BooksBarbecue
Back The Art of Breathing Save as PDF
Contents ( 42)
  1. The Art of Breathing
  2. Part One: How We Became Who We Are
  3. Prologue: Or, Where the Kid Hears the Word of the Day
  4. 1. Where Tyson Learns to Breathe
  5. 2. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
  6. 3. Where Tyson Graduates and Bear Freaks Out
  7. 4. Where Tyson Says Good-Bye
  8. 5. Where Tyson Gets the Mail
  9. Part Two: Coming Home
  10. 6. Where Tyson Comes Home
  11. 7. Where Tyson Gives a History Lesson
  12. 8. Where Tyson Attends the Most Awkward Party Ever
  13. 9. Where Tyson Plans Attends a Protest
  14. 10. Where Tyson Gets Arrested
  15. 11. Where Tyson Gets His Ass Handed to Him
  16. 12. Where Tyson Writes Bad Poetry and Gawks at Frat Boys
  17. 13. Where Tyson Decides to Man the Fuck Up
  18. 14. Where Tyson Asks Some Questions
  19. 15. Where Tyson Remembers Theresa Jean Paquinn
  20. 16. Where Tyson Learns the Benefit of Therapy
  21. 17. Where Tyson Meets the Man Who Becomes Helena Handbasket
  22. 18. Where Tyson Gets Screwed at His Own Birthday Party (And Not in a Good Way)
  23. Part Three: Just Breathe
  24. 19. Where Tyson Goes to Helena Handbasket’s Sex Dungeon
  25. 20. Where Tyson Beholds the Awesome Wonder That Is Paul Auster
  26. 21. Where Tyson Receives Advice from the Six Sages
  27. 22. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
  28. 23. Where Tyson Hears the Inevitable
  29. 24. Where Tyson Meets His Match
  30. 25. Where Tyson Says Hello, Where Tyson Says Good-bye
  31. 26. Where Tyson Touches upon the Inevitable
  32. 27. Where Tyson Faces the Music
  33. 28. Where Tyson Breathes
  34. 29. Tyson And Dominic
  35. 30. The Art Of Breathing
  36. Epilogue: Or, Bear’s Perspective, As It Were (Yeah, He’s Gonna Freak)
  37. Author’s Note
  38. Excerpt
  39. Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door
  40. More from TJ Klune
  41. Readers love the Bear, Otter, and the Kid Chronicles by TJ Klune
  42. By TJ Klune

I think I can. Maybe. It can’t hurt to try, I guess. I sit down next to Sandy and cross my legs like his. “A guy named Eddie taught me this,” I tell him. “He’s supposed to be a psychiatrist, but I’m pretty sure he’s just some crazy guy who got mistaken for a therapist one day and ran with it.”

“That awesome?” Sandy asks.

“The best,” I agree. Because he really is. “I don’t know if I’d have made it without him.”

Sandy bumps my shoulder with his. “I think you’d have done just fine, baby doll.”

As the sun continues to rise, I try to teach Sandy the art of breathing. He takes to it better than I ever have. And for some reason, it helps me too.

I’VE BEEN warned, of course. About Paul. From Sandy and Corey (who comes down the stairs this morning as Kori). I’ve been told he can be a bit… much… to handle. I really thought they were exaggerating. After all, I was raised by the King of the Rambling Dramatic Overthinkers, so how bad could Paul Auster possibly be? I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be able to go toe-to-toe with Bear in that regard.

Dear Lord in Heaven, I was wrong. I was so very, very wrong.

I’m in the kitchen with Sandy and Kori, helping prepare a vegetarian spring quiche (made in my honor, of course, though Kori still feels the need to find eggs in the fridge and shriek in an annoying imitation of me about how cruel it is finding the aborted fetuses of one of our animal companions, and how it’s a travesty against all mankind. I don’t think he’s funny at all).

Then he arrives.

Have you ever been witness to an approaching tornado? You can see it forming up in the sky, the clouds starting to spin together in a funnel approaching the earth, and it looks like a great, gaping mouth, ready to swallow everything you know and leave a path of destruction a mile wide in its wake.

Now, imagine that is a person.

The front door doesn’t open as much as it explodes, banging in its frame against the wall. In walks a pudgy guy, eyes wide, dark hair flying all around his face. He’d be cute if he didn’t look like he was ready to hit someone in the kneecaps with a crowbar.

“Sandy!” he bellows, even though Sandy is literally standing five feet away in his direct line of sight.

“Yes, Paul?” Sandy says with an innocent smile, and I may not have known him very long, but I already can tell that smile is so full of shit. He knows exactly what this is about.

“You!” the man who is apparently Paul snarls. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”

“Why, I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, baby doll,” Sandy says. “Now, please try entering my house again in a reasonable way suited for Saturday brunch and keep your voice at a level acceptable for a man of your means and stature.”