Breathe

BREATH

by Jer Long

jer.long.author@gmail.com

“Breathe. Just breathe,” Clark, my therapist instructed.

My mind scattered that snowy afternoon; I focused on his wooden wristwatch. Its

luminous green face shimmered like a ship chronometer as he guided his silver pen across the

yellow note pad with my name on it. There was thirty minutes left of my session, but I was

weary of talk. Each cell in my head spun in a different direction, making it impossible to focus

on the present.

Clark tapped his pen against his dimpled chin. “Moving hundreds of miles from friends

and family is a challenge. Do you think your expectation with George is attainable?”

It was a simple question to which I had no straight-forward answer. “I am who I am.”

“Responsibility has been an anchor around your neck.”

“An anchor that steadies me.”

He twirled the pen between his fingers. From our first meeting, with the orderly

appearance of his office and his person, I surmised that we were cut from the same

cloth. Over the years, his pronouncements sat like a string of Rosery beads in my palm.

Twice a month, for the past five years, I sat across from him searching his stoic, but kind face, for clues as to how I might solve my personal problems. He was the enlightened one. Eventually, it dawned on me that I, and only I, could untangle my troubles caught in a barrier net. He’d been my guide and protector, and the captain of my journey. Together, we’d fished the solutions from the bluest deep within me.

It must have been the fractured light on that cloudy day, striking his marine blue eyes,

that enhanced the aqua specs sparking in their pupils. Setting his notepad on the side table,

Clark leaned over me to adjust the task lamp. “Avery, you love to swim.”

I hesitated for a moment before commenting, as if mentioning swimming was something

salacious. “I do.”

“Close your eyes,” he said. I followed his instruction, and he aimed the table spotlight on

my face. “How does that feel?” The radiant heat was delightfully warm on my eyelids.

“Where are you?”

I said the first thing that popped into my head. “I’m swimming in the ocean with the sun

on my back.”

“Breathe Avery. Breathe,” he whispered. “In and out. In and out.” I heard him sink back

into his leather Morris-chair.

Blindfolded, I could paint every detail of Clark Floyd Fitzhugh. Mixing the ideal shades, I’d capture his regal earthiness. For his smooth, tanned skin, I’d wash his complexion in a sheer bronze and highlight his chestnut hair with streaks of gold as it appeared after a weekend on his boat.

“I’m sorry,” he said and coughed. “Something’s caught in my throat.”

When he gasped for air, I sat bolt upright. “Clark,” I said and touched his knee.

A tear trickled down his cheek. “Sorry. So sorry.”

Decorum drowned in the moment. I followed my instinct and sat on the arm of his chair.

He leaned into me. His face wet and warm, he was a boy in my arms.

“I reread the poem you wrote for me when Mother passed away last month.” He sat

perfectly still. “Such a precious gift.”

I smoothed the bang of tousled curls off his forehead.

“She requested that her ashes be spread across the ocean near her house in Rehoboth.”

Handing him the box of tissues he kept for those in need, I whispered, “I always wanted to go deep sea diving.” His breath on my bare neck encouraged my pulse. “What’s it like to pet

an Octopus, soak in the beauty of a pastel coral reef? Magic blooms deep in the sea I imagine.”

I glanced at our reflection in the mirror above the sofa. By comparison to brawny Clark, I looked frightfully thin and as insignificant as a guppy in a school of jumping tarpon. Still, the composition of our entwined bodies appeared completely natural.

Cold settled quickly on my skin when he leaned away from me to collect himself. My heart fluttered before sinking into the indigo tsunami crashing against my breastbone.

His apathetic mask righted, he walked me into the entrance hall. Under the stairs that led to his apartment above, my coat hung on a wooden peg stained the color of his wristwatch. The sight of it moved me to tears, but I bucked against the rising tide of emotion threatening to swallow me whole.

He held my coat open, and I fed my hands into its sleeves.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” I said.

“It’s amazing how you captured the very essence of a person you never met.” He closed his eyes and recited lines from my offering, “Cloaked in splendid kindness, arrogance crumbled before the fawn. Exquisite in her gentle touch, she brightened dusk into dawn.” He sat on the stairs and gazed up at me. “How? How did you do that?”

“I know her son.” I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “We leave Philadelphia next week,” I said. “George is eager for a fresh start in Boston.”

His face washed ashen. Standing tall over me on the stairs, he gazed out of the landing window. Its thick casing framed the pristine layer of fresh white topping the ivory drift frozen solid on the neighbor’s porch roof.

“I made a commitment. I take my marriage vows seriously.” My face burned. I wanted to rile him. I wanted him to pound his fist on the stair rail. For Christ’s sake! This is it! In a matter of minutes our life together would be history.

I stood there, tinkering with the band of my tweed cap as Clark watched the snowfall building intensity. Outside, the unrelenting wind thrashed the front door, its soprano notes whistling through the cracks. Hastily, the storm was bearing down on the city, and I dreaded the long walk home. “Today. Today I wanted to…” I stumbled. “I wanted to…”

Clark stepped down to my level. “What Avery?”

I froze. I had crossed the line. I looked him square in his magnificent baby blues, and

for the first time in our relationship, I purposely lied. “I just…wanted to hug you.”

Wrapping his muscular arms around me, he held me close. His intoxicating scent, a harmonious combination of bergamot, basil, and fried bacon wafted under my nose. Wishing to burnish the smell into my nostrils for eternity, I inhaled deeply.

“Today, we were just two friends meeting to say goodbye,” I said, a lump budding in my throat.

“I will miss you, Avery Aker.” His tone was sincere but not promising enough to silence the screeching sirens in my head.

A sharp ache speared my chest and I pushed away. His fingers caressed my knuckles. So, I stuffed my hand into my pocket and withdrew my brown suede gloves. “Was I your favorite?”

He stared at me until I was dreadfully embarrassed. Pulling my gloves on, I uttered. “It’s blue cold as my father would say.” I took a step toward the door but stopped when I felt his hand on my shoulder. Before I knew it, he’d spun me around. Grabbing his face with both hands, I kissed him passionately. We lingered in each other’s embrace for moments. Startled by the hall clock striking five, I broke away.

Clark’s broad shoulders dropped. “I…I…” he stuttered. “I…I…”

“So, do I,” I said. “So, do I.” He kissed my cheek. The truth now spoken, though a relief, did not set us free. With nothing left to say, I opened the door and stepped out onto the icy stoop. My knees buckled slightly when the tumbler of the lock plummeted into place, and I grasped the iron rail to steady myself.

I didn’t look back until I reached the corner. His empty first floor office sat dark, but I noticed an incandescent stream of golden light cutting across a second-floor windowsill. There, silhouetted against the glimmering glass, edged in glistening ice, Clark stood in full view. He waved and I returned his gesture.

Wading through the snow, the wind slapping my face and the frigid sleet pelting my eyelids, his words echoed in my head, “Breathe Avery. Breathe.”

Word count 1,369