Reason to Breathe

11. The Library





I was bent over, with my head in the refrigerator, wiping the back wall when the air expelled from my lungs and I gasped in pain. I groaned, the force knocking me to the floor. I collapsed onto my side, cradling my stomach. My eyes filled with tears as I tried to gulp in air.


I pulled myself into a ball, not sure if another blow would follow. Carol stood over me with Jack’s aluminum baseball bat in her hand. She glared at me with a tight smirk as I tried to shrink against the refrigerator.

“You are not important. Nothing you do is important. Don’t think that you will ever amount to anything more than the whore that you are.” She walked away.

My quick gasps slowed as the air came back in easy breaths. Shaking, I pushed myself off the floor and wiped the tears from my face. I winced when I stood, holding my stomach. Without thought, I replaced the contents of the refrigerator before walking to the bathroom.

Wet, red eyes stared back from the mirror. I blankly studied the pale image. Exhaling slowly, I tried to control my shaking limbs. The cold water soothed my distraught face as I gathered water from the faucet. I crushed the anger that was beginning to boil and filled my lungs with another soothing breath. I closed my eyes and reminded myself that I wasn’t going to live here forever before returning to the kitchen to complete my chores.





I breathed in sharply when I sat up in bed the next morning, my hand reaching for my sore stomach, feeling like I’d executed a thousand crunches. Despite the misery of my condition, I was still going to the library. There was no way I was staying in this house all day.

George and Carol didn’t think twice about allowing me to go. I was sure they wanted me out of the house as much as I wanted to leave it. I promised I’d be back in time for dinner at six. When I started out, the need to contract my tender muscles was excruciating. I pushed through the discomfort, eventually able to block it out completely – a coping skill I’d mastered over the years.

My heart fluttered faster than the effort needed to pedal the bike when I neared the library. My mouth crept into a smile at the thought of seeing Evan. I knew I should have been paranoid about being caught, but after last night, I knew there was going to be pain whether I did anything wrong or not – so maybe I should do something to actually deserve it. I locked my bike at the rack in the front of the building and leapt up the stairs. Before I entered, I discovered him propped against the stone exterior.

“Hi,” he said with a grin on his face.

“Hi,” I replied, my heart shifting into a higher gear. Seeing him standing there waiting for me only confirmed that this was worth the risk.

“Ready to hit some balls?”

“I’m ready for anything,” I declared, following him down the stairs to his car.

“Anything, huh?” he confirmed with a smirk, opening the car door for me.

I hesitated and looked up at him before I crouched to enter the car, “Yeah, anything.” The smile spread wider across my face.

His blue eyes sparkled as he returned the smile, having no idea what I really meant.

“Ok,” he said emphatically and closed the door behind me.

“How was your Saturday?” he asked as we drove away from the library.

“Uneventful. How was yours?”

“I went to New York for one of my mother’s charity dinners. So it was uneventful too.”

“Sounds it,” I said sarcastically. He grinned.

When we arrived at the recreation center, the distinct crack of aluminum bats making contact carried across the parking lot. There were also the low thuds of clubs connecting with golf balls coming from a different direction.

“Are you cold?” Evan asked.

“No, it’s really nice out today,” I responded, not knowing why he’d asked.

“I thought you shivered.”

“I’m fine,” I replied dismissively, not realizing my body had reacted to the sound of the bats smashing their targets.

We walked toward the office to gather our helmets and bats.

“Have you ever swung a bat?” Evan asked, stopping near the slow pitch softball cages.

“Maybe in elementary school,” I confessed.

“Let me show you first, and then you can give it a try.” Evan continued to the medium pitch baseball section. “I’ll start here so I can talk while I demonstrate what to do, then we’ll move to slow pitch softball for you.”

“I’d like to stick with baseball actually.”

“That’s fine,” he agreed. “Can you hold this for me?” Evan took off his jacket and handed it to me. I couldn’t help but take in the subtle clean scent as I folded it over my arm. My heart hummed into action as I inhaled deeply.

Before he inserted the coins to begin, Evan stood in the hitting stance. He explained his position and grip while demonstrating a swing. I listened as best as I could but kept getting lost in the fit of his shirt along his chest and back. The lines revealed the lean muscles concealed beneath. I shook off my daze and forced myself to concentrate on his words. He paid the machine, and it started sending baseballs flying at him.

Evan made contact with most of the mechanical pitches. I watched as they arced across the net to the back of the enclosed space. He would occasionally miss when he was providing instructions on how to follow through with a steady swing, noting the importance of keeping an eye on the ball. The balls were hurled toward him at a blurring speed. I didn’t know how he could see the ball - forget about keep his eye on it.

