The art of breathing always is.
LATER, AS the sunlight stretches along our bare skin, we begin to
speak our plans aloud. They’re almost the same. Funny, that.
He’s drifting off to sleep when I let myself say the words that have been in my heart for as long as I can remember. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be. “I love you,” I say.
Dom smiles.
30. The Art Of Breathing
I WANT to tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived in a little town near the sea. This little boy was smarter than he had any right to be. He was meddlesome. Manipulative. Damaged and broken, though he always tried to hide it. Sometimes he didn’t do a very good job at that. He always thought he knew what he was talking about, even when he didn’t. He made mistakes. He’d go on to make many of them. But that’s what happens when you’re a little guy, and despite all his faults, he loved his big brother with his whole heart.
This little boy and his big brother lived in a shitty little apartment with a mother who was not a mom. One day when the little boy was very young, the mother left.
The little boy was lost, because they’d once flown a kite together. He thought it meant something.
The little boy and his big brother drifted for a very long time.
They lived, but it wasn’t living.
They breathed, but did not understand the breaths they took.
But it wasn’t meant to last. Nothing bad ever truly does, even if it seems like it’s all there is. Even if it seems like it stretches on forever.
The little world, the little shelter they’d made for themselves to shield them, came tumbling down, and they blinked into the sunlight and saw that it was good. Sure, storms came. The ocean rose. Earthquakes happened. There were still times when they climbed into the bathtub, sure things were going to go back to the way they were.
Somehow, they didn’t.
But you know this already.
You’ve heard this all before, haven’t you?
It’s funny to think, isn’t it? How long it’s been since this all started. How long ago that once upon a time happened. How little we once were. How much we have changed. We have lived and loved. We have loved and lost. Once upon a time. But don’t stories that start like that end happily? I think they do.
And I think this one will too.
It’s almost summer now. I’m at my desk in my room in New Hampshire. The window is open and I can smell the grass outside. Boxes are piled up around me, filled with the little things I’ve accumulated since last fall. It’s not much, but that’s okay. The school year is done. The movers will be here soon. So will Dom and Ben. We’re taking a trip together for a few days. Just the three of us. Getting in a car and driving just to see how far we can get. I think we’ll get pretty far, don’t you?
I’m leaving Dartmouth.
Going back to Seafare.
But, Tyson! you’re thinking. You’re leaving a prestigious school to go back home? You’re giving all of this up?
I know how it sounds. I know how it looks.
But I’m standing, aren’t I? I can stand on my own. I know that now.
I’m not giving anything up. At least, not in the way you think.
Yes, I’m saying good-bye to Hanover. Leaving the Big Green to become a Duck.
No, I’m not addicted to quack (ha!).
In the fall, I’ll starting up at the University of Oregon in Eugene. About an hour away from Seafare. It’s a decision I did not make lightly. I came out here to prove something to the world. It turned out I just needed to prove something to myself.