Living & Breathing, Etc.

When I got off the plane, I realized that the whole idea had "pathetic Saturday nights" written all over it.

For the love of all things good, this was supposed to be the second biggest city in the entire state.

The airport wasn't very busy. I sort of expected it to be, though, so needless to say, I was moderately surprised and horrified when I stepped into the baggage claim area and only saw three or four carousels. Lexington wasn't the capital of Kentucky, but it certainly was one of the biggest cities, along with Louisville. Lexington was smaller than Louisville, but it wasn't supposed to be the freaking boonies. It was a college town! University of Kentucky sat about fifteen minutes from the airport.

This was the third time I'd landed in the Lexington airport. It was only my second time, according to my memory, but my mom said that I'd visited Aunt Nora and Uncle Jack when I was two years old. The first time I remembered visiting Nora and Jack was when I was seven years old. Uncle Jack died in some sort of farm accident, and my mom and dad and brother and I flew in for the funeral. Mom wanted to stay another week to help Aunt Nora out around the house, but Aunt Nora insisted that she'd rather just be alone.

The first thing that caught my eye was a sign with the name of the airport on it. Blue Grass Airport. I sighed and pursed my lips. Maybe I was in the boonies. I squeezed my eyes shut. There's no place like home, there's no place like home. I peeked. Nope, still in nowhere land, and minus a yellow brick road to lead me to civilization.

I saw a familiar face from my flight- a short, round man. I followed him and what seemed to be a business friend to the third carousel to wait for our luggage to appear. Mine was first on the belt. Lucky. That was unusual for me. The Smith family had a nasty habit of bad luck. My sister was a bit more pessimistic about it than the rest of us. I think she bore the brunt of it most of the time, though. After all, she was the one who got stopped at Customs in the airport every time we traveled internationally. She also got an MIP the very first time she drank.

I grabbed my two bags and hauled them off the carousel. Passenger Pickup wasn't hard to find. In fact, it was about twenty yards away from the carousel. I sighed. At Intercontinental Airport in Houston, you practically had to go through a labyrinth, complete with riddles, to find an exit. Or a bathroom. I wasn't sure if I appreciated the simplicity of everything, but I would find out soon enough. Upon exiting the building, I immediately spotted Aunt Nora's tan Buick parked about ten yards from the door. I could see her frazzled black and gray hair lobbing around as she scanned the crowd for me. Her hair had continued to gray and thin since I'd seen her last. I wondered why that was, seeing as though Mom's hair was as thick as a horse's mane, and she was just four years younger.

"Tegan! Over here!" Nora cried. She waved awkwardly, sort of squatting halfway in or out of her car. I felt slightly embarrassed. Did she think I was going to get lost in the crowd of twenty? A few people from my flight glanced over to see who was making the noise.

"Hi Aunt Nora!" I grinned weakly. Please, don't yell again.

"I'm so glad you made it, dear," Nora muttered, squeezing my ribs with her skinny arms. The smelled like fried chicken. The strong scent immediately convinced me to throw out my current no-fried-foods diet. I'd inherited something in my bones from my parents that made Southern home cooking absolutely irresistible. Of course, living in Houston, Texas for my entire life had made me partial to TexMex and MexMex. And yes, there is a difference. TexMex has much more cheese.

With a little bit of difficulty, I slung my two suitcases into the back of the Buick. It wasn't that I was weak; I'd packed pretty heavily. I wanted to bring three suitcases, but Dad seriously objected to the extra fee the airlines charged for the additional luggage. He also objected to the second suitcase, but that came from a man who owned two pairs of pants and four shirts. I, on the other hand, required a much more substantial wardrobe, as proved by the bills from Nordstrom. And honestly, it wasn't like I was going to be at Nora's only for a week or so. Two months. That's the entire summer! Did Dad honestly think I was going to get by with five shirts? Try again, Pops. Try again.

I really couldn't remember why I'd agreed to this. Nora hadn't even complained about being lonely. Mom, always the psychiatrist, insisted that Nora just wasn't comfortable "expressing herself." Something about hearing it in her voice, in her manner of talking, in her trains of thought... I don't know. I'm no Nietzsche. The whole arrangement sprung up rather suddenly, too. Mom suggested it after another one of their sporadic phone conversations and I jumped at the opportunity to get away from the extreme heat and humidity of Houston summers. She usually didn't so strongly support the idea of letting her seventeen year old daughter travel by herself.

So, you know, I hadn't been caught up in one of those scandalous rich kid, private school dramas. My parents were not divorcing, just maybe on the verge of it. I hadn't been caught in bed with some random guy and I wasn't into hard drugs. I just wanted a break. Some friends had already made arrangements to come stay with me for a few days while I was on the farm with Nora.

