Ten Tiny Breaths - Excerpt

Ten Tiny Breaths - Prologue and Chapter One

PROLOGUE

"Just breathe," my mom would say. "Ten tiny breaths . . . Seize them. Feel them. Love them." Every time I screamed and stomped my feet in anger, or bawled my eyes out in frustration, or turned green with anxiety, she'd calmly recite those same words. Every single time. Exactly the same. She should have tattooed the damn mantra on her forehead. "That makes no sense!" I'd yell. I never understood. What the hell does a tiny breath do? Why not a deep breath? Why ten? Why not three or five or twenty? I'd scream and she'd simply smile her little smile. I didn't understand it then.

I do now.

stage one

■ ■ ■

COMFORTABLY NUMB

ONE

A soft hiss . . . my heart thumping in my ears. I hear nothing more. I'm sure my mouth is moving, calling out their names . . . Mom? . . . Dad? . . . but I can't hear my voice. Worse, I can't hear theirs. I turn to my right to see Jenny's silhouette, but her limbs look awkward and unnatural and she's pressed up against me. The car door opposite her is closer than it's supposed to be. Jenny? I'm sure I say. She doesn't respond. I turn to my left to see only black. Too dark to see Billy, but I know he's there because I can feel his hand. It's big and strong and it envelops my fingers. But it's not moving . . . I try to squeeze it but I can't will my muscles to flex. I can't do anything except turn my head and listen to my heart pound like an anvil against my chest for what feels like an eternity.

Dim lights . . . voices . . .

I see them. I hear them. They're all around, closing in. I open my mouth to scream, but I can't find the energy. The voices get louder, the lights brighter. A reedy gasp sets my hair on end. Like a person struggling for his dying breath.

I hear a loud snap, snap, snap, like someone pulling stage-light levers; light suddenly pours in from all angles, illuminating the car with blinding intensity.

The smashed windshield.

The twisted metal.

Dark smears.

Liquid pools.

Blood. Everywhere.

It all suddenly disappears and I'm falling backward, crashing into cold water, sinking farther into the darkness, picking up speed as the weight of an ocean swallows me whole. I open my mouth to search for air. A lung's worth of cold water greets me in a rush, filling me inside. The pressure in my chest is unbearable. It's ready to explode. I can't breathe . . . I can't breathe. Tiny breaths, I hear my mom instruct, but I can't do it. I can't get even one. My body's shaking . . . shaking . . . shaking . . .

"Wake up, dear."

My eyes fly open to find a faded headrest in front of me. It takes me a moment to find my bearings, to calm my hammering heart.

"You were gaspin' for air somethin' fierce," the voice says.

I turn to find a lady peering down at me, concern on her deeply wrinkled face, her twisted, old fingers on my shoulder. My body curls into itself before I can stop the knee-jerk response to her touch.

She removes her hand with a gentle smile. "Sorry, dear. Just thought you should be woken up."

Swallowing, I manage to croak out, "Thank you."

She nods and shifts away to take her seat on the bus. "Must have been some kind a nightmare."

"Yeah," I answer, my usual calm, vacant voice returning. "Can't wait to wake up."