5. Miles
MILES
Hot air puffs between my lips as I run down the sidewalk.
It’s an unusually cool morning for October in Charleston but I’m not mad about it.
The normal lowcountry humidity is starting to dissipate making my daily morning run a little more bearable.
The sun is only starting to break over the waterline of the marina as I follow my standard five mile path.
I’ve done this run daily for the last four months as a way to deal with the restlessness.
I never used to struggle with sleep. For the longest time, it was just as regimented as everything else in my life.
Lights out by ten so I can be up and out by six to get to the gym.
But as of late, it doesn’t matter what time I go to bed, my body has me up and alert by three or four in the morning.
Even when I try the occasional sleeping pill, my mind still wakes me up before the sun and refuses to go back to sleep.
“That kind of life puts a lot of wear on a person, the kind of wear we don’t even realize we’re living with.”
Her words hit me hard and without warning. Faltering slightly, I have to catch myself when my toe catches on the uneven sidewalk. Finding my footing, I pick up my pace and try to settle my breath as my heart beats faster to keep up.
I’m not feeling worn down and I don’t have any kind of issues that I need to work through with her. The captain is being difficult and overbearing. I’m fine and I certainly don’t need anyone like her trying to fix me.
Reaching the end of the block, I turn another corner to head home when the distinct and familiar smell of smoke hits my nose.
Before I can stop them, images and sounds from that life-altering summer day come back like they’re happening for the first time.
The sound of wood cracking from the heat.
How my lungs burned as I ran into the building, trying to reach him before it was too late. The smell of burning timber and flesh.
My eyes crush together as I bring the palms of my hands to cover them.
Sweat runs down the side of my face and I can’t tell if I’m breathing heavily because of the memories or because of the run.
Dropping to my knees, I try to focus on my breath.
I’ve seen my fair share of panic attacks on the job so I know exactly what’s happening to me.
I press my hands into the dewy grass and let the sensation of it distract me from my racing mind and heart.
After a few moments, I open my eyes and look towards the water.
The push and pull of the current gives me something to match my breath to and settle a little more.
Once I feel in control, I push myself up and stand once more.
Looping my fingers together, I hammock them over my head and pace in a small circle.
“I’m fine.” I sigh, still panting. “I’m fine.”
Checking my watch, I start to jog down the sidewalk towards home and as I do, a small voice in the back of my head asks the same question on repeat.
But what if you’re not?
“Hey, morning, Miles.”
I look up from the couch I’m sitting on to see Carter nearly skipping into the firehouse common room.
The night shift is wrapping up their end of shift duties and our dayshift crew is slowly trickling in like they do every morning.
I decided to end my run here this morning instead of going home and have been watching ESPN for the last few hours waiting for my shift to start.
“Hey, Carter. Morning.”
My tone stops him in his tracks and he looks at me with his eyebrows meeting in the center of his face. “You’re more grumpy than usual.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I argue. “It’s just early.”
“Uhh, it’s always this early when we get here and you aren’t normally this grouchy this early in the day. By lunchtime, maybe. Dinnertime for sure. But this early in the morning? Not usually.”
He kicks my feet off the couch and they hit the floor with a thud. Sighing, I sit up and move to the side so he has more space.
“I’m not grumpy, I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well,” I offer half-heartedly and hope he’ll believe me.
Leaning over, he swipes the remote from me and turns it over to whatever station is playing old black and white cartoons.
His favorite and something he still hasn’t grown out of since we were kids.
Somehow, after everything he and I have been through, he still manages to hold onto his childlike energy and wonder.
Nothing seems to bother him and somehow, he always comes into work as if we haven’t been witness to some of the worst tragedies people can live through. Honestly, I’m a little envious of him.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asks, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
“It was only last night,” I lie. We might be family but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell him everything about my day to day. The last thing I need is for him to go and tell the others that I’m not sleeping.
“Mhhm, sure it was only last night,” he mutters, totally entranced by the dancing cats and personified flowers on the TV. Then, almost as if struck by lightning, he sits up and turns to look at me. “Wait, how was the shrink yesterday?”
I chuckle and stand up with a stretch. I can hear voices drifting upstairs from the garage as more of our company arrives for the day.
“I’m glad my mental stability is more interesting than your cartoons,” I joke, waving a hand towards the TV.
