The Air He Breathes
Page 3
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
It became a place of warmth just by us being within its walls, and after Steven passed away, a drift of coldness filled the space.
The last time he and I were together, his hand was around my waist in the foyer and we were creating memories we’d thought would last forever.
Forever was much shorter than anyone would ever like to believe.
For the longest time, life flowed in its accustomed stream, and one day it all came to a shocking stop.
I’d felt the suffocation of the memories, of the sadness, so I’d run off to stay with Mama.
Going back to the house would ultimately be me facing the truth that he was really gone. For over a year, I’d been living in make-believe, pretending he’d gone out for milk and would be walking through the door any time now. Each evening when I lay down to sleep, I stayed on the left side and closed my eyes, pretending Steven was against the right.
But now, my Emma needed more. My poor Emma needed freedom from pullout couches, strange men, and gossiping neighbors who said words that should never fill a five-year-old’s ears. She needed me too. I’d been walking through the darkness, only being half the mother she deserved, so maybe facing the memories of our house would help bring me more peace.
I headed back inside the house and looked down at my sleeping angel, her chest rising and falling in a perfect pattern. She and I had much in common, from our dimpled cheeks to the blonde tone of our hair. We shared the same kind of laugh that was quiet, yet grew loud in the company of the ones we loved. She smiled out of the right corner of her mouth and frowned out of the left, the same way my lips did.
But there was one big difference.
She had his blue eyes.
I lay beside Emma, placing a gentle kiss against her nose before I reached into the heart-shaped tin box and read another love letter. It was one I’d read before, yet it still tugged at my spirit.
Sometimes I pretended the letters were from Steven.
I always cried a little.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth
“Are we really going home?” asked sleepy Emma when morning came through the living room window, spilling light against her sweet face. I picked her up from the bed and placed her and Bubba—her teddy bear and all-time favorite companion—on the closest chair. Bubba wasn’t simply a teddy bear, he was a mummified teddy bear. See, my little girl was a little weird, and after she saw the movie Hotel Transylvania—which involved zombies, vampires, and mummies—she decided that maybe a little scary and maybe a little weird was perfect.
“We are.” I smiled toward her as I folded up the pullout. The night before I hadn’t slept a wink and I stayed up packing all of our belongings.
Emma had a goofy grin on her face that matched her father’s. She screamed, “YAY!” and told Bubba we were really going home.
Home.
That word stung a little in the back of my heart, but I kept smiling. I’d learned to always smile in front of Emma because she had a way of growing sad whenever she thought I was sad. Even though she gave me the best Eskimo kisses when I was feeling down, she didn’t need that kind of responsibility.
“We should make it back in time to see the fireworks on our rooftop. Remember how we used to watch the fireworks on the roof with Daddy? Do you remember that, babe?” I asked her.
She narrowed her eyes as if going deep into her mind, searching. If only our minds were like file cabinets and we could simply retrieve our favorite memories from a neatly organized system whenever we chose. “I don’t remember,” she said, hugging Bubba.
That breaks my heart.
I smiled anyway.
“Well, how about we stop at the store on the way and pick up some Bomb-Pops to eat on the roof?”
“And some Cheeto Puffs for Bubba!”
“Of course!”
She smiled and screamed once more. That time the grin I gave her was nothing but real.
I loved her more than she’d ever know. If it hadn’t been for her, I would’ve definitely lost myself to the grief. Emma saved my soul.
I didn’t say goodbye to Mama, because she never came home from her dinner date with Casanova. When I first moved in with her and she didn’t come home, I would call and call, worried about her whereabouts, but often she would yell at me, telling me she was a grown woman doing grown woman things.
So, I left her a note.
Going home.
We love you.
We’ll see you soon.
—E&E
We drove for hours in my broken-down car, listening to the Frozen soundtrack enough times for me to consider pulling out my eyelashes one at a time with a razorblade. Emma somehow listened to each song a million times, yet had a way of making up her own words to every line. To be honest, I liked her version of the songs the best.
When she fell asleep, Frozen slept with her, leaving me with a car full of silence. My hand reached out toward the passenger seat, palm up, waiting for another hand to lock my fingers with theirs, but the touch never found me.
I’m doing good, I told myself, over and over again. I’m so good.
One day, it would be true.
One day, I’d be good.
As we merged onto the I-64 freeway, my gut tightened. I wished I could take back roads to get to Meadows Creek, but this was the only way into town. It was quite busy for the holiday, but the new smooth pavement of the once broken roadway made for easy travels. Tears formed in my eyes as I remembered watching the news.
Pileup on I-64!
Chaos!
Mayhem!
Injuries!
Casualties!
Steven.
One breath.
I kept driving and the tears that tried to escape failed. I forced my body to go numb, because if I wasn’t numb, I’d feel everything. If I felt everything, I’d fall apart, and I couldn’t fall apart. The rearview mirror showed me my small bit of strength as I stared at my baby. We made it across the freeway, and I took another breath. Each day was one breath at a time. I couldn’t think much further than that, otherwise I’d choke on the air.
On a polished white piece of wood was a sign that read ‘Welcome to Meadows Creek’.
Emma was awake now, staring out the window. “Hey, Mama?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Do you think Daddy will know that we moved? Do you think he’ll know where to leave the feathers?”
When Steven passed away and we moved to stay with Mama, there were white bird feathers scattered around the front yard. When Emma asked about them, Mama said they were small signs from the angels, letting us know they were always close by, watching over us.
