Don't Forget to Breathe

by Cathrina Constantine

  “It is a big deal.”

  “Leo, drop it. I deserved it.”

  I bit my tongue, understanding where his anger stemmed from. After a moment of silence, I asked, “Did you really see people or the cops in the cemetery?”

  He blinked before replying, “Yes, I thought I did.”

  “What’d you do after I left?”

  “You made me feel like such a loser.” He exhaled a curt breath as his fingers picked at the material on the chair. “Just in case it was the cops, I picked up our cans.” He looked at me like he wanted my approval. “Then I went home. I couldn’t sleep so I came over here.” His eyes looped around my room. “To say I was sorry.”

  “Did you hear or see anyone else in the cemetery?”

  “N-nope.” He seemed to be looking at the toe of his sneaker as he fidgeted in the chair. “Like I said, I left. Why?”

  He sounded truthful and I wanted to believe him. Yet when he raised his eyes to look at me, there was a glint that spoke volumes. “Did you hear a scream?”

  Either he was tired or fed up, his fists pressed his brow. “Leo,” he whispered, “spit it out.”

  Sometimes I couldn’t tell what was real and what was a dream. I didn’t want to be that lunatic, a person who sees and hears things that aren’t really there. I’d had enough psychotherapy to last a lifetime. Dreams were messing with my brain and I was in the process of hiding it. I had no intentions of going back to the psychiatrist. Did I imagine the bloodcurdling scream, the beam of light on the headstone? Did I dial 911?

  Even Henry looked strange, or, was it an expression of fear, a mixture? “Must’ve dreamt it. Never mind,” I said. Bowing my head, a tangle of hair shuttered the sides of my face.

  Henry released a breath, like he’d been holding it in. “I’m going home to get ready for school. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty?” As he stood to leave, he wiped down his face with tense fingers. “Oh, by the way. A little gift just for you.” Cuffing a hand into his jeans, he slipped out a teeny-tiny plastic bag.

  He lobbed it, and it landed between my legs. I knew what it was, and picked it up like it might bite. “I…I told you I quit.”

  “I thought you needed a jolt. You’ve been looking kind of mangy.”

  “Thanks…but…no…” I handed it back to him, but he shrugged my hand away.

  “Keep it. Someday it’ll come in handy.”

  He raised the sticky window generating a loud abrading noise. I recoiled, hoping it didn’t wake Dad. After he climbed out, I lowered it down and watched him slink around the corner of my house.

  My fingertips still held the tiny bag, and treating the cocaine like poison, flicked it into the drawer of my end table.

  Across the street on Westgate lived a man, I thought he was a bachelor or divorced. Whether he was being nice or a creepster, he always waved a hello and was constantly watching me. For an older guy, he was good-looking. Then this past August, Henry and a woman moved in. Being a nosy neighbor, I snooped with interest as they unloaded a rental truck with their belongings.

  Henry was average height, cropped coppery hair, neither fat nor skinny. We hadn’t actually met until the first day of school at the corner to wait for the bus. He was already there. The first thing I noted was his hipster-ish glasses: Rectangular, golden-brown frames which matched his hair and, a limned handprint on his neck, which I declined to mention on our first meeting. I found out that the man I thought was divorced or a bachelor was his father and the woman was his mother. I didn’t want to pry, maybe his parents had been separated and had reconciled.

  As weeks passed, Henry had a hard time fitting in and I befriended him because he never inquired about my mom. Two weeks ago his dad purchased a used SUV for Henry and, I obviously benefited from his good fortune.

  Fitting into a pair of denim jeans, a snug plaid shirt over a tank top, I already felt wiped. When was the last time I’d had a restful night’s sleep? I reopened the drawer to my end table and cracked the lid of an embroidered box. My secret stash for extreme emergencies. The last time I used was August 2nd, it would’ve been Mom’s 40th birthday. I added Henry’s bag of coke to the contents. Tantalized by a modest pick-me-up, I toyed with a tiny white pill, and contemplated the monotonous day ahead. The internal struggle was overcome when I slipped it into my pocket and made my way to the kitchen, late as usual.