And the way things were going in the car ride, I'd need the company. In my mind, I'd pictured some awesome bonding time with Nora. We'd magically have tons of stuff in common. I'd help her change her hairstyle and she'd teach me how to make fried chicken and gravy and before long, we'd be kindred spirits, giggling at all hours of the night. But if the current conversation was any indication of the future, I'd definitely have to be on the look out for some locals to befriend.

"Was your flight okay?" Nora asked.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "We were a bit delayed, but we made up for the time in the air. Continental is always late, though, so..." Nora nodded and continued to inch down the freeway. Not that there was traffic. The cars whizzing by the Buick didn't faze Nora. She kept up her 45 MPH speed faithfully. I sighed impatiently. This would push the two-hour drive another half hour, maybe another hour whole.

"How are things in Corbin?" I asked.

"Same," Nora said. "They're adding on to the elementary school."

"Oh. Cool."

"They opened up a new Chinese place. Your mom said you liked Chinese food," she added. I held in the desire to gag. Chinese food? In Corbin? There weren't any Chinese people in Corbin.

"That sounds good. We'll have to go sometime," I said doubtfully.

"Oh, no, no," Nora exclaimed, laughing. "That Chinese stuff has got too much spice for me. Keeps me up at night. You're on your own." I put out some effort to make a little laugh with her.

"What other sorts of restaurants do y'all have in Corbin?"

"Well, all you younger kids like the root beer stand," she said. "And we have a Taco Bell and a McDonald's. Everyone mostly eats at home, though." I thought back to Houston, where we dined out on the town at least twice a week during the summer, and never ate at one place twice in a month. God help me.

"Four restaurants?" I said disbelievingly.

"Well, there's the dry bar at Felt's Dance Hall-" I stopped listening to her horrifying stories. It'd probably be best to wait to face the reality. There would be no cars for me to throw myself in front of when I got to Corbin.

"Oh," I said hoarsely, once Nora finished her monologue. "What else do the high school kids do?"

"They play soccer sometimes on the school fields. Or flag football on the Pace's back field. Sometimes they have a barbeque back there." I contemplated on the idea of a barbeque. Barbecuing had always been a pastime among Texans. My dad's company often hosted barbecues where Dad would network with potential business parters, and Mom and I would sit silently as Francine, my sister, pushed around a plate of beans, cole slaw, and shredded barbeque beef. Admittedly, the concept held unpleasant memories, but I could certainly see a barbeque with friends being a good sort of entertainment.

The conversation dwindled after that. The only noise, really, was Nora clucking her tongue at the cars who whizzed by her with what she considered unholy speeds. If the driver honked, she'd let out a small exclamation of, "Well, I'll be!" I leaned my seat back eventually and closed my eyes, wishing for the time to pass more quickly.

The drive ended up taking two hours and forty five minutes. I tried to stretch my stiff and cramped legs when I finally climbed out of the car, but the ghost of discomfort refused to be exorcized from my limbs. The house stood before me and I inspected it with a scrutinizing eye. It was probably one of the larger houses in Corbin. Most houses were either in small subdivisions or else they were just cramped trailers, but a few houses reigned over an expanse of farmland. Those houses tended to be a bit larger. Nora's home sat up on a hill. The long driveway set it off from the main road, making it slightly secluded. A passerby could still see the house from the road, for most of the trees had been cleared by Uncle Jack long ago, but the house was far off enough so that no one would really be able to see that the beds out front hadn't been weeded in a few months and the grass was browning from dehydration.

All the same, the red brick structure, with its white columns, was a beautiful house. Uncle Jack had designed it himself right before he proposed to Aunt Nora. As I inspected the evidence of progressing dilapidation, I promised myself that I'd at least fix up the place for Nora before I left at the end of the summer. Mom had mentioned some family, Ellis or Elliot or something of the sort, who grew fruits and vegetables and kept up a greenhouse. I made a mental note to ask Nora about it during dinner. I could spend tomorrow weeding everything and then the next day, head over to the greenhouse and get some plants and flowers to fill up the beds. I'd probably have to enlist some help for advice on how exactly to go about planting, but it really couldn't be too hard. I walked around to the back of the car and pulled out my suitcases.

"Do you want help with those?" Nora asked.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," I insisted, continuing my examination of the property. As we rounded the edge of the house to go in the back door, I saw something that triggered memories- an old barn.

