Breathing (9 page)

“Vannah!” she yells. And I can hear that she’s pissed I’m slipping out ’fore she has a chance to give me any jobs to do. “Don’t be late for work and stay on our side of the beach and . . .”

I wave as I ride my bike down the street, trying to get out of earshot before she comes up with some dang chore I need to get done, like spinning yarn into gold or some such nonsense.

I
can tell right away things didn’t go well. Jackson’s sitting on the sand looking forlorn.

“What happened?” I ask.

He shakes his head like he can’t even speak. Finally he explains. “There was all this damage to the house—a busted chair and spills and a cracked tabletop. Billy Jo told ’em
I
threw the party.
And
I broke his nose. So my aunt and uncle say I’ve got to go. Plus my mama called and said she needs my help with the boys anyhow. She’s coming to get me tomorra mornin’.”

I’m so stunned I can’t hardly breathe. “How dumb do they got to be to not notice who’s got a hangover and who doesn’t? This can’t be right!”

He wipes the tears that have suddenly sprung from my eyes, takes my hand, and sniffles himself.

“We got to fight this,” I insist. “Won’t Junior stand up for you? You’ve got to explain.”

But he just shakes his head. “I need to go pack. I’ll call you later on.” He gives me a quick kiss and then he’s gone.

I ride over to the library and clock in, then go to the bathroom and sob. This just can’t happen.

Miss Patsy knocks on the door. “Savannah? That you in there? We’ve got books waiting.”

I’d like to tell her off, but instead I go out and slam those books onto the shelves. She steers clear of me, not being real big on emotional outbursts herself.

When I get home, I see a note from Dog saying he’s staying over at Dave’s. Mama’s working till closing and then has a staff meeting. There’s a message on the machine from Jackson saying he’ll call me later when he can. I sit by the phone, writing out all my anger in my journal and waiting. By the time the telephone finally rings, the sun has already set.

“Can you meet me at the beach?” Jackson asks.

I don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not the rules are still in effect, dark or not dark, I’m heading straight down there to see him one last time. I run out and jump on my bike. Can’t hardly see the road from all these dang tears coursing down my face.

There he is. My heart does a funny little leap in my chest. I drop my bike and run straight for him. We kiss, and he feels all warm and strong.

I shake my head, trying to find the words. “You just can’t go,” I tell him. And his eyes are all glassy in the moonlight like he’s wanting to cry, too. “Ain’t there any way we can change their minds?” I beg.

He shakes his head. “Already tried.”

“But you’re eighteen,” I remind him. “Can’t you just refuse to leave? Maybe you could stay with us.”

He sighs and turns to look out to sea, just like he used to when we first met, which, in truth, was only a matter of weeks, even though it feels like I’ve known him my whole life. “You know your mama wouldn’t stand for that. Plus, it ain’t just about them kicking me out. My ma regrets sending me off. She needs my help. You know how it is,” he says, “my daddy up and dying and all. She can’t handle Carter and Tyler on her own. And I can earn a living working some job or another.”

“But your painting!” I cry, knowing he was meant for better than working in some factory or convenience store.

He just shrugs. “It’ll have to wait, I reckon.”

We sit down on the cool sand in the dark and hold hands, not saying a word.

“My asthma’s been so much better,” I whisper, wondering if Jackson’s being here has somehow broken the spell of my daddy being gone.

“It’s that new medicine you been taking every day. Fixed you right up.”

“I reckon,” I reply, though I ain’t at all convinced. “Can’t you get a job here and send the money back home?” I ask, knowing his answer before he even thinks it himself.

He shakes his head. “You know I done wore out my welcome with my kin, and like it or not, ain’t no way your mama’s gonn’ let me stay with you. I got nowhere else to go.”

“You didn’t do nothing!” I argue.

“Not accordin’ to Junior and Billy Jo.”

I can’t stand thinking of him taking the blame when those boys threw that wild bash and Billy Jo brought that broken nose on his own dang self.

“What if I can’t breathe without you?” I whisper ever so quiet.

Everything inside me seems to be closing in on itself. I can already picture all those little bronchiolies in my lungs getting small.

