Contents ( 42)
- The Art of Breathing
- Part One: How We Became Who We Are
- Prologue: Or, Where the Kid Hears the Word of the Day
- 1. Where Tyson Learns to Breathe
- 2. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
- 3. Where Tyson Graduates and Bear Freaks Out
- 4. Where Tyson Says Good-Bye
- 5. Where Tyson Gets the Mail
- Part Two: Coming Home
- 6. Where Tyson Comes Home
- 7. Where Tyson Gives a History Lesson
- 8. Where Tyson Attends the Most Awkward Party Ever
- 9. Where Tyson Plans Attends a Protest
- 10. Where Tyson Gets Arrested
- 11. Where Tyson Gets His Ass Handed to Him
- 12. Where Tyson Writes Bad Poetry and Gawks at Frat Boys
- 13. Where Tyson Decides to Man the Fuck Up
- 14. Where Tyson Asks Some Questions
- 15. Where Tyson Remembers Theresa Jean Paquinn
- 16. Where Tyson Learns the Benefit of Therapy
- 17. Where Tyson Meets the Man Who Becomes Helena Handbasket
- 18. Where Tyson Gets Screwed at His Own Birthday Party (And Not in a Good Way)
- Part Three: Just Breathe
- 19. Where Tyson Goes to Helena Handbasket’s Sex Dungeon
- 20. Where Tyson Beholds the Awesome Wonder That Is Paul Auster
- 21. Where Tyson Receives Advice from the Six Sages
- 22. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
- 23. Where Tyson Hears the Inevitable
- 24. Where Tyson Meets His Match
- 25. Where Tyson Says Hello, Where Tyson Says Good-bye
- 26. Where Tyson Touches upon the Inevitable
- 27. Where Tyson Faces the Music
- 28. Where Tyson Breathes
- 29. Tyson And Dominic
- 30. The Art Of Breathing
- Epilogue: Or, Bear’s Perspective, As It Were (Yeah, He’s Gonna Freak)
- Author’s Note
- Excerpt
- Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door
- More from TJ Klune
- Readers love the Bear, Otter, and the Kid Chronicles by TJ Klune
- By TJ Klune
I throw the door open.
“Hi, Tyson,” Julie McKenna says. “Hi, honey. You’ve gotten so big!” Her smile falters slightly. “Do you remember me?”
And I’m nine years old again. I’m in that shitty apartment again. I’m waiting for Bear and Otter to come home. They’re hanging out without me, and although I understand the need for it, the why of it, I still can’t help but feel a bit left out. I may not understand completely, but I know my brother loves Otter and Otter loves my brother, and they need time away to make sure this works, because it has to work. I may be just a little guy, but I know this is Bear’s last chance to find what he needs, to find the last bits of his ragged sanity and hold them together so tightly they never drift apart. And if it’s Bear’s last chance, it means it’s mine too.
But here she is, Julie McKenna, and I am nine years old and I know she is going to take it all away from me, take back everything that we’ve built up over the past few months. And as I stand there, staring up at her, her smile starting to slip from her face, I remember the last time I’d seen her, when she’d driven me to Anna’s house, saying she had some things to do, some things that little boys such as myself could not be a part of.
I was five then, and as I sat in the backseat of the car whose paint was chipped and whose body was rusted, I thought to myself, Bear, oh Bear. Please come find me.
I’m nine now, and she asks me if she can come in, and I can’t think and I can’t move, and there’s an earthquake underneath my feet, and my mind shrieks BATHTUB.
I was five when she knocked on Anna’s door, my hand in hers, her fingernails scraping roughly against my skin. Anna answers the door, so much younger then, so pretty, and her eyes widen slightly when she sees us. She recovers quickly and smiles down at me, and such love swells in my heart because I know her. I know Anna.
I’m nine and my mother takes a step toward me and holds out her hands, and I know in my heart that she’s not trying to hug me, she’s trying to grab me and take me away. I’ll never see my friends again. I’ll never see my family again. I’ll never see Otter and Dominic (though this last causes a weird pulling sensation in my head, because I don’t know who Dominic is yet, but I still think his name). But it is my brother I think of the most. It is Bear. Bear is my life. He is my everything now. I am nine years old and I don’t know anything different. Without him, there would be no me. I know this down to my very bones.
I was five when my mother told Anna something had come up, that she needed Anna to watch me for a couple of hours. There was a strange lilt to her voice, as if she was distracted, talking from far away. I know Anna heard it, too, because a worried look crossed her face, but she pushed it aside and told my mother of course she would. Of course she could help.