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
We rode around that summer. Everywhere. For hours. We didn’t have a single care in the world. Sure, my mom had abandoned me. Sure, his dad had murdered his mother. Sure, we’d just lost Mrs. P. Sure, we were still recovering from loss and death and sacrifice, but those hours spent riding along the boardwalk, birds crying out overhead, the crash of the surf off somewhere to our right, those hours when it was just me and him were spent without a care. All the worries would still be there when we got back. All the hurt. All the sadness. That would all still be there.
He was my therapy then. He was the reason I understood the art of breathing.
“Ty?” I hear Corey ask.
“Yeah.” My voice is rough. I clear my throat, but I can’t take my eyes off the bike hanging in the garage. It’s not the same one (of course it’s not—that old bike had eventually thrown its chain and the spokes had cracked and splintered, and years later, I don’t remember where it eventually ended up), but it doesn’t matter. There’s a smaller bike hanging next to it. It’s blue. It’s tiny. Training wheels attached to the sides. A kid’s bike. For Ben.
His son.
“Ty,” Corey says again.
“What?” I tear my eyes away and stare down the road.
“You don’t have to do this,” he tells me gently. He puts his hand on my arm and plays his fingers along the back of my hand. It’s only then that I realize both of my hands are curled into fists. “I can be pushy. But if you’re not ready for this, then we drive away now and you’ll never hear about it from me again. I only want what’s best for you, but no matter what I want, what keeps you safe is always better. This isn’t worth it if it hurts you. Nothing is.”
Somehow, I’m able to crack a smile. “That doesn’t sound like you at all,” I tell him. I turn my hand over and start tugging on his fingers. It won’t be until much later that I’ll realize I used to do the same thing to Bear when I was a kid. I don’t know when I started doing it to Corey. I know why, though. Somehow, it grounds me, keeps my mind focused. I don’t know why. I don’t know that it matters.
“I’m fickle,” he says with a small laugh.
“It’s got to happen sooner or later,” I say and look back up at the garage.
Corey says nothing. Just waits.
“I think….” I stop. Think hard. So many things are running through my head, like I’m being assaulted by memories, and he’s always there. Even when I know he wasn’t, I can still remember him. That hulking presence. That broken voice. That laugh that sounded like nothing I’d ever heard before, all rocks and rust. “Did I ever tell you how we met?”
“No.”
“I was following ants. I was fascinated by them for some reason. I don’t know. Just how my mind worked. One day I was following the ants and he was just there, watching me, on the other side of the road. I don’t know where he came from. I don’t know why. I thought he was weird at first. Maybe a little scary. But then I saw he’d drawn little stars on his shoes, and I thought that was so cool. I thought that was just so adult.”