Breathe Again

Sensitive Content: Loss of a close friend

Lunchtime. My favorite, yet least favorite part, of the day. Dealing with a room full of six-year-olds for seven hours is exhausting. Although it's kind of lonely just sitting at my desk and eating the same ham sandwich every day. I could sit in the teacher's lounge, of course, but that's just awkward. Most of the other teachers are at least 15 years older than me, and it's kind of odd to be the only one in the room who doesn't remember the 90s. I like my colleagues, of course, we're just not eat-lunch-together kind of friends. So, a lonesome desk lunch is my fate. I don't mind much, though. I've always preferred kids to adults, anyway.

There's a knock on the doorframe of my room.

“Miss Aubrie?” I look up. Principal Ross is poking his head around the doorway. “May we come in?”

“Of course.” I set the remaining quarter of my sandwich inside my lunchbox and push it to the side of the desk. He makes his way into the room, followed by three people. Principal Ross is a tall guy, built like a football player, and has to be careful when he walks through a room full of child-sized things. I've seen him knock over at least 20 chairs in my classroom alone. The people behind him, however, make their way through the classroom easily. There's a tall man with light brown hair, a woman in a dress with blonde hair, and…

My mouth falls open, but I quickly shut it. There's a girl. A girl with long, light blonde hair braided down her back. A girl with a very pretty face, but with an expression of irritation, annoyance, and doubt all mixed together. And she looks just like... like...

“Is there a problem, Miss Aubrie?” Principal Ross asks.

I tear my eyes away from the girl. “What? Oh, no. No problem.”

He gives me a quizzical look, then turns back to whom I assume are the girl's parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman, this is Miss Aubrie. She'll be Allison's teacher for the remainder of the year.”

My breath catches. Allison? This girl's name is Allison? But that’s so similar to… I clear my throat and give my best attempt at a smile. “Hi, Allison. I'm Miss Aubrie.”

Allison scowls. “I know.” Ms. Hoffman shoots her a look, and her scowl deepens. “I mean, nice to meet you.”

“It's nice to meet you, too.”

“The Hoffmans just moved here," Principal Ross says, addressing me. “Allison will be starting in your class tomorrow. I know it's unusual to have a student join in the middle of the year, but I think your class will be the perfect fit.”

“I quite agree.” I smile at Allison. “I'm sure you'll catch up in no time.” Allison, who's staring at the floor, just shrugs.

“Well, Miss Aubrie, I added Allison to your roster, so you can look through any information you would like to later. We're going to continue our tour. Just thought we could stop by on your break.”

“Of course, of course.” I turn to the Hoffmans. “Is there anything I should know so I can prepare for tomorrow? Does Allison have any allergies?”

Mr. Hoffman smiles. “None that we're aware of.”

“No asthma or anything like that?”

“Nope.”

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. Thank goodness. “Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your tour. I'll see you tomorrow, Allison.” She gives me a half-hearted wave, and the four of them troop out the door.

Sitting on my bed, brushing my hair that night, all I can think about is the little girl at school today. Allison. She's so familiar, but I know we've never met. She just reminds me of someone. Someone I try to think about as little as possible.

My eyes float over my dresser. It's one of those low ones that has drawers, where you fold your clothes instead of hanging them. The top is covered with framed photos. Most are family photos, except one in the back that I try to keep hidden from view. I get up, grab that picture off my dresser, and sit back down.

It's a picture of two girls. They look to be around six or seven years old, and the girls have their arms around each other. I remember when this photo was taken, just a couple weeks after we graduated from first grade. One of the girls is rather small, with dark red hair that falls down a little past her shoulders. That one's me, but she’s not who I'm focused on. I'm looking at the other girl, the girl with the light blonde hair braided down her back.

You look just like Allison Hoffman.

And Allison Hoffman looks just. Like. You.

***

It's the first day of first grade. Both of us are new. I smile at you from across the lunchroom, but you don't smile back. I sit at your table anyway. "Hi. I'm Aubrie."