  Releasing the side door to depart for work, Dad turned. “Have a glass of juice and a piece of toast before you leave. You’re getting too skinny.”

  I stretched my neck easing stiff muscles. “Remember I have cheerleading practice after school. I’ll be late.”

  “I can’t believe you stuck with it. You never cared for cheerleading. I still remember you and Mom squabbling about it.”

  “Yeah, well.” I pulled the toaster out of the cupboard. “She thought it’d help get my nose out of my books. So I’m taking her advice…for now.” In reality, after mom died, it had been Nona who insisted the regimented practice would keep me focused.

  Dad asked, “Are you taking the bus home or should I pick you up?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Maybe Henry will stay after and I can hitch a ride with him.”

  Dad’s eyebrows creased with a frown.

  “What?” I turned from his frowning expression and stuck a slice of bread into the toaster.

  “That kid bothers me. I don’t like you anywhere near him.”

  “Dad, he’s…he’s a nice guy. Just…shy.”

  His mouth rumpled with a resolute nod. In the process of walking out of the house, he stopped. Poised with one foot on the threshold, he said, “Were you anywhere near Tarpon Hill last night?”

  “Why?” This wasn’t good; he knew something. Admitting I was wetting myself on Tarpon Hill would be suicidal.

  “The morning news is broadcasting a story of a body found in the ditch between Tarpon and Erie Road.”

  I tried holding it together. The scream really happened? “Yuck, how awful.” My throat tightened, though, managed to squeak, “Do they know who it is?”

  “Not saying until they reach next of kin.” His mouth turned into a thin line. “See, Leo, that’s why I don’t want you wandering the streets at night. That’s why I worry.”

  “You can’t live like that, worrying about me all the time.” I felt relieved and appalled at the same time: Relieved, I didn’t imagine the scream and appalled a murder took place in the cemetery right after I ran away. “I’m good. Don’t worry.”— and jabbed my fingers into my back pockets to stop the tremors.

  Chapter 3

  As soon as Dad clicked the door my cool resolve vanished. My hands sheltered my face, huffing and puffing from one end of the kitchen to the other. I jolted at the pop of the toaster and gaped at the slice of toast, my stomach heaved.

  The scream—it was real. A body was found on Tarpon on the banks of the cemetery. Did someone drag the corpse to Tarpon—why? What would’ve happened if I’d stayed with Henry?

  The honk of a car disintegrated my thoughts. “Darnnit, he’s early.” I darted to my bedroom for my messenger bag and burst out the door.

  While buckling in, I gazed at Henry navigating the car. He looked tired with droopy eyes. Coppery-brown nubs marched along his chin; evidently he didn’t find the time to shave.

  “Did you hear the news,” I said, “about the dead body found on Tarpon last night?” His fingers seemed to circle the steering wheel in a tight grip.

  “I don’t listen to the news. It’s all bad.”

  “I agree, but my dad does.” I combed through my rebellious hair and stared through the windshield. A bright sun peeked over the horizon and golden fingers streaked into the sky. It was going to be a beautiful day—less one human.

  I turned back to Henry. “Doesn’t that freak you out?”

  “Huh, what are you saying?”

  “We were there, by Tarpon Hill.”

  “So? We don’t know when the dude was murdered.”

  “I never sa
id it was a dude.” He seemed so blasé. Disturbing. “It could’ve been a female.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Wow, you’re taking this information extremely light.”

  “Leo—” He sounded brusque, pushing up his glasses. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, it’s a crime, happens every day. Get over it.” His bruised knuckles advanced from bloody red to white as he held the wheel. “It’s not like it’s someone we know.”

  My innards churned. Mom’s gruesome murder scene had ingrained in my memory for all eternity. Absently, my thumb ironed over the little lump in my pocket, the pill. When the psychiatrist failed me, I took matters into my own hands, drowning my sorrows anyway possible. I couldn’t, and didn’t speak the rest of the drive. Henry parked and I barged out of the SUV, and jaunted into school without waiting for him. It took two hours to compose my internal war of contention.

  During English class, Nona asked in a low tone, “You are going to practice after school, right?”

  I nodded and veered toward my friend.

  “Mrs. Zweigler’s teaching us a new routine.” She showed me her gag face. “She wants it ready for the football game on Saturday.”

