The Rhythm of Breathing

Rooster dropped to his knees on the sticky linoleum, bringing his face right down to Leo’s level. He didn’t touch the boy, just held his hands steady six inches away.

“Hey, buddy,” Rooster said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rhythm. “Look at me. Look right at my eyes.”

Leo’s wet, frightened eyes locked onto Rooster’s silver hair and scarred face. He let out a wet, whistling gasp.

“You ever listen to a hot engine turn off?” Rooster asked, quiet and firm. “It doesn’t cool all at once. It goes tick… tick… tick. Nice and slow.”

Rebecca hovered over them, her hands trembling so hard she pressed them into her apron pockets. Her own heart slammed against her ribs.

“In through the nose,” Rooster said, taking a slow, deep breath himself. His broad chest rose and fell. “Hold it for two ticks. Out through the mouth. Like you’re letting off steam.”

Leo swallowed hard. He took a puff from the blue casing, then watched Rooster. He tried to match the old man’s shoulders. In. Hold. Out. The terrible squeak in his throat smoothed out, just a fraction.

“There you go,” Rooster said. “Just like that. You’re cooling down.”

Rebecca sank onto the edge of the booth, her bruised knee thumping against the table leg. “How do you know how to do that?”

Rooster didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes fixed on Leo, watching the rise of the boy’s small chest.

“My daughter,” he said. His voice didn’t shake, but it went thin, stripped clean of anything extra. “Sophie. She had the asthma real bad when she was six.”

Rebecca held her breath. “Had?”

“Thirty years ago,” Rooster said softly. “We didn’t get to the clinic in time. Cold night just like this one.”

The silence in the diner stretched thin and sharp. Dale stood three feet away, holding a handful of paper towels, completely frozen.

Leo took another breath, deeper this time, his small hands untying from Rooster’s leather vest. “It stopped whistling,” he whispered.

“It did,” Rooster said, giving him a quick, small nod. “Good job, kiddo.”

Red and blue light stroked across the diner counter, cutting through the steam on the front windows. A siren wailed as an ambulance pulled into the lot, its high beams catching the grease on the glass.

Rebecca stood up, her blood going cold. “We can’t,” she whispered, looking at the two paramedics coming through the double doors. “I don’t have the money for a hospital.”