He hears the shift in my breathing as I start to cry and turns to face me. “Use your inhaler,” he says.

I breathe in the mist, but I know it ain’t what I need.

He takes my hands and looks into my eyes. I see the moonlight reflected in his.

“I don’t want to go,” he croaks out. “I hate the idea of leaving you.” He looks right frantic. “Don’t go thinking I’m like your daddy, taking off and unreliable. I ain’t like that, y’hear?”

“I know,” I say, stroking his soft hair. And we both of us know there ain’t a damn thing we can do to change the situation. So we just lay back on the sand, listen to the surf, and stare up at the stars. I got my head on his chest and our legs are all intertwined and I wish this moment wouldn’t never end. And one of my feelings comes over me—one of those itty bitty moments when time seems to freeze—just for a breath. And I get the feeling that this moment fits, matches somehow, with something from the future. And I know this ain’t the last I’m going to see of Jackson Channing.

“It’s gonn’ be okay,” I tell him. “This ain’t the end.”

“You sure?” he asks, sounding like a scared little kid.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “You ain’t rid of me yet.”

And he leans in and gives me a kiss that reaches right down inside of me and stirs something I never even knew was there. I’m about ready to jump his bones when I see the headlights in the parking lot. And I ain’t got a speck of uncertainty about whose car it is.

“That’ll be Mama,” I say, getting choked up.

“I love you, girl,” he says, all breathless.

“Good Lord, Jackson,” I say, fanning myself. “I love you, too.”

And then Mama’s there dragging me off, squawking about how I done broke rule number four and how she ain’t never going to let me out of her sight again. And blah, blah, blah. But my eyes are fixed onto the outline of Jackson’s body and I can sense the pull of his eyes on mine. And truly, don’t nothing else matter.

“Y
annah, I will not have you mopin’about the rest of the summer. Boys come and boys go. You may as well learn it now. I know you’re all tore up about him leaving, and seeing as you’re brokenhearted and all, I’ma cut you some slack. But I’m telling you now, I ain’t gonn’ have you setting there like a bump on a pickle the rest of the summer. So go on and lick your wounds and then get over it.”

She’s one to talk—still pining over my daddy, and he’s been gone near about twelve years. But this ain’t the same deal at all. Jackson didn’t run off on me. He loves me. He done told me so. It’s just his mama needing him at home and his stupid kin tossing him out like the trash.

Maybe I might could move out there. Go to high school in Greenville. I could help his ma with the cooking and tending to the boys—even if they are about my own age.

“You need something to keep you busy. You got a reading list for school?” Mama needles me.

“No, ma’am. It’s summer
va-ca-tion
, as in no homework,” I say, even though I’ve been reading
Jane Eyre
between trashy romances in my spare time.

“Perhaps Miss Patsy can make some suggestions so you can get ahead for the fall.”

Always pushing. She knows I don’t need to be getting ahead. Don’t I deserve a break? I go flop down on the couch.

“What about your workbook?” she calls.

Somehow, since I met up with Jackson, I seem to have let it slide. And now, I can’t even bring myself to care. I sure wish Stef and Joie would get home.

Gina stops by, and she and Mama sit in the kitchen drinking coffee.

“How’s she doing?” Gina asks, like I’m not sitting ten feet away.

“She’s setting there looking like the last pea at pea-time.” Mama laughs.

I want to explode, feeling like don’t nobody in the world understand my pain. Ain’t nothing I can do about it neither. I done explained the whole thing to Mama about the party and all. She ain’t sure what to think, though she ain’t too happy about Jackson being the one who threw the punch.

The phone rings and Mama picks it up. “Hello?”

“Is it him?” Gina asks. “Let me talk to him.”

Mama giggles and pulls the phone away. “Come on, now,” she says, pushing Gina aside. “It’s for you, shug.”

I look up from where I’ve been studying the design in the old shag carpet in the living room. I never noticed before how the swirls had a pattern to them.

She brings the phone over to me. I hold my breath, afraid to hope. Then she nods with a smile.

I jump up and grab it. “Jackson?” I say as I step outside into the yard.

“Hey, baby,” he says. And I tell you, them words melt me right into the ground.

“Dag, I miss you something fierce. I can’t believe it’s only been two days.”