The last time he and I were together, his hand was around my waist in the foyer and we were creating memories we’d thought would last forever.
Forever was much shorter than anyone would ever like to believe.
For the longest time, life flowed in its accustomed stream, and one day it all came to a shocking stop.
I’d felt the suffocation of the memories, of the sadness, so I’d run off to stay with Mama.
Going back to the house would ultimately be me facing the truth that he was really gone. For over a year, I’d been living in make-believe, pretending he’d gone out for milk and would be walking through the door any time now. Each evening when I lay down to sleep, I stayed on the left side and closed my eyes, pretending Steven was against the right.
But now, my Emma needed more. My poor Emma needed freedom from pullout couches, strange men, and gossiping neighbors who said words that should never fill a five-year-old’s ears. She needed me too. I’d been walking through the darkness, only being half the mother she deserved, so maybe facing the memories of our house would help bring me more peace.
I headed back inside the house and looked down at my sleeping angel, her chest rising and falling in a perfect pattern. She and I had much in common, from our dimpled cheeks to the blonde tone of our hair. We shared the same kind of laugh that was quiet, yet grew loud in the company of the ones we loved. She smiled out of the right corner of her mouth and frowned out of the left, the same way my lips did.
But there was one big difference.
She had his blue eyes.
I lay beside Emma, placing a gentle kiss against her nose before I reached into the heart-shaped tin box and read another love letter. It was one I’d read before, yet it still tugged at my spirit.
Sometimes I pretended the letters were from Steven.
I always cried a little.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth
“Are we really going home?” asked sleepy Emma when morning came through the living room window, spilling light against her sweet face. I picked her up from the bed and placed her and Bubba—her teddy bear and all-time favorite companion—on the closest chair. Bubba wasn’t simply a teddy bear, he was a mummified teddy bear. See, my little girl was a little weird, and after she saw the movie Hotel Transylvania—which involved zombies, vampires, and mummies—she decided that maybe a little scary and maybe a little weird was perfect.
“We are.” I smiled toward her as I folded up the pullout. The night before I hadn’t slept a wink and I stayed up packing all of our belongings.
Emma had a goofy grin on her face that matched her father’s. She screamed, “YAY!” and told Bubba we were really going home.
Home.
That word stung a little in the back of my heart, but I kept smiling. I’d learned to always smile in front of Emma because she had a way of growing sad whenever she thought I was sad. Even though she gave me the best Eskimo kisses when I was feeling down, she didn’t need that kind of responsibility.
“We should make it back in time to see the fireworks on our rooftop. Remember how we used to watch the fireworks on the roof with Daddy? Do you remember that, babe?” I asked her.
She narrowed her eyes as if going deep into her mind, searching. If only our minds were like file cabinets and we could simply retrieve our favorite memories from a neatly organized system whenever we chose. “I don’t remember,” she said, hugging Bubba.
That breaks my heart.
I smiled anyway.
“Well, how about we stop at the store on the way and pick up some Bomb-Pops to eat on the roof?”
“And some Cheeto Puffs for Bubba!”
“Of course!”
She smiled and screamed once more. That time the grin I gave her was nothing but real.
I loved her more than she’d ever know. If it hadn’t been for her, I would’ve definitely lost myself to the grief. Emma saved my soul.
I didn’t say goodbye to Mama, because she never came home from her dinner date with Casanova. When I first moved in with her and she didn’t come home, I would call and call, worried about her whereabouts, but often she would yell at me, telling me she was a grown woman doing grown woman things.
So, I left her a note.
Going home.
We love you.
We’ll see you soon.
—E&E
We drove for hours in my broken-down car, listening to the Frozen soundtrack enough times for me to consider pulling out my eyelashes one at a time with a razorblade. Emma somehow listened to each song a million times, yet had a way of making up her own words to every line. To be honest, I liked her version of the songs the best.
When she fell asleep, Frozen slept with her, leaving me with a car full of silence. My hand reached out toward the passenger seat, palm up, waiting for another hand to lock my fingers with theirs, but the touch never found me.
I’m doing good, I told myself, over and over again. I’m so good.
One day, it would be true.
One day, I’d be good.
As we merged onto the I-64 freeway, my gut tightened. I wished I could take back roads to get to Meadows Creek, but this was the only way into town. It was quite busy for the holiday, but the new smooth pavement of the once broken roadway made for easy travels. Tears formed in my eyes as I remembered watching the news.
Pileup on I-64!
Chaos!
Mayhem!
Injuries!
Casualties!
Steven.
One breath.
I kept driving and the tears that tried to escape failed. I forced my body to go numb, because if I wasn’t numb, I’d feel everything. If I felt everything, I’d fall apart, and I couldn’t fall apart. The rearview mirror showed me my small bit of strength as I stared at my baby. We made it across the freeway, and I took another breath. Each day was one breath at a time. I couldn’t think much further than that, otherwise I’d choke on the air.
On a polished white piece of wood was a sign that read ‘Welcome to Meadows Creek’.
Emma was awake now, staring out the window. “Hey, Mama?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Do you think Daddy will know that we moved? Do you think he’ll know where to leave the feathers?”
When Steven passed away and we moved to stay with Mama, there were white bird feathers scattered around the front yard. When Emma asked about them, Mama said they were small signs from the angels, letting us know they were always close by, watching over us.
