The Summer I Learned to Breathe

twenty

☼ twenty ☼

It's Sunday. The skies are not clouded and the clouds are not crying, but I feel like they should be. It's bright and blinding outside despite my gloomy mood. I'm in my room, slowly folding clothes and organizing them into neat piles inside my duffel bag.

Sam is sitting across the room in my desk chair, spinning it lightly from side to side. His eyes are glistening, and he looks like a child about to cry. But he doesn't. He just sits there staring at me, his lips forming a frown. I continue packing and I struggle to keep my head down. If I look at him, I'm sure I'll break down into tears.

He suddenly rises from his position and appears at my side. He reaches across my arms to grab a shirt from the messy pile, and I pause my folding of a pair of gray Roxy shorts to watch him retract his arm and begin folding it.

"Thanks," I whisper, my voice slightly hoarse from the lack of conversation all morning.

He nods. "Maybe we'll get some time together if you're packed early."

That sounds nice.

"I'd like that."

In the silence, my mind drifts. I think about many things: driving home, shopping for my dorm, and arriving at college. I think about meeting my roommate and setting up our dorm. I think about her giving me a hard time about all of my baseball team pride. All of these moments will take place in the absence of Sam. While I'm beginning my college experience, he'll be attending Berklee in Boston--miles across the country from me. I won't be able to hug him whenever I want. I'll only have a hoodie or a t-shirt of his to remind me of him.

Sam reaches across me once again, his arm nudging mine as he does so. "Is this mine?" he chuckles, nearly cracking his first smile of the day. I look at the sweatshirt, and I realize it's the one he gave me on the Fourth of July.

Sheepishly, I nod. My cheeks heat up and I display a slight blush. "It's my favorite."

He places a kiss on my cheek and folds the crew neck hoodie before tucking it into my bag. "You're so cute."

I watch his movements closely, and I push my eyebrows together in confusion. "Don't you want it back?"

He pauses, looking at me with confusion written on his face. "Of course not," he smiles warmly. "You'd appreciate it more than I would."

My lips break out into a smile to mirror his, and he leans down to place a sweet kiss on my forehead. We spend a handful of seconds staring into each other's eyes, but I break the contact to continue with the task at hand. I grasp a pair of shorts, and I place them on the top of the growing pile in my bag.

There's a soft knock on the door that interrupts us, and I shoot a glance over my shoulder to reveal Gabe's head peeking into my room. "Hey, guys," he says. "You almost ready?" he directs his question at me, and it causes me to check the time on my alarm clock.

It's already time to go.

I look at Sam, and he's not paying attention to me. Instead, he's carefully folding my last shirt like he's a brain surgeon who could make a tragic mistake at any instant. He rests the shirt in my bag, and he presses the stack of clothes down enough to zip the duffel shut.

He still doesn't look at me.

He lifts the bag into his hold, and he starts walking toward Gabe and the hallway. I reach for his arm, and I wrap my fingers around his wrist. "Hey," I whisper just loud enough to gain his attention, and I instantly understand why he wouldn't look at me: he's crying. "Sam," I mumble, slowly wiping the single tear from his cheek. He tries to turn away from me, but I don't let him. "Look at me."

His eyes finally rest in mine once he hears the plea in my voice. "Sorry," he murmurs.

"No worries," I say. "I just want to enjoy our last few minutes together, okay?"

"Okay." With one hand carrying my bag and his other gripping mine, we walk along the hallway, down the stairs, and through the rooms until we stop on the porch outside. Sam leaves my bag on the concrete, and he grabs both of my hands and faces me. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

His question catches me off guard; I've been waiting a while to hear those words escape his lips. But it's bad timing--I'm minutes away from leaving and starting a new chapter in my life, and he will be doing the same. We'll be so far apart, and I don't see how it could ever work.

I stare into his eyes, and I'm sure he can see the doubt swimming in mine. "I'll never see you," I respond, my voice laced with disappointment.

"Hey," he lifts my chin as I start to lower it to the ground. "I'll text you and call you and visit you. And I'll see you here, next summer."

I trust his words. It won't be easy, but it could work if we're both willing to try. He's willing to make an attempt at a relationship, and I want it to work out. "Can I say something insane?" He nods, looking at me with confusion covering his features. "I want to try."

He smiles, and his face inches closer to mine. He's more hesitant now than he was the first time we kissed, but I find it attractive. I think he was so nervous about kissing me last time that he rushed into it. This time, he's more delicate and gentle.

He completely leans in and kisses me, and it feels like I'm reliving my first kiss all over again. It just feels right having my lips pressed against his. They're warm and soft, and he carefully moves them in sync with mine.

I move my hands from his, and I place them around his neck. My fingers get tangled in his hair as we deepen the kiss.

His hands securely hold me close to him, and I like the fire that ignites inside me at the touch of both his hands and his lips.

I pull back slightly to take a breath, and I open my eyes. My face is still in close proximity to his, and our warm breath hits each other in the face. He leans closer to me again and he rests his forehead against mine. Our noses lightly touch, and I hold his glance.

I love staring into his complicated eyes, and they calm me down. As I look at him, I realize how far we've both come over the course of a few weeks.

I've finally set my past behind me; I'm focusing on the path that lies ahead of me. The past several weeks with Sam taught me to appreciate my father, my brother, and my dog, despite the major bumps along the road. I've learned to live each day with a brilliant happiness, just incase it's my last. I've learned how to properly breathe: release my stresses and live with a genuine smile on my face. I can actually talk about my brother and open up to express my feelings. I should have been living with this mindset for the past year, but I just needed a little push and a short lesson on a proper breathing technique.

All thanks to Sam, I'm feeling so much better than I did at the beginning of the summer.

"Stop playing tonsil hockey and get in the car," Gabe shouts from the driveway, immediately igniting a blush on my face.

Sam and I separate, and he gestures for me to go. "I'll see you for Thanksgiving," he tells me.

"I'll be counting down the days."

We just look at each other for a few seconds, and Gabe blows the horn obnoxiously. We both jump, glare at the car, and offer each other a smile. I lean close to him, and we share a lasting hug. "Good luck at Berklee." After those words, I make my way to my impatient brother. I slide into the car, buckle my seatbelt, and watch Sam wave as the car rolls out onto the street.

I reach across my brother, and slam my hand on the horn several times. Gabe swats my hand away with a laugh. I peek one last time at Sam, who is chuckling and waving goodbye. With each second that passes, he shrinks in size until I really can't see him anymore. I turn my head to face straight ahead, and I rub my sore neck. The image of Sam a few moments ago is burned into my head, playing over and over again like a broken record. "You two act like you'll never see each other again," he criticizes.

"And you and Madison didn't?" I scoff. Gabe doesn't respond, but he turns up the dial on the radio. I sing along with Darius Rucker's tune, and I really mean the words.

But it's alright, alright.