As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) by Leilani Bennett Page B
Authors: Leilani Bennett
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becoming even more of a burden to my parents. Either way, it wasn’t worth the pain or the risk.
Reluctantly, I decided to surrender to the fairytale setting with its opulent “fit for a princess” Queen Anne’s lace canopy bed that was perfect for kicking back and watching TV. I even had a huge soaking tub in my own private bathroom. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe the room wasn’t so bad. At the very least, it was far better than the pullout sofa in my parent’s room.
There was a knock on the door. Who could that be? I wondered. Of course, it was only my dad and Brett with my luggage. Who else?
“ Here’s your share of the load. Change for lunch and meet us down stairs in the parlor”—he flashed at his watch—“in one hour.”
“ Dad, my plan was to order pizza and watch Direct TV for seven days straight,” I pouted. He warned me, not so much with his words but more with his look: if that was my plan then Brett would have to sleep in my room for the duration of our stay.
I glared down at Brett, his little hands were greasy, and he had Tara’s chocolate chip cookies smeared all over his face. I took a few deep breaths while I considered my options. Smell alert. What stinks? Clear the building. The stench of wet dog filled my nostrils. It was radiating off of my brother. No thanks. One whiff of Brett, and I nipped my bad attitude in the bud.. I made sure that I wasn’t even one minute late meeting my family down in the quaint little parlor.
-8-
Touched!
Perusing through dark and musty old museums was not my idea of a chillin’ spring break. Believe it or not! Between my parents, Brett, and the smell of the horse’s shit burning two more holes in my nose, I wanted to scream. My parents insisted on traveling via horse and buggy for our cultural experience. They claimed they wanted to experience what it was like to travel back in those days. This kind of thing thrilled them, but to me it was another boring, hokey tourist attraction gimmick that took forever to get from place to place. I was feeling suffocated by the whole experience. Literally! I needed room to breathe. While my family was busy buying trinkets in a gift shop, I left them to their own vices. Certainly they would not notice I was gone.
I exited the gift shop and wandered across the street into what was deemed to be the oldest schoolhouse in the United States. Even though there wasn’t a tour guide on duty, I took the liberty of going inside. After all, the door was wide open.
Alone inside, I found myself observing the antique furnishings and marveling at how much smaller the delicate pieces were in comparison to modern furniture.
It’s well documented that people from this time period were also much shorter than people are presently. This made me consider that evolution was probable. Ponce de Leon, the man who searched for the fountain of youth, was barely five foot two, and at fifteen years old I was already five-six. Perhaps there was something to the notion.
While I wandered around, I was remarkably drawn to the nostalgic relics from long ago. I closed my eyes and imagined what it would’ve been like to attend the little schoolhouse. No computers, calculators, or hot lunches—that seemed almost wrong.
Suddenly, I felt a light touch as if someone’s fingers traced down the side of my bare arm from directly behind me. I pivoted in a circle, quickly scanning the small room. A spine tingling energy, the kind that makes the hairs stand straight up on the back of your neck like porcupine quills, raced across my skin. Cold chills ran the length of me, even in the cracks of my body. I was acutely aware of an otherworldly presence, which had to have been a ghost. With no other corporeal being in sight, who else could have touched me?
My heart rate accelerated, and in one swift movement, I bolted through the little room, burst through the screened door and leapt off the porch. I stumbled over my two left feet and
Reluctantly, I decided to surrender to the fairytale setting with its opulent “fit for a princess” Queen Anne’s lace canopy bed that was perfect for kicking back and watching TV. I even had a huge soaking tub in my own private bathroom. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe the room wasn’t so bad. At the very least, it was far better than the pullout sofa in my parent’s room.
There was a knock on the door. Who could that be? I wondered. Of course, it was only my dad and Brett with my luggage. Who else?
“ Here’s your share of the load. Change for lunch and meet us down stairs in the parlor”—he flashed at his watch—“in one hour.”
“ Dad, my plan was to order pizza and watch Direct TV for seven days straight,” I pouted. He warned me, not so much with his words but more with his look: if that was my plan then Brett would have to sleep in my room for the duration of our stay.
I glared down at Brett, his little hands were greasy, and he had Tara’s chocolate chip cookies smeared all over his face. I took a few deep breaths while I considered my options. Smell alert. What stinks? Clear the building. The stench of wet dog filled my nostrils. It was radiating off of my brother. No thanks. One whiff of Brett, and I nipped my bad attitude in the bud.. I made sure that I wasn’t even one minute late meeting my family down in the quaint little parlor.
-8-
Touched!
Perusing through dark and musty old museums was not my idea of a chillin’ spring break. Believe it or not! Between my parents, Brett, and the smell of the horse’s shit burning two more holes in my nose, I wanted to scream. My parents insisted on traveling via horse and buggy for our cultural experience. They claimed they wanted to experience what it was like to travel back in those days. This kind of thing thrilled them, but to me it was another boring, hokey tourist attraction gimmick that took forever to get from place to place. I was feeling suffocated by the whole experience. Literally! I needed room to breathe. While my family was busy buying trinkets in a gift shop, I left them to their own vices. Certainly they would not notice I was gone.
I exited the gift shop and wandered across the street into what was deemed to be the oldest schoolhouse in the United States. Even though there wasn’t a tour guide on duty, I took the liberty of going inside. After all, the door was wide open.
Alone inside, I found myself observing the antique furnishings and marveling at how much smaller the delicate pieces were in comparison to modern furniture.
It’s well documented that people from this time period were also much shorter than people are presently. This made me consider that evolution was probable. Ponce de Leon, the man who searched for the fountain of youth, was barely five foot two, and at fifteen years old I was already five-six. Perhaps there was something to the notion.
While I wandered around, I was remarkably drawn to the nostalgic relics from long ago. I closed my eyes and imagined what it would’ve been like to attend the little schoolhouse. No computers, calculators, or hot lunches—that seemed almost wrong.
Suddenly, I felt a light touch as if someone’s fingers traced down the side of my bare arm from directly behind me. I pivoted in a circle, quickly scanning the small room. A spine tingling energy, the kind that makes the hairs stand straight up on the back of your neck like porcupine quills, raced across my skin. Cold chills ran the length of me, even in the cracks of my body. I was acutely aware of an otherworldly presence, which had to have been a ghost. With no other corporeal being in sight, who else could have touched me?
My heart rate accelerated, and in one swift movement, I bolted through the little room, burst through the screened door and leapt off the porch. I stumbled over my two left feet and
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