing full well we’d be down at the beach after dark. Granted the whole town is, too. But maybe I might could consider this to be implied consent that rule number four is no longer in effect.

Jackson seems awful quiet.

“What you thinking about?” I ask.

“Nut’n rully,” he says. “Mama called again today.”

“How come?” I ask.

“Tyler got caught shooting out a streetlight with a BB gun. And Carter’s been skipping summer school.”

“They keep on getting into messes, huh?”

He nods.

“What does she want you to do about it?”

“I don’t know. She can’t seem to decide which is worse, having me around or not,” he says, sounding heavy. But then he leans down and kisses my neck real gentle. Right at that very moment the fireworks start with a big old
kaboom
and I feel just like that—exploding with light.

The grand finale is my favorite—all those colors bursting into the sky amidst all that ruckus, then the sudden stillness. Afterwards, we wait awhile for the crowds to clear out, then walk up towards the Channings’ place holding hands. I wore my nicest miniskirt and a fitted tank and tried to do my makeup to make me look older. Truth be told, I ain’t feeling too comfortable about this here party. I walk extra slow. We won’t be able to stay too long anyhow, ’cause of my curfew.

We can hear the music from the party a mile away. When we get there, it’s blaring so loud my ears are ringing. Junior and Billy Jo high-five Jackson and look me over like stray cats on a can of sardines. The house is seriously swanky—plush carpet cushioning the floor, polished wood banister curling up the staircase, family photos in gold frames glinting on the walls, glass and chrome bookshelves holding fancy bric-a-brac, and a baby grand piano gussying up the living room. The air conditioning is blasting full on. Some of the girls are turning up their noses at me. They’re all dressed up like this here’s the Red Carpet or something. I didn’t realize it was going to be so fancy. The guys are all wearing shorts and polos. And Billy Jo has on his Mudcats cap.

“This is Savannah!” Jackson shouts over the music to no one in particular.

“We know Puddles!” Billy Jo hoots. And there it is—ancient history coming back to bite me on the butt. Ain’t nobody called me that in ten years. I reckon he’s just trying to make the point that I don’t belong here. At our school, you’ve got the rich kids, the poorer kids, and the farm kids. There just ain’t no mixing between groups. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here, knowing I’d be the only one who didn’t belong.

Junior smacks Billy Jo upside the head. “Lay off it,” he demands, and pushes a beer into each of our hands.

There are serious amounts of liquor being consumed. A bunch of guys have brought 40s, and most of the girls are drinking wine coolers. But some of the kids have busted out everything in the parents’ whisky cabinet. Drinking games are being played already, too. We walk through the house towards the backyard. In the kitchen, kids are smoking cigarettes and weed. The room’s so full of smoke, I start coughing and wheezing.

Jackson takes me out back. They’ve got a swimming pool! There are kids swimming in their clothes and a few stripping down to their drawers. Couples are starting to go at it in every nook and cranny of the yard and patio. I’m feeling like a dumb little kid and a big old dork both and just trying to focus on calming down my lungs. Once they get irritated, they like to stay that way.

Come to find out Billy Jo has followed us out here. He has definitely had too much to drink. I reckon he started his party down at the beach.

“Want another beer, Puddles?” he taunts, though the one Junior shoved into my hand is as of yet untouched. “Afraid you can’t hold your liquor?” Snorting and laughing, he pitches himself onto the ground.

“Piss off, Billy,” Jackson growls through gritted teeth, and leads me away from his obnoxious cousin. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

We go inside and down the steps to the basement.

“Woo!” some kids call out as we head down, as if they’re assuming we’re about to do you-know-what.

Most of the basement is a finished rec room, with a big-screen TV and a foosball table and darts. But Jackson leads me to a section off in the back that’s unfinished—like a wood cave with a sink and a concrete floor. Inside, he goes over and pulls a sheet off of three of his paintings that are leaning up against the wall. They take my breath away.

“Jackson,” I whisper, my hand over my mouth. “These are amazing.” Like something you’d buy in a store. There’s one of the sun setting over the ocean, and it feels all eerie and sad somehow. And I know it must have come from his own imaginings, seeing as the sun only sets over the sea out west. The next one, I’m guessing, is his dad catching a football, a big smile on his face, and he just seems like the father every one of us would want, like you can feel the love and acceptance shining in his face. The last painting ain’t quite finished yet, but I can tell it’s going to be of me! I can’t believe how he made my eyes light up, and even my hair looks good. “You are seriously talented.” And even though I knew in my heart he would be, I can’t help but feel shocked by the extent of it.

He shrugs. “I’m a’ight.”

I shake my head and kiss him.

But then a bunch of kids come down the stairs, laughing and tripping on the way.

“Come on,” he whispers, as he covers the paintings with the sheet.

“I’ll show you my room.”

But when we get up there and open the door to the guest room, come to find out, there’s not one but two couples in there.

“This room’s full up,” one of the guys calls out in an angry voice.

“Let’s go,” I say, wanting to just get out of there.

Without a word, Jackson leads me downstairs and towards the front door.

“Y’all aren’t leaving already, are you?” Billy Jo calls. “We were hoping to see a puddle!”