“Hi.” You don't offer your name, but that's okay. I remember a teacher saying your name during class.

“You're Aliya, right?” You shrug, and I take that as a yes. “Both our names start with A. Isn't that funny?” I pull out my lunchbox. “I moved here from Minnesota this summer. Have you always lived here? This was the second time I moved. I used to live in Washington. Have you ever moved? It's weird starting at a new school. I really liked my kindergarten, but–” You cut me off.

“I don't really like talking to new people.”

“Oh. That's okay. I think some of the best conversations are ones without words.”

You furrow your eyebrows and regard me for a moment in silence. “You're weird.”

I shrug. “So I've been told.” We eat the rest of our meals in silence. At the end of lunch, you give me half of your cookie.

It's the summer before fourth grade, and we're both in your backyard. I examine your new inhaler while you excitedly tell me all about it.

“I have asthma,” you tell me proudly. “We just found out last weekend.”

“Wow,” I say, examining the funny white tube. “What does this do?”

“It's for when I have an asthma attack. My throat gets all swelled up, and that puts medication on it so I can breathe again.”

“Wow,” I say again.

“I know, right?” I hand you back the inhaler, and you pocket it. “I can't wait to tell everyone at school!”

It's sixth grade graduation, and we're smiling at everyone from the stage, feeling quite grown up in our fancy dresses. Everyone claps, and our class walks in a line off the stage, shaking the principal's hand as we go. As we take our seats and the seventh graders file up to take our spots, I lean over. “I can't believe we're going to be seventh graders next year,” I whisper.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I literally can't wait.”

I laugh. “But you hate school.”

You grin. “So? I bet things are so much cooler when you're in seventh grade.”

I smirk. “If you say so.”

“Hey!” someone hisses from behind us. “Shut up, I'm trying to listen.”

We're quiet for the rest of the ceremony. After the eighth graders get their certificates and exit stage left, it's finally over. We stand up, still clapping, and find our families. They're sitting together, of course. We go around to tell all our teachers to have a good summer, and then it's time to leave. Both our families are standing by the exit, talking.

“What's up?”

“Huh?”

“Why do you look so sad?” You’re eyeing me suspiciously.

“I don't look sad.” I swipe my hand across my eyes. I guess they are a little wet.

“Um, yes, you do. What's going on?”

“Nothing. It's just…” I shrug helplessly. “I just feel like things are going by so fast. One minute you're born... And the next, poof! You're heading into seventh grade. What if I don't stay like the same person I was when I was little? What if we don't stay frien–?”

“Hey!” You step forward, interrupting my rambling with a hug. This is a rare occurrence, so I know you must really care. “We'll always stay friends, Aubrie. Always.”

I hug back. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

We've been looking forward to this camping trip for months. Every year the eighth grade class goes camping in the middle of May, and finally, finally, it's our turn. It's almost time for dinner, and we're helping get sticks for roasting s'mores.

“Hey, Mr. Glauff?” Our English teacher looks over at the sound of my voice. “Can me and Aliya go down to the creek to watch fish before dinner?”

“I suppose so. Just get back in time for–”

We're halfway down the trail before he’s even finished his sentence. Strictly speaking, you're not supposed to run in excessive amounts because of your asthma, but when has that ever stopped you? I've tried, but that never works.

We reach the creek and bend over, laughing. It's nice to be away from the rest of our class and our teachers, to have time just to ourselves.

“I almost beat you that time,” I pant. “I'll get there someday.” You don't say anything. “Aliya?” I look over. You've stopped laughing. Instead, you’re making a wheezing choking sort of noise, face blue checking your pockets frantically. But there’s nothing there. I freeze. This has happened before, but never this bad.

Ever.

And, this time, your inhaler is not here. It’s in the tent. At camp.

So.

Far.

Away.

