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
He sighs and looks like he might speak. Instead, he shakes his head again and steps out of the doorway. Now’s my chance. Now I can run and forget that my throat is constricting or that it’s getting harder to breathe. I’ll find a bathtub (somewhere, anywhere) and wait for this earthquake to pass, because they always do. Some are worse than others, and some seem to stay for longer than they should, but they always pass, and I will beat this one like I will beat every one that comes after. I don’t need him to breathe. I can do it on my own. He shouldn’t have to carry me along with everything else. I’ll figure it out. Somehow. Some way.
And so I move to leave. I can’t even find the words to say good-bye to Ben, who is oblivious to the weird static charge in the room. Or maybe he’s not and doesn’t know how to respond. Or just doesn’t care. The last seems more likely.
Get out. Get out. Get out.
So many things to say. Of course, I say none of them. How cliché this is. How so like my brother am I or, rather, how he used to be. He said nothing and almost lost everything. It appears I will do the same.
I can’t look at him as I walk toward him. I can’t think of a single thing to say as I walk by him. For a moment, my arm brushes his, and it’s like every single nerve in my skin is firing off at once and shrieking THIS IS IT! THIS IS IT!
He reaches out and grabs my arm. His fingers bite into my skin. There is so much pressure I’m sure the bones will shatter into tiny pieces. I relish it because it cuts right through the earthquake, and it’s like he knows. It’s like he knows every little thing I’m thinking at the moment, even if I don’t quite understand it myself.
The pressure increases.
He says one word and one word only:
“Don’t.”
Don’t what? Don’t come back? Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out? Don’t ever let me see you around here again?
Don’t leave.
He tightens his hand, and I have to stifle the groan that wants to rise. It hurts, but the earthquake is almost gone. As my mind clears, I can hear how heavily he is breathing, almost like he’s panting.
“Dom—”
“Don’t.”
So I don’t. It’s that simple.
Minutes go by. I hear him mutter, “You run. You always try to run.”
Eventually, he loosens his grip. His breath evens out. He drops his hand, and we stand side by side, our arms brushing together, and I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know if I should know.
Ben says he’s hungry without looking up from his crayons. He asks if I’m going to eat with them, and he wants a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Ursidae,” he says. “Mustelidae.”