I’m trying real hard to turn the other cheek and yank Jackson towards the door. But he spins around and points his finger at Billy Jo. “I’m warning you.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to Jackson. We don’t take but one step towards the door before Billy Jo starts chanting, “Pud-dle! Pud-dle!” And then a whole mess of them kids are joining in. All them seniors I’m going to see at school in the fall, and every one of them either remembering or finding out about me peeing my pants when I wasn’t but five years old! It ain’t like I was the only one it ever happened to, it’s just it was out in front of everybody on the way to the school bus. I’d been holding it all day, afraid to go use the school bathroom by myself. And finally, I just couldn’t hold it one solitary second longer. And here I am ten years later and it’s still haunting me.

Jackson turns my hand loose. He strides over there and he punches that Billy Jo right in the nose. “Don’t you never speak to her again, not as long as you live.”

Holy hell! We need to clear out and quick. Billy Jo’s on the floor, and everybody’s swarming around him, and Jackson just breezes over, takes my hand, and walks me right out the door and on down the road. And suddenly the humid night air doesn’t feel too sticky or nothing. I’m just grateful to be out in it.

“Sorry ’bout that,” Jackson says, looking downright miserable and rubbing his hand.

“S’okay,” I reply, overwhelmed by the whole thing. I ain’t sure whether to feel honored that he defended me or shocked that he went and hit his own cousin or sickened by the sight of blood or scared of what might could happen next.

“There’s gonn’ be hell to pay tomorra when my aunt and uncle get home,” Jackson says.

I hope Junior will stick up for him and let his parents know that Billy Jo provoked that punch. I hate to even think about all the damage them kids are causing to the house. Least Jackson ain’t responsible for that mess.

We pass by Town Park Playground and I look longingly in at it, though I haven’t been inside in years. Maybe I’m just missing a simpler time of life. I reckon Jackson must have caught my brain wave, ’cause he pulls me in there and nudges me up on the red twirly thing me and Dog used to call the merry-go-round. I stand in the middle and Jackson pushes me around faster and faster. I close my eyes and hang on, feeling dizzy. I open them back up when I hear him jump on. He wobbles, then makes his way over to me in the center.

“What you think they’ll do?” I ask him, wondering how strict his aunt and uncle are.

He shrugs. “Let’s don’t think about it tonight.”

“But you hit him,” I say, then shudder, even though it ain’t cold out.

“Ain’t nothin’ real but this,” he whispers back. Then he leans in and kisses me as the world spins past us.

 

 

I come home to find Mama bundled up under the cotton throw on the couch, sniffling, her eyes all red and puffy.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothin’. You know me, just crying over spilled milk.” The shoe box of old photos of her and my daddy from way back when is on her lap. She’s holding a picture of the two of them on his motorcycle, her arms around his middle, her face resting on his shoulder, and another one of him lighting a bonfire at the beach, his eyes all lit up.

I plop down beside her and pat her hand. I reckon she was lonely tonight. “How come you didn’t go out with Gina?” I ask.

“She had a date,” Mama says, wiping her nose with a Kleenex.

“Seems like a long while since you had one of them,” I say, hoping that doesn’t hurt her feelings.

“I’m too tired,” she says, though I ain’t clear if she means to date or to talk about it. “Go on to bed. I’m waiting up for Dog. You have a nice evening?”

I ain’t at all sure how to answer that. “I reckon,” I say, and slip off to my room before she has a chance to ask what I mean.

 

 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Dog, I’m gonn’ give you a lickin’ if you don’t quit working my last nerve!” I can hear Mama hollering up in the house.

I’m out here lazing in the hammock, ’cause my breathing was raggedy all night long from the smoke at the party. I’m so dang tired this morning. Good thing I don’t have to be at work until the afternoon.

Mama doesn’t seem to mind me being idle as long as Jackson ain’t around. But give me one second with him here and suddenly the carport needs hosing down and the cellar’s got to be swept out and who knows what all else! Thank the Lord it ain’t autumn yet or I’d be raking leaves morning, noon, and night.

Lucky for me it was Dog who was late coming in for curfew last night, so he’s the one in the doghouse, so to speak.

The phone is ringing, and I just know it’s Jackson, ’cause all the little blond hairs on my arms are standing up like I’ve been hit by lightning. I’ve got to try and get to it before Mama. I’m positively dying to find out what happened once his aunt and uncle got home today.

No such luck. Mama’s already chatting him up when I come through the door. I reach my hand out, but she’s blabbering away about food like a durn fool.

“Mama, he don’t care what you fixed yourself for supper last night! Give me the phone. Please,” I add, hoping to curtail her jawing. Damn, I wish she’d just go on and get me a cell phone. Maybe I can use my work money on that.

“Savannah’s near about ready to yank my arm clean off if I don’t hand over the telephone. Y’all keep it short now. I’m expecting a call from Gina.”

I rescue Jackson from Mama and sneak off to the laundry room to talk to him. He’s just invited me to the beach, saying he’s got to tell me all about what’s happened with his aunt and uncle in person, when Mama’s call comes in. I can’t even tell by Jackson’s voice if he’s got good news or bad.

“Hang on,” I tell him. “I got a beep.” Sure enough, it’s Gina. And I realize I might could use this to our advantage. I switch back to tell Jackson I’m on my way, then chat Gina up but good while I change into my swimsuit. I hand Mama the phone on my way out the door. “I’ma head to the beach,” I call, as the screen slams behind me.