The Art of Not Breathing (11 page)

“These things just happen, Mrs. Main. It’s not your fault.”

“We can give him some medication to calm him down.”

“Your son will always have difficulty doing everyday things, Mrs. Main.”

“The best you can do is try to make life a bit easier. Get him some Velcro shoes. Let him use plastic cutlery.”

There was a whole list of things Mum had to do.

Eddie never had Velcro shoes or plastic cutlery. I found the list of these suggestions in the bin the day after the appointment, torn into pieces.

That evening, after seeing the therapist, Mum gave us spaghetti hoops with mini sausages, and then she went upstairs and cried. I gave Eddie all my mini sausages. I told him to sit up straight and hold his head up. Then I got him to lie on the floor and hold on to the underside of the sofa while I tried to stretch his legs. I stretched until he said, “You’re hurting me, Ellie.”

I didn’t like being bigger and stronger than him. I felt like a giant. I used to say, eat your greens, Eddie, and then you’ll be as tall as me, and he always did what I said. I used to say, give me your sweets, lie on the grass, let’s play a game, Eddie. And he always listened to me. He shouldn’t have. He should have learned not to listen to me, and then I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty.

6

ON WEDNESDAYS MR. JONES OPENS THE TECHNOLOGY ROOM
at lunchtime so pupils can work on their projects. There’s usually a few of us who show up every week. We’re the ones who pretend it’s our choice to sit alone with our sandwiches. The ones who are a bit different, whether on the surface or inside. I think I fit into both categories: different on the surface because I’m not thin and I wear boys’ clothes; different inside because of my Laryngitis Year and because half of me is missing.

Technology is my favorite subject because Mr. Jones lets us get on with our projects and I don’t have to speak to anyone. This term, we have to make something out of wood. I’ve chosen a boat because it reminds me of happy times. Dad used to take us on summer boat trips around the Black Isle to see the dolphins. Eddie loved it—he loved the spray and getting to sit on Dad’s shoulders to be the chief fin spotter. “Look, there’s Mischief! And there’s Sundance!” he’d shout, remembering all the names the guide had mentioned but not really knowing which dolphin was which. And he especially loved being allowed to drive the boat. I liked to sit at the back and watch the water get churned up by the motor, the noise of the engine drowning out any bad thoughts I had about Eddie being different.

Today, there’s only one other person in the technology lab, a boy called Frankie who smells like sour fruit and has dandruff. He looks pretty normal, apart from the dandruff, but he’s different on the inside. He talks like he’s about twenty-five, and he knows stuff, weird stuff about physics and engineering and books. I actually don’t mind him—he’s quite funny sometimes—only, I don’t let anyone see me talk to him. It’s better to have no friends than for people to think that Frankie is my friend.

When I pull my drawer open, I find that the mast for my boat has been snapped in half and the cotton sails have been torn into tiny pieces. I turn the boat over, and on the bottom, written in Tipp-Ex, it says, “As if you could ever get a boyfriend.” I fight the tears: I don’t cry at school. Instead, I hold the two halves of the mast in my hands and clench my fists, letting the splintered pieces puncture my skin. I swing around to look at Frankie, and he stutters and shakes his head.

“I couldn’t stop them,” he mutters, letting his wood spin out of the lathe and onto the floor. “I tried, but they just mocked me.” He bends down to pick up the block of wood and his goggles fall from his face, and then I hear a crunch as he steps on them.

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” I shout at him. “It makes them worse.” I keep fighting the tears and my nose tingles. While he picks up the broken plastic, I turn the lathe off before he can do any more damage, then turn my back on him.

By the end of lunchtime I have a new mast. It’s not as good as the first one, but I won’t let them get to me. I put the mast in my bag for safekeeping. I tell myself that one day I’ll have a real boat and I’ll be off exploring. I don’t yet know where I want to explore, but maybe there are some undiscovered islands in the North Sea. Maybe I’ll find another place like the Black Isle, with beaches, otters, and a boathouse. The difference will be that no one will know who I am.

Next week, in class, I’ll make new sails, and they will be bigger, better, and stronger, and they will carry me wherever I need to go.

