The Pros and Cons of Breathing

I spent my lunch period hiding out in the courtyard, protected by my friends.

"I can't believe the shit they're saying about you." Grant grumbled as he shredded his mozzarella stick.

My lunch sat untouched on the bench beside me. I nodded in response.

"Speaking of shit." Kate murmured.

My head swiveled to follow her gaze. Sure enough, Adam and one of his friends from the football team were heading in our direction, aiming for the cafeteria to my left. I never let my eyes leave him as he neared and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears as I swallowed the urge to tackle him. Maria Gomez I could take, but two football players I most certainly could not.

When they were within earshot, Adam's friend looked over to me and then nudged my ex-boyfriend, "Looks like you might need a restraining order, dude. She's got that psycho killer look."

I flushed. Just over Adam's shoulder, I noticed someone else watching his progress to the cafeteria. Landon. My humiliation deepened while an unidentifiable look passed over his face as he studied us.

I dropped my gaze to my lunch tray. "Oh my gosh." Kate breathed, "No way, Madison, look who it is! Oh my gosh!"

She squealed excitedly and shook my arm hard enough to jostle my tray. I braced myself and looked up. Landon met my eyes with that wolfish grin.

"So hot." Kate breathed.

I couldn't agree more. But with the way I left things, I just couldn't get past my embarrassment to talk to him. "I know," I replied to Kate, "we just had Art together, it was mortifying."

"I thought you said he was in college." Scottie remarked as she pulled apart her dinner roll.

"Whoah, wait," Grant did a double-take. I resisted the urge to facepalm. "That's Landon from Louisville?"

I nodded, biting my lip.

Grant grinned and wagged his eyebrows, "Well, well. This is gonna be interesting."

"No," I shook my head vigorously, "nope. It's not gonna be anything. It's going to be boring, just like any other year."

But despite myself, I snuck another glance across the walkway. He was no longer looking at me, but at his hands, which contained a paperback book. A group of girls openly stared and giggled as they walked by. Landon didn't even bat an eye. I didn't blame them for staring; he was gorgeous in the most unconventional way. And he certainly didn't look like he was in high school.

"Well, I guess if you're not interested, someone else will snatch him up." Scottie replied.

I didn't doubt that. But even in his considerably tamer school-wear, everything about Landon oozed heartbreak and trouble. Resolved, I tore my gaze away and didn't look back for the rest of lunch.



My mom wasn't home when Kate dropped me off. But she often stayed late or went to her study group for her college courses, so I wasn't worried. Instead, I dumped my backpack on the kitchen table and trudged up the stairs to my bedroom.

Without thinking about it, I reached over and pressed play on my ancient stereo. The tape clicked and there were a few seconds of silence before "Peaches" by The Presidents of the United States of America began to play. I tossed myself onto my bed and sighed. My dad made this mix for me in 2000. Why he decided to make a tape instead of a CD may have been purely nostalgic in hindsight.

Dad made the mix for me because these were our favorite songs growing up. Before he died, the most action he'd seen in the military was in basic training. Then he met my mom while stationed at Fort Knox, and they settled down here in Elizabethtown with me, their only child. Everything was great for a very short amount of time.

In 2003, my dad was deployed to Iraq after the terrorist attack on the twin towers in New York. I was eight years old when he was killed in action. The last memory I have of him was a phone call. In all honesty, how my mother coped was a mystery to me. They were the epitome of love. I had never seen a better fit than my parents. It was their relationship that I sought in every past boyfriend, refusing to settle for anything less.

I missed my dad so much.



It was dark when I when I opened my eyes again. Disoriented, I looked feverishly around my room until familiarity washed over me. I lay back down with a sigh, trying to calm my racing heart. I didn't know why I tended to wake up so scared like that.

The psychiatrist in me would probably say it had something to do with the night I found out my dad died. Like some kind of trauma that would forever haunt me. Thinking of my dad made me wonder about my remaining parent. With renewed terror, I launched myself out of bed and down the hall to her bedroom.

It was empty. Moonlight streamed through her blinds at the queen sized bed in the center of the room. I eyed her tidy vanity for signs of her recent presence, but found none. A framed picture of her and my father stood out next to the mirror. Their wedding day. I rushed through the open door to her bathroom. It was also empty.

Panicked, I hurtled down the stairs. After finding a vacant kitchen, I stopped short in the living room. My eyes finally rested on the beautifully peaceful face of my mother. She was asleep on the couch, shoes still on and everything. My heart swelled at the sight of her. We shared the same wavy, blonde hair. The same long nose. The same freckles. She wore all of these features better, of course.

I noticed something on the floor in front of her, presumably dropped from her outstretched hand. Quietly, I tiptoed over and picked it up. It was the picture of my father in military dress, the one that usually hung on the wall above the flag. I had his eyes; the same brown eyes that looked so ordinary on everyone else, yet so thoughtful on him. My mouth mirrored his, full bottom lip, same exact peach color whenever I wasn't wearing lip gloss. I ran my fingers over the glass.

My mother stirred, and my eyes immediately darted to her. I held my breath as she settled back into a more comfortable position, still out cold. She drew her arm into her chest and curled slightly into a ball. Deborah Downing could have been twenty when she slept. Sometimes I forgot what she looked like without the weight of the world in her features. She was so beautiful, and so tragic.

I sighed. With quiet deliberate steps, I placed the picture back on the wall, then rooted through the linen closet for a light blanket for my mother. Tenderly, I removed her shoes and tucked her in. When I was done, I stepped back to admire her one more time, feeling as if the roles were reversed and I were the mother instead of the child.

The clock above the mantle read 1:20 in the morning, so I pulled myself together and snuck back upstairs. I barely let myself wonder what time she had come creeping in as I changed into my pajamas and crawled back into bed. My mother certainly was becoming a mystery to me lately. I rolled onto my side and let sleep take me once again.