He sighs. “Me, too.”

“What’s it like being back there?” I ask.

“It’s a’ight,” he says.

“Your mama mad about you punching out your kin?” I ask.

“Naw,” he replies. “Boys’ll be boys.”

“That’s good,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief.

Then there’s just all this dead silence on the line.

“Say something,” I beg.

“What?” he answers.

And my heart sinks right into the red clay dirt beneath my feet. We ain’t never going to make this work if we can’t talk to each other on the phone.

“Don’t be like that,” I beg.

“Look, I got to run. I just wanted to hear your voice is all.”

“You got a job yet?” I ask just to keep him on the line a minute longer, but end up sounding like a naggy housewife.

He hesitates. “Mama wants me to put in an application at the auto body shop. Thinks the money’ll be good.” He sounds like somebody done up and stole his puppy.

“What about maybe painting houses?” I suggest, all gentlelike. He doesn’t answer. “There must be house painters in Greenville!” I can hear him smiling. “You just take that telephone and call every painting company out there and tell ’em what they’ll be missing out on if they don’t hire you. Jiminy Crickets, boy. Don’t make me come out there and explain it all to your mama myself.”

“You are one crazy-ass girl, Savannah as in Georgia.”

“I miss you something terrible, Jackson as in Mississippi.”

“I’ll call you soon,” he says.

“Love you,” I say, sounding too hopeful.

“Back at you, baby.” And then he’s gone and I feel even worse than I did before.

I
can’t breathe. I just woke up from a dream where my daddy was sitting on my chest watching me struggle for air. But even though I’m awake, I still can’t get a good breath. I’m shivering even though it’s hot.

My asthma’s been acting up the last few days. Mama says it’s the pollen. She’d like to keep me indoors all day long if I’d let her. She ain’t even close to right. Even though I know in my heart that Jackson wouldn’t have left me if he’d had his druthers, my asthma doesn’t know that. Alls it knows is that somebody done up and went.

I’ve been coughing myself awake on and off all night. But now I feel it coming on for true. I hate to wake Mama, but I expect I best hurry before I can’t get up at all. I’m leaning forward, trying to gulp down some air.

“Dog.” Why am I whispering when I’m trying to wake him up?

“Dog!” I yell-cough.

“Ungh,” he grunts.

Now I’m sweating, feeling panicky. “Dog,” I wheeze again, and I am fighting for air.

He picks his head up off the pillow. “D’you use your inhaler?”

“Yeah,” I croak, grateful he’s awake and comprehending the situation.

“Mama!” Dog yells, sitting full up in the bed and staring at me like my head might just pop off. “Mama! Vannah can’t breathe!” And to my surprise, he sounds right concerned.

Mama comes bolting in, her jammie top falling off the edge of her shoulder. Her hair’s all a wreck, and her face doesn’t look too good neither. She tears over to the bed and starts shaking me real hard, then yells at Dog to move his ass and call 911. Only thing I can’t figure is why I feel like I’m hovering up on the ceiling looking down at myself, unless, holy s-h-i-t! Am I dead?

I’m too young to die. I ain’t even had a chance to find out what all everybody is so durn excited about when it comes to, well, you know, the birds and the bees and all that mess. I didn’t even get to say good-bye to Jackson. Now that ain’t hardly fair.

Oh man, Mama is freaking out. “It’s okay. I’m all right,” I try to tell her. But even though I can hear the words in my head up here, they don’t come out of the mouth she’s looking at down below.

“Has she been taking her medicine?” she barks at Dog.

“How should I know?” he yells back.

“Did she use her inhaler?” she cries.

“Yes!” he yells, triumphant. “I asked her right before I called you in. She said she did.”

“Y’all calm down!” I try to say. But when I look at myself, I can see I’m not saying a word. “Lord, it’s gonn’ be all right.” Except then I notice how my lips are looking blue.

“Where is that G.D. ambulance?” Mama shouts. “I’ma give them one more minute, then I’m toting her off to the hospital myself.”

Meanwhile, my poor body is passed out and struggling for air. Mama’s holding me all tenderlike and telling me to hold on. Aw, Mama, don’t cry.