My mom told me I was a big fan of the barn. My sister and I would spend rainy afternoons in there with Uncle Jack. He'd sweep and move and fix and fiddle while I hopped from rafter to rafter. The hay fascinated Francine. Mom said that when the three of us returned every day, she saw the same view from the kitchen window. My knees and palms would be scraped up, and Uncle Jack would be smudged with grease, holding Francine's hand as she wobbled out after him, pieces of straw stuck in her little blonde bowl cut. I've seen a picture of the scene. Uncle Jack insisted that Aunt Nora grab the old Polaroid camera and snap a picture of us on the last day of our visit.

I came across the picture right after Uncle Jack's funeral. Aunt Nora's bedside table drawer was slightly open and I saw the corner sticking out. I have always been a poker. I mean, I wasn't much of one for cards, but I've always had a troublesome tendency to pull open those cracked drawers or thumb through whatever letters sit on a bedside table. I guess you could call it an extreme sense of curiosity. And to see that little white tab call me from inside the drawer... the temptation was overwhelming. I had tugged at the little corner, and the photo came out with only a little hesitation. I examined it closely before I heard someone enter the room. Aunt Nora. Since I'd arrived, I'd hardly seen anything on her face that represented any sort of emotion. But when her eyes landed on the picture in my hand, she almost turned purple. Her forehead wrinkled with anger and/or anxiety. She strutted over, snatched the picture from my hand, violently shoved it back in the drawer, and locked it. I remember being afraid of her right then. Mom called me back into the kitchen to help her label casseroles. On the plane ride back to Houston, I'd asked Mom about the picture, and she told me about the barn. She talked about all the good memories with Uncle Jack, but Aunt Nora had always hated it when us children went out there. She thought Uncle Jack would inevitably allow an accident to happen and Francine or I would be goners.

I looked at the barn now and smiled. I could almost feel a faint smell of hay drifting up my nostrils. I knew Nora had sold some of the surrounding land, but I had no idea if the barn was still hers.

"Do you still own the barn?" I asked. Nora looked at me sharply, with that same look she'd given me when she'd found me with that picture long ago.

"You'd better stay out of that old barn. No one’s been in there in years. Probably dangerous." The smell of hay left, and a much sweeter, almost rotten, smell invaded my senses. I felt slightly faint.

"That's too bad," I said, shaking off the numbing feeling. After sitting so long, I must have been affected by walking around.

"Lots of snakes, I'd guess," Nora continued. I shuddered.

"I hate snakes," I grimaced.

"Nasty fellers. Well, how 'bout I pull out some chicken? You ready for supper?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Sounds delicious," I replied. The chicken had already been prepared, so my dreams of learning the arts of Southern cooking were squashed for the moment. Nonetheless, everything smelled mouthwatering as we sat down at the table.

"Mom said something about a greenhouse? I think the name she gave me was Ellis or Elliot," I mentioned.

"Elliot," Nora corrected. "You wanted to get some food from them? I've got their apples fried right there." She pointed to the stack of fried apples I'd piled on my plate.

"I was thinking about planting some flowers in the garden." Nora nodded.

"That sounds nice. When are you thinking of going over?"

"Tomorrow or the day after."

"I'll draw you out a little map then." I nodded and we finished dinner in silence. I insisted on helping her with the dishes, but she told me that I'd better go unpack my things. I subjected, and she sent me upstairs to the green guest room, which wasn't too hard to find. Her bedroom was downstairs, so I'd have the whole floor to myself. I emptied my suitcase into the closet and the armoire and set out to explore the rest of the second floor, my domain for the next two months.

The first room I came upon was a pretty blue room. It was a bit smaller than the green room. It felt eerily quiet, even with the occasional clank of dishes from downstairs. I ran my hands over the smooth, dark chest of drawers and opened the closet next to it. Just towels. I sighed and closed the door, then took a seat on the bed. There was something particularly comforting about this room. It reminded me of a hug. The old cotton quilt felt like velvet under my fingertips. Suddenly, I realized how tired I was from the trip. I leaned back onto the bed and closed my eyes, inhaling deeply.

The rottenly sweet smell returned with unbearable strength. I leapt from the bed and gasped for air as my eyes watered. Fighting faintness, I dashed from the room into the hallway, where the air was clear. But no matter how many deep gulps of air I drew into my lungs, that ghost of the smell stubbornly refused to leave my memory.

I returned to the kitchen to help Nora finish the dishes, but I found her sitting in the easy chair with her eyes wide open, not breathing. I stumbled backwards and drew in another sharp breath.

Her chest rose, then fell again, waiting a few moments before rising again. I sank to the floor in relief. She was only sleeping- with her eyes open.