7

DILLON HAS STARTED TO DO FITNESS CIRCUITS IN THE GARDEN.
He runs around the perimeter, then hangs on the crooked branch of the apple tree to do pull-ups. His mouth stretches wide in a grimace, and the veins in his forehead pop out when he does this. He manages five, then falls to a heap amid the tangled roots and weeds. He lies there panting on his back before he hauls himself into pushup position and pumps up and down, grunting with every push.

I slowly walk toward him and stop at his head. It’s nearly dark, and the security light comes on, lighting up the sweat beads on his forehead. Dillon’s arms tremble as he heaves himself up. He yelps like a girl when he sees me.

“Jeez. You really should stop spying on people,” he says, collapsing again into the grass.

“I wasn’t spying. Mum wants to know if you want any dinner.”

Dillon shakes his head and presses his hands into his stomach.

“I had dinner at Lara’s,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows at him, and he raises his back.

“Speaking of you spying on me,” he says, changing the subject. “Why were you at the party last weekend? You shouldn’t be out that late.”

“Why is it okay for you to go to the party and not me?”

“Because I’m older,” he says. The way he says it reminds me of how I used to say that to Eddie, as an answer for why I could do things that he couldn’t, hoping he wouldn’t understand that being a few minutes older wouldn’t make a difference. I feel a pang of guilt. Perhaps it did make a difference, though. If Eddie had been born first, he might not have stopped breathing.

“Lara is younger than me, and you took her to the party.”

“That’s different. I was there to look after her.”

Dillon struggles to his feet and brushes the grass from his shorts. He looks scrawny and childlike. It’s chilly out here, and I don’t like being so close to the cemetery. Just as I’m looking at the gate that leads to it, it opens and my father wanders into the garden. He looks at us both through teary eyes, then wanders inside.

“Do you remember what Dad was holding in his hands the day we lost Eddie? Something blue. I think he must have got it when he disappeared from the beach.”

Dillon’s mouth twitches. “Els, don’t hang around with strange boys, okay?”

“We’re just friends,” I say.

“Promise me?”

I nod. I’m not going to tell him that in my pocket is a note from Tay that I found at the boathouse. It says, “Meet me at the harbor at six a.m. Thursday.” Tomorrow. There was a wetsuit with the note, but it looked too small, so I left it. I don’t need Dillon to answer my questions, because the answers are in the water.

My first-ever secret rendezvous with a boy. I make sure I find my waterproof mascara before I go to bed. I stay awake for most of the night, feeling the butterflies in my stomach. At about three in the morning I hear Dillon having a nightmare. I stand in his doorway watching him thrash about, like he’s trying to grab something above his head.

“You let him go,” he cries in his sleep.

The butterflies are going crazy, and so are the maggots in my throat. Dillon is screaming at me in his dream. I watch him until he stops, then crawl back to bed and wait for morning.

8

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” TAY ASKS WHEN HE SEES ME IN DILLON’S WETSUIT.

We stand on the harbor wall at six a.m., getting soaked in the drizzle and morning fog. It gets light early in the mornings now, but even though it’s daylight, everything is dark gray. The Black Isle has no color today. The only sign that it’s the beginning of summer is the swarm of midgies around my head. They love the damp weather, and there’s no breeze to shoo them away.

As rain pours from my nose and eyelashes, Tay kneels in front of me and pulls at the worn fabric, trying to hitch it up my legs.

“It’s full of fuckin’ holes, Elsie. Where did you get it from?”

“It’s my brother Dillon’s. He doesn’t use it anymore.”

“Ah.” He lets go of me and stands up. He looks toward the road and shivers.

“You okay?”

He continues to look over my shoulder.

“Does Dillon know you’re here? He looked the protective type.”

I’m not sure about that. Dillon is thin and gentle. I don’t think anyone would describe him as “protective.” Not in a physical way, anyway.

“Is that why you ran away? You were scared of him?” I joke.

Tay does a nervous laugh and then places his hands on my shoulders.

“Scared? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why did you run off?” I ask, trying to keep the resentment from my voice.

“I just noticed the time and had to go. I’ve got a strict dad too.”

I’ve seen his dad, and he’s even scarier than mine. Not sure I’m buying his story, though.

“So Dillon doesn’t know you’re here?”

“God, stop stressing. He’s not going to beat you up. He was drunk, that’s all. He doesn’t really care who I’m with.” Although that might not be true.