When his turn was over, we walked over to the slow pitch baseball cage. Evan entered the cage with me to get me set up. I stood in what was my impression of the hitting stance. Evan stood behind me and placed his hands on my hips to adjust my angle. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and grabbed hold of the bat, covering my hands. I tried to listen to what he said, but all I could hear was my heart thumping in my chest as his breath tickled my neck. He instructed me to keep my elbow up as he eased me into a slow swing with the warmth of his chest pressed against my back. I was entranced by his clean, almost sweet, scent.

“Ready?” he asked, backing away.

“Sure,” I replied in a daze, not realizing he had finished his instructions.

“I’ll stand in the corner so I can correct your swing.”

“Are you sure that’ll be safe? I would hate to knock you out.” He laughed and assured me he’d be fine. Then he pressed the button to begin the pitches. The first few whizzed by me before I had time to react.

“I thought this was supposed to be slow pitch,” I accused.

“Just concentrate on the ball,” Evan instructed patiently. I watched the next ball fling at me and swung. I connected with a piece of it, flipping it in the air right in front of me. The twisting motion ignited a fire in my tender stomach muscles. I kept my face blank, determined not to let the soreness get to me.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. After a few more swings and misses, and a few weak connections, Evan adjusted my swing with some advice. He put in more money for another round of pitches. This time, he stepped out of the cage and sat on the bench.

I improved with each pitch, finding my rhythm. Soon I was sending the balls through the air, not covering the distance Evan had, but at least I was hitting them.

“Much better,” he praised. I enjoyed the release, feeling my tension and pain slip away each time the ball made contact with the bat.

“That was great,” Evan commended while we walked to the fast pitch baseball cages. “You picked it up fast, but I knew you would.” I didn’t say anything.

After a few more rounds each, Evan asked if I wanted to get a burger from the small restaurant that extended from the office.

“What do you want to learn to do next weekend?” Evan questioned as he set a tray of food on the table. “Golf?”

“I really have no interest in golf,” I admitted. “And I’m not sure we should make plans for next weekend yet.”

“If we are able to do something, what do you want to do?” he pressed, but then his eyes lit up. “I know the perfect thing we can do.” A devious smile spread across his face as he thought about it.

“What?” I asked cautiously.

“I’m not going to tell you, but you’ll love it.” I narrowed my eyes, taking in his smug expression.

“Oh, I have your iPod in the car. You have an interesting selection of music. If I’d looked through the playlists without knowing who it belonged to, I would have assumed it was a guy’s. Well, accept for that one playlist.”

“That one’s good for when I can’t fall asleep,” I defended quickly, my cheeks flashing with heat.

“It’s very –,” Evan hesitated, searching for the right word.

“Soothing,” I interrupted.

“Sure,” he laughed. “It definitely sets a mood, let’s put it that way.” The color continued to spread across my face.

When we were in the car driving back to the library, Evan asked one of the questions I had been bracing for. “Why do you live with your aunt and uncle?” My heart skipped a beat, but I knew that avoiding the question would only make him more curious.

“George is my father’s brother,” I began. “My father died in a car accident when I was seven, so George and his wife, Carol, took me in.”

“What about your mother?” I knew that the questions weren’t meant to be invasive, but they brought me crashing back from our escape at the baseball cages to a reality that was inescapable.

So, I inhaled deeply and answered each question with a truthful brevity that flowed out of my lips like I was reciting it from a newspaper. No connection, no emotion – truth at its simplest.

“She became ill after my father died and wasn’t fit to care for me anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Evan replied genuinely. I forced my lips into a pressed smile, letting his sympathy roll off me. It didn’t feel warranted and made me uneasy.

I had accepted long ago that the death of my father and fall of my mother were part of my life - I was unable to give in to the grieving. I refused to feel sorry for myself or receive pity for my circumstances. Besides, I had to focus on the present – which included surviving the wrath of Carol - so I couldn’t afford to live in the past. My future was the only thing that mattered now.

“So you have a game tomorrow?” I asked, trying to sound unaffected but needing desperately to change the subject. We continued to talk about the last two weeks of the soccer season until we pulled up alongside the library.

“See you tomorrow,” I said casually, getting out of the car.

“Bye,” he replied before I shut the door.

I rode home, arriving in plenty of time for the grilled cheese and soup that was served for dinner. I was able to hold on to the day with Evan for a little while longer, letting it replay in my head when I sat down to dinner, keeping me oblivious to the stares I received when I took a second helping of soup. I think I was even grinning.