  “I hope it’s not lame like the last one.”

  Nona grinned.

  “Miss Nelson,” said Mr. Slepe, the teacher. “Do you have something to share with the class?”

  Heads turned in my direction. “Uh…no,” I said.

  “Then all eyes up here.” Exhibiting his eccentric two-finger point to his eyeballs, and then flipped the double point at me. “I’m the teacher, not you.”

  Following class, we speed-walked to our favorite haunt, the third floor restroom, and were astonished to see a window partly open. Nona foraged in her purse and withdrew a pack of smokes. “Want one?” She offered the pack to me.

  My shaky fingers pulled out a cigarette, then torched the tobacco.

  “I can tell something’s bothering you.” Nona blew a torrent of smoke from her mouth.

  In brief, I clarified my recent dream: The murder scene, the bloody prints, the dagger, and being grabbed.

  “Leo,” she whispered even though the restroom was empty, “you’re starting to remember. You have to tell the police.”

  “The police didn’t find the dagger. I…I’m not ready to…to…”

  She prevented my stammering with a locked hug. “I’m here for you.”

  “It’s probably nothing, but I went out with Henry last night—”

  “Well that explains it all.” Her eyeballs bugged out. “Why the heck do you keep hanging with that boy?”

  My head joggled from shoulder to shoulder. “He’s new and needs a friend. He’s…okay.” Her eyes crunched along with her face. “Why don’t you like him?”

  “He’s…I don’t know.” Nona flicked her ash into the sink. “I can’t put my finger on it. He’s…different.”

  “Henry’s introverted.” Clouds wreathed our heads and we fanned smoke toward the window. “So he’s not Becket Kane or Joseph Andreesson.”

  “That’d be nice, though.” Nona giggled displaying a salacious brow wag. “I saw hottie looking y’all over at our last practice. If Henry hadn’t been there, Becket might’ve made a move on you.”

  “You’re dreaming.” I tossed my cigarette into the toilet bowl. “Becket doesn’t know I exist. Besides, he’s a senior and we’re inferior juniors.”

  “I hope you’re speaking for yourself, hun. My Reggie is a senior and I’m nobody’s inferior.” White defined her big brown eyes. “And yesterday Reggie asked me if you were going out with Henry.”

  “Why would Reggie ask you that?”

  “C’mon, Leo. Are you dense?” She smiled like a tiger with a secret. “He was asking for someone.”

  “Oh, no.” My shoulders slouched. “What creepzoid wants to know?”

  “I told Reg that you friended that oddball because you felt sorry for him.”

  “Henry is…is…Henry. That’s all.” God forbid I acknowledge he tried making out with me last night. She’d hemorrhage. “So who’s asking about me?” Eager, I grabbed her arm. “No way, it’s Becket.”

  “I betcha it is.” She included her butt to the toilet bowl. “I couldn’t shag it out of Reg. If I wasn’t taken I’d be all over Becket like a bee on honey.”

  “Yeah, you and the whole swarm of queen bees.”

  “He hasn’t gone with anybody steady since tenth grade,” she harped. “Becket’s one of those love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guys. Probably ‘cause Joyce broke his heart. Do you remember Joyce Winter? We were freshman at the time.”

  “She was drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “I’m glad she moved to another state.” She folded a strand of ebony hair over her ear. “And you’re gorgeous too, hun.”

  I tsked, blowing air between my teeth.

  “You’re selling yourself short, girl!” Her hand came forward and pincered my chin between her thumb and finger, studying my face like a beauty consultant. “I was shocked when you cut your long hair. It was almost to your waist.”

  I remembered the day well. Eight months ago when I considered breathing was overrated. A waste product hunkered in the corner of my bedroom on a psychedelic trip. Like a shroud, hair covered my body and I felt the need to free myself from its weight. Snatching a pair of scissors, I hacked away.

  “It’s kind of…unique.” She sounded uncertain. “Red hair with orangy-blond highlights.”

  “Foiled dye job,” I grumped.

  “Makes you look badass with those gnarly razored layers.”

  “Real badass,” I mocked turning sour, “and pure candyass on the inside.”