Tay wipes the rain from his face and ushers me toward the edge of the wall.

“Come on—let’s get in the water.” He looks at my worried face. “Don’t worry, we’re not jumping.”

We climb down the metal ladder attached to the side of the wall, Tay first and me hoping he doesn’t look up and see my enormous backside. I hear a light splash and look down to see him already in the water.

“Come on, slowcoach,” he shouts to me. “Not afraid, are you?”

Now is not a good time to be ridiculing me. It makes me want to turn around and go home. When my foot reaches the last rung, I slip and fall into the water. It’s so cold that when I try to swear, I discover I have no breath. Tay grabs me and pulls me upright. The water is only waist deep here, but it is freezing.

“Got you. Now just crouch down, like me.”

He pulls off his wetsuit hood, which was around his neck, and tells me to put it on. I’m too cold to argue. I’m too cold, too afraid, to do anything but follow his instructions. We swim a few meters out to a buoy, and I hold on to it, shivering while Tay does a test dive to make sure everything’s okay. I hold my hand above the water and feel the rain bouncing up. Rain falling on water doesn’t make as much noise as rain on the roof of our house, and because I’m already wet, I hardly notice it. Out here, I feel like I’m in another world.

The mist blocks my view of the mainland and there is no one in the harbor. Other than Tay below me, I am the only soul around. No one is yelling or crying. It’s magical. I’m enjoying it so much, I’m slightly disappointed when Tay comes back to the surface.

“Are you ready for your first freedive?” He fist-bumps me and places a heavy rock in my left hand. “To help you get down. Hang on to it until we come back.”

“Okay. I’m ready.”

“Three deep breaths on the surface, slowly, then on the fourth one we go down. Hold the rope—it’s two meters to the bottom. We’ll kneel there until you give the thumbs-up sign to say you want to go up.”

I pull my mask onto my face, and after three breaths we go down. The pressure quickly builds in my ears. I swallow, and my ears finally pop. It takes only a couple of seconds to hit the bottom, and the sand is soft. Tay gives me the okay sign, a circle made with his thumb and forefinger, and settles on his knees with his arms folded and his eyes fixed on me. He has no hood, no mask, and no booties. He is definitely hard-core. With my right hand gripping the rope, I shiver gently, trying to focus on counting instead of the cold water. At thirty, I finally look around and discover I can see quite far. The visibility down here is actually better than on the surface. A small fish swims past and then turns and swims back again. I let go of the rope and draw patterns in the sand. Tay shakes his head and places my hand back on the rope. My chest is pulsating now. I try to hold on for another twenty counts and take in my surroundings. I want to remember this forever. This is the coolest moment of my life so far. If only I hadn’t waited sixteen years to try it. It’s totally amazing.

To my left is an anchor covered in green slime. And something white. It looks like a shoe, half wedged into the muddy bottom—a shoe, and one that looks very familiar. A scuffed white trainer.

Boom. I’m back there again.

Eddie’s hand squeezes mine as he steadies himself on the rocks. He nearly takes me down with him. We stand ankle deep in the water, and today we celebrate our eleventh birthdays.

“Just stand still, Eddie,” I snap. “The fins won’t come if you’re splashing about.”

He whimpers. I look over to where Dillon is, far out in the water beyond the Point, and wave my arm, beckoning him back. I shout, too, but he doesn’t even look over.

“I want the fins,” Eddie says again, and stomps his feet. This time he yanks his hand out of mine, and I’m not quick enough to catch him as he splashes into the water. The cold spray hits me in the face. The wind is picking up and the waves are getting bigger. It’s too cold to be swimming—at least Dillon has his wetsuit on.

“Get up!” I shout to Eddie. “Come on—we’re going back.”

I hold my hand out, but he refuses to take it. It’s so typical that this day is only about what he wants. I look to see where Dad is so he can come and take Eddie in. I can’t see him anywhere. He’s not sitting down where we left him. Eddie’s trainers are on the beach, but Dad is not. I’m so cold that my hands have gone blue. I breathe on them, but it’s not enough.

“Hurry up, Dillon,” I say under my breath.

“Where are the fins? Where’s Mischief? Where’s Sundance?” Eddie asks, still sitting in the water as the waves break around him.