Out of Breath

Chapter 2

I wish I knew why Raven feared the world. We walk to the giant tire swing. Ma says Pa tied this tire to the giant oak the day I was born, so Ma would have a place to swing me. Whenever I use it, I feel like Pa is looking down from Heaven, smiling. Raven releases my hand and climbs onto the hot black rubber. It has a strong smell and always leaves our hands tainted with rubber scent for a few hours after touching it. I push Raven. I don't want to stay in the yard, desiring to explore the swamp, but Raven won't follow me out of the yard. It is his safe zone.

Rain drizzles. While we ate, it had poured, but now the rain dissipates. The clouds clear away as the burning sun returns. I feel tired, so I grab an Ener-Fiz out of Terry's truck. He keeps this energy drink by the cases. He hasn't seemed to figure out that I swipe his drinks. The lid sizzles as I pop the tab and take a long swig. I hiccup. I always have one hiccup after my first swig of carbonation.

I gaze around at our beautiful property. We own lots of acres of pristine swamp. Peace enters me whenever I slow down to appreciate it. I love my home! Terry continuously complains about the swampland, threatening to move us out "that very second," but thankfully, he never does. I won't go with him. He might force Ma to move from here, but I ain't ever leaving. This is the home Pa provided for us. No wide-load-freelancing –excuse of a husband is pulling me away.

Our property is Ma's existence. She has a garden which she works hard on. It isn't easy farming in Florida sand, but she found a way to bring loads of topsoil to plant in. She uses the poop from our animals and makes compost out of it. She has always loved gardening and caring for critters, but now I think she does it to escape the prince she brought home, only to find he was secretly a troll in disguise.

Raven relaxes and closes his eyes. I keep pushing him in the swing. What does Raven think about? Why doesn't he talk?

My lungs tighten. It's hard to get breath in, so I pull out my inhaler and take two puffs. Terry says I suck the resources dry with my asthma. I have medication I depend on to live, like this inhaler. If I don't use it, I will die. Terry doesn't like that about me. Actually, he doesn't like anything about me. I am baggage. The medicine relaxes my lungs and the rest of me. A bird trills from within the swamp. I want to go to it.

How can I get Raven to fish with me, or at least go on an adventure? I love the swamp around us. Mom reckons there be hundreds upon hundreds of acres of pure swamp bliss. We live in a closed-minded community. There are cabins and shacks around these swamps, but most of us stay to ourselves. We'll crawl out of our holes if someone is doing a fish fry, or there is some stupid ball game on, but other than that, we stick to ourselves.

A burning sting captures my attention. I look down at the small black ant biting me. Quickly, with my thumb, I smash it. Our sparse lawn is full of fire ants. I have stood on an anthill one time too many. Trust me, if you stand on a hill, they swarm your legs within seconds of seconds, leaving you with burning bumps forever.

I scratch the angry red mark on my toe — stupid ant. We have a patch of pathetic grass surrounded by swamp bliss. Large oak and maples reign over us draped with Spanish moss. I have always felt the oaks guard over me, especially those two nights Ma didn't come home. I love the palmettoes and know they also keep me safe. Just beyond the oaks, the vegetation thickens quickly. You can find anything in the swamp if you explore it enough.

I love the streams and creeks. They change with the weather. Toward the end of the dry season, most disappear. When it is the wet season, the water is high, and there is hardly dry ground. To the far left of our swamp reigns a patch of cypresses, and where the saltwater flows into the right, are mangroves. I can't understand why Terry would want to leave.

Grunt. Grunt.

Raven's back stiffens to the sound of a wild boar. I have never caught one yet, but I keep trying. Ma would be proud of me if I could provide all that meat to her table.

The hounds home in on the boar, with all of them howling, they take off into the woods.

Raven's eyes widen as he watches the dogs react. He jumps off the swing and runs. "Raven, it's not a gator, only a boar," I call after him in a high pitch.

The screen door squeaks then bangs against the frame.

"You idiot," Terry yells within. Raven must have woken Terry.

I jab the hook through the wax worm. Ma frustrates me. She had promised me chicken gizzards. Sometimes wax worms work, but nothing has lately. What if I have exhausted the fish supply? How detrimental would that be! This is why I need the gizzards.

The pouring rain soaks me. I position myself under a large palmetto, which blocks a little of the shower.

My mind wanders as I cast my line out. Raven was drawing when I left him. He spends most of his time drawing or reading. I hate both. I need to be outside, to be moving, and to be absorbing the goodness of my swamp. I told Raven he could read by me while I fish, but he won't come. He has convinced himself a family of gators live in the pond, and the moment he appears, so will they, the gators pulling him to his watery grave.

Raven is a weird kid. I kind of got ripped in the brother department. I know this because I am friends with the Bumpus brothers. Eleven brothers, can you imagine? They live in a shack smaller than our two-bedroom cabin. They don't all go to school. A couple of them ride the bus with us to the same junior high, but they often will skip and do better things. Ma says they live 4/10 of a mile away from us. All I know is it takes me about ten minutes to walk to their house.

I reckon their mama popped one boy out a year. They all seem close to the same age, except for a large gap between the twins who are in second grade, then a toddler. The oldest is sixteen. I don't expect he got his license, but that hasn't stopped him from driving, which he has been doing for years.

I used to invite them fishing, but they don't have the attention it takes to sit still and fish. They would throw rocks, swim, and scare my fish away. When I am desperate for companionship, I go to their house. With the Bumpuses, there is always someone to play with, if you don't mind straight wildness.

Raven is nothing like them. He is quiet and boring. See, I got ripped.

I lean back and close my eyes. The heavy rains torpedo me. As my clothes stick to me, I wish I was dry. Without an Ener-Fiz, I drift in and out of sleep. Why am I always always tired?

Suddenly, coldness engulfs me! Just like it did yesterday.

I sit up in fright. I had forgotten about my encounter with the Skitler girl. Is she back? I peer through my fingers and almost scream when I see her. There she is, standing in the exact place I had left her yesterday. My long arm hairs stand straight up. The hairs are thick, but at least they aren't a hair-carpet like Terry has on his arms. I sneak a glance her way. Has she moved? Maybe she has taken on a statue form. My veins tighten as the blood forces through them, for even my veins are scared. I hold my hand out as it shakes. Why do I shake like a pansy? I am not a wimp like Raven but having her glare at me unsettles me.

"She's not here, she's not here," I whisper under my breath. I stretch back out. I came to fish, so dang it, I want to fish, but I can't relax. Even without looking at her, I can feel her suck the essence from my soul. Every few minutes, I sneak a look her way, and there she is, staring at me. She is just standing there getting dumped on by the rain. The fact that it doesn't bother her is unnatural.

"She's just a child. What can she do to me?"

Actually, the fact that she is a child makes her even creepier.

I can't do it. I can't fish with a witch here. Again, Ileave my pole and run off the other way.