“What? This is my favorite one,” he interjects, standing from the couch with the remote still in his hand.
Eyes glued on the screen, he laughs when something idiotic happens, his signature goofy smile growing across his face.
The end credits roll across the screen prompting him to shut the TV off and follow me down the hallway.
“Seriously, how was your session yesterday? I texted you but you never text me back, you prick.”
“You know I don’t like to text,” I remind him again.
Texting and really anything technology based isn’t my forte.
It’s partially why I always do things that are in the ‘manual labor’ department.
I tried college and hated how everything was going digital so I enlisted in the Marines instead.
Even after I came home, I found a job where computers and tech are minimal and have been nothing but happy about my decision.
“I know and it’s really fucking annoying,” he bristles.
We’re moving towards the kitchen to make breakfast before our morning shift meeting that we have at the start of each shift.
Tomorrow is Saturday which means it’s time for a small group of us to go grocery shopping for the firehouse.
I make a mental note to put a list together during our downtime today.
“You’d think after knowing this about me nearly your entire life you’d stop being such a little bitch about it,” I gruff.
“You’d think after being brothers as long as we have you’d learn that I don’t let things go very easily. Now stop avoiding my question and tell me about your time with the good doctor,” he repeats my words back to me, not letting me escape his inquisition.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one else is coming in and set the coffee pot back into the maker and push start on the small machine. Need to ask the captain about upgrading that soon, I think to myself. Looking at Carter, he raises a brow at me and nods his head, waiting.
I can’t help but recall the way she pressed her thin, silver frame glasses back up on her nose or how she looked almost shrunken in her oversized chair.
How she had her blonde hair twisted behind her head and secured with some kind of clip I see more and more women wearing these days.
But mostly, I can’t stop thinking about how she watched and waited.
She was quick to the draw on some things but mostly, she waited.
Things felt slower in her office and that isn’t something I’m used to.
It’s probably why I felt so uncomfortable.
My mind has become accustomed to always being on alert, ready for anything, that simply sitting and doing nothing felt more unnatural to me than texting Carter back in a timely manner.
“It was fine,” I finally answer, keeping my words short.
“I’m going to need more than that. Three word answers will not suffice in this situation,” he rebuttals, pulling out the fixings to make himself breakfast.
“I really don’t want to talk about this here—”
“It’s okay that you went and saw the union shrink,” he says more loudly than before. His eyes are wide as he speaks as if to say ‘I will talk louder unless you fess up and tell me what I want to know.’
“Okay, okay, stop it, you asshole,” I growl under my breath. “I’ll tell you what you want to know if you shut up.”
He gives me a satisfied smirk. “Thank you very much. Proceed.”
Sighing hard, I pour myself a fresh cup of black coffee and lean against the kitchen counter. “She called me a liar.”
He bursts into a cackle that I’m sure everyone in the firehouse can hear, doubling over and smacking his knee. “She did? Oh my gosh, I like this girl. What’s her number? I wanna call her up and compliment her for not standing down to a giant oaf like you.”
“Oh fuck off,” I grunt before taking a long pull of my coffee.
“I’m sorry, but that’s funny. Your psychiatrist calling you a liar? Aren’t they supposed to like, hold your hand and tell you you’re perfect?”
“I think they’re supposed to kindly tell you everything that’s fucked up about you,” I joke.
“What made her call you a liar?”
I pause and think back to our conversation.
How she read me clear as day, calling out the fact that my nerves, which are usually solid and dependable, are, at best, frayed at the edges like an old overworn T-shirt.
How she called me out for how I seemed uncomfortable and on edge.
How she told me I was ‘worn down by life.’
“Something about my nervous system,” I say, trying to brush past this conversation as quickly as possible.
“Your nervous system? What about your nervous system?”
“I don’t know, man, I wasn’t really paying attention.” I scurry out my response and fill up my mug so I can escape to the garage. “Hurry up and make breakfast then meet me downstairs. I’m going to call the huddle soon.”
“Uh—okay? I guess this conversation is over,” he calls down the hallway but I’m already leaving him behind.
I shake my head trying to shake loose everything she said to me as I walk towards the stairway to rally the troops for another day.
The conversation is over.
Just like my time with the good doctor.