  She persisted. “And green eyes…”

  Emitting an exaggerated head loll, I nipped her embellished observation. “Did you hear about the body they found on Tarpon?”

  “No—” She cringed. “That’s not far from my house.”

  “I guess no one listens to the morning news around here.” The bell pealed for the start of class.

  “Oh poop! I’m late again.” Nona dashed from the restroom.

  However, I didn’t care about being late and inspected my face in the mirror while fingering the pill that hugged my pocket. “Mom,” I said to my reflection, “how else can I put up with cheerleading today?”

  ***

  Outfitted in school colors of red, white and blue, the skimpy uniform molded to my body like shrink-wrap. The cheerleading squad gamboled onto the football field, flashing pom-poms like their lives depended on their enthusiasm. Sloth-like, waiting for the pill to kick in, I feigned zeal and plastered on a bogus smile, shaking that pom-pom for all it was worth.

  Mrs. Zwiegler, fists shelved on her hips, sturdy legs parted, looking like the jolly green giant in teal green sweats, supervised our every move. A shrill whistle twanged around the field, our signal. We lined up in our assigned formations, hands clasped behind our backs.

  Abruptly a clamor like a herd of buffalo came stampeding. Grunting and clanking of shoulder pads, a pack of twenty-something players galloped over the terrain. Helmets clutched in their hands, a team of muscular, broad shouldered boys reeking of testosterone.

  The boys had a mystical, magnetic pull, every head on the cheerleading squad turned to watch. Such remarkable synchronization that Mrs. Zwiegler actually laughed. “Girls, girls,” her voice held a strict edge, “I wish all your routines were choreographed as precise and crisp.”

  My prerogative was to zero in on Becket Kane and trusted my ability to remain unnoticed. Except this time, I was met head-on with lancing dark eyes. Caught and tackled.

  Chapter 4

  “C’mon, stay with me,” Nona pleaded fifteen minutes after peeling off our uniforms. “I’m going to watch Reggie practice.”

  “I’m beat.” The pill was a dud. “I just want to go home and sle-e-ep.” We walked toward the bleachers to look for Henry, my ride home. A number of classmates and half of the cheerleading squad were there fawning over the boys. />
  “Henry isn’t here today,” she said while canvassing the stands. “Reggie will give you a ride home. Then you won’t have to take the late bus.”

  More than likely, Henry was home fast asleep, right where I’d like to be. I hated taking the smelly late bus and accepted her offer with a sigh. We headed up the stairs to take a seat and heard, “Yo, Nona.” We twisted and noticed a waving Reggie. “Love ya, baby.”

  Nona’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Backatcha, Reg.” She blew him a kiss.

  “Ple-ease,” I grumbled. “You two are making me nauseous.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  I was.

  Since entering Star Hallow High, I’d been a discreet Becket Kane observer. Morsels of spicy gossip regarding his escapades highlighted my days. Even when he only had eyes for Joyce, it had been fruitless pining after him. What exacerbated my dilemma, Nona had been privy to my obsession. We’d been hanging out less and less with Reggie in the picture, and needless to say, she’d been conniving to set me up with one of his friends.

  Nona pinched my knee. “Did you see that pass Becket made to Reggie? Oh my gosh, that was phenomenal.”

  I smirked at her love of the game. Reggie was a nice looking boy, not quite reaching six feet tall and could run faster than a coyote. His black hair snipped close to his head and he had an indelible smile. What held my interest, the boys’ snug fitting uniforms, in particular, Becket’s. My eyes latched onto him like a boring tick.

  Nona ruined my concentration. “You still got the hots for him, don’t you?”

  Masking my infatuation, I said, “Who’s that?”

  “Leo, you’re not that cunning, give it up. I know you like the back of my hand.”

  Yes, Nona did know me, too well. We’d been friends since fifth grade. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have been in a sanitarium after Mom passed.

  Dad had evolved into a slobbering, incoherent wreck, and I barricaded myself away from the world. On a destructive mission to join Mom, and thanks to Dad’s endless supply, a good drunk was always available. The psychiatrist had been nice enough to dole out prescription drugs: One drug to speed me up and one to make me sleep.