“Wait here, Ally. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” I take off, faster than I’ve ever run in my life. I’m fueled by panic. Desperation. Even once camp is in sight, I barely slow down. I skid to a halt in front of Ms. DeCart and Coach Moore, the Health and P.E. teachers. My vocal chords seem to have shut down, but I still manage to choke out, “Aliya…at the creek…no inhaler… can’t…breath.”

They stand for a second that feels like an eternity, before my words hit them like a slap to the face. Ms. DeCart sprints off down the trail I just came from. Coach Moore barks, “Aubrie! Grab Aliya’s inhaler and follow Ms. DeCart!” He tears off across camp, presumably searching for the other teachers.

I whip around and make it to our tent as quick as I can without actually teleporting. I snatch up the familiar tube and take off again, back the way I’ve come. Panic is tearing at my chest, my lungs. Please. Please. Please.

I’m halfway down the path when I see someone. It’s Ms. Everly, quite possibly my favorite teacher ever. I’m not planning on stopping, but I see Ms. Everly holding out her hand. “Aubrie, wait!” Against my better judgment, I put on the brakes, sending dust everywhere.

“I have to get this to Aliya. She needs it to breathe. I have to–” My voice is getting shriller and more panicky. Ms. Everly’s eyes are giving me a message, a message I would give anything not to hear.

“Aubrie…” I’m shaking my head. “No, no, no. I have to give this to her. She needs it please. I have to.” Why are tears already falling down my cheeks? Nothing bad has even happened yet, but it might if I can’t get the inhaler to you. I just have to get the inhaler to you, then everything will be fine again. “Please, Ms. Everly.” My voice is quiet, and I sound a lot younger than I am. “Please. I can make it right. I can fix it. I just need…I just…” Why does Ms. Everly have tears in her eyes, too? Nothing’s wrong!

“Aubrie–” She tries again, but I’m backing away, shaking my head.

“No. You’re lying. I know you are. I can’t…” I don’t know how it happens, but suddenly Ms. Everly has her arms around me, and I’m crying like I’ve never cried in my life. She’s rubbing my back trying to tell me it’ll be okay, but nothing will ever be okay again.

Because I’m here, and you’re not.

Because you’re gone, and you’re never coming back.

***

“Good morning, Miss Aubrie.”

“Good morning, Brian.”

“Hi, Miss Aubrie.”

“Morning, Maddie.”

Every student greets me as they enter the room, cheeks rosy from the brisk air and eyes bright with curiosity and interest. They're not yet at the age where they dread school, and they come into my class every day excited and happy. All of them except one, that is.

Allison is sitting at the back of the room, head low, staring at her desk. Usually, I'd introduce a new student to the class, but I have a feeling that wouldn't be the best move for Allison. If she's anything like you, which I have the feeling she is, she'll meet people in her own time, in her own way. So instead of calling her up to introduce herself when class starts, I act like she's always been part of the class.

For the whole morning, she doesn't raise her hand or talk at all. By lunchtime, I don't think anyone else has even noticed she's there.

“Well, class,” I glance at my clock, “It looks like it's lunchtime! Enjoy your food and have a good recess.”

The class is noisy as the kids push in their chairs, chat excitedly with their friends, and head to lunch. When I glance up from my desk, one seat is still occupied, and I can't say I'm altogether surprised.

“Hey, Allison. Aren't you going to go eat lunch?”

Allison looks at me. "I was wondering if I could eat lunch in here today, Miss Aubrie.” Her voice isn't timid, but it's a lot less bold than it was yesterday.

“I suppose so, Allison. I could use a bit of company.” Allison nods, grabbing her lunchbox. “How's your first day going?” I ask her.

She looks at me, and I know what she's going to say before she says it. “I don't really like talking to people I don't know.”

“That's okay. I think some of the best conversations are the ones without words.”

Allison looks at me long and hard. “You're weird.”

Most teachers, most adults, in fact, would be offended by something like that. But not me. This has happened before, so instead, I smile.

“So I've been told.”