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 WAKE and it’s dark, and for the briefest of moments, I can’t remember where I’m at or who I’m with, and I can still hear Mrs. P in my head, her voice echoing from the dream, and she’s telling me I’m going to be just fine. That I’m going to be okay, because I’ve been through too much shit to fall down now. I’ve come too far to ever go back to the way things used to be, and she laughs. She laughs in that way I remember her doing, and she sounds so alive that I’m sure there was a mistake all those years ago, that she didn’t die in the hospital, frail and old and pale. That I hadn’t sat on my brother’s lap and heard her take her last breath while I watched, sure that if she were to die like the doctors said she was, that she’d give me some kind of sign. Some way of saying good-bye, so long, see you later, alligator. But it was one breath in, and then one breath out, a long exhale that seemed to never end until it did with such finality. I waited and waited and waited for her chest to rise again, for the heart monitor to stop its incessant flatline tone, for everything to be like before. She would breathe and breathe and would open her eyes and look over at us and say, Hi, guys. I’m so sorry I worried you. I’m so sorry you were scared. You don’t have to be anymore, because I’m here now. And I always will be, and as she says this, it merges with her voice in my head and she says, I always will be and you’ll be just fine. You’ll be okay now, because you know what to do. That’s all you’ve ever needed. You lost your way, but you’ve found it again. I knew you would, Ty. I—
“—always knew,” I whisper.
“You okay?” Dom asks me.
I look over at him. Lights from oncoming cars wash over his face, and I think I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Just a dream. Where are we?”
“About to cross into Idaho.”
“Already? How long was I out?”
He shakes his head. “Just the southern part. We still have to go up the whole state and cross into Montana before we hook back west and go into northern Idaho. We’ve still got a ways.”
“You want me to take over?”
“Rest stop in another thirty miles. We’ll stop then and switch. I need to sleep for a bit. My eyes hurt.”
“Sorry,” I say, feeling guilty. “I should have stayed awake with you.”
He grunts. “You needed sleep, Ty. It’s fine.”
The freeway ahead of us is empty, and there’s no one coming up behind us, not even a long-haul trucker or two. It’s like we’re the only people left in the world.
“What were you dreaming about?” he asks me.
“Mrs. Paquinn.”
“I thought as much. You said her name.”