Split
by Swati Avasthi

Chapter 34

 

A week later, my body has adjusted to his early shift. It’s still dark when I wake up, hearing Christian in the bathroom that sits between our two rooms in our new place. The boxes are unpacked and heaped in a corner.

When we moved downstairs, our shag carpet upgraded from pink to green. The kitchen has an island, so we’ve ditched the table and chairs and have only the couch and desk in the living room. Our furniture looks like an archipelago in a shag green sea. On the wall over the couch, I’ve tacked up a shot that I took from the mountains. There’s still a lot of work to do, but I suspect that this apartment will come together.

While I’m threading my legs into my running shorts, Christian leans in the doorway and throws me a pair of running tights that he shrunk in the laundry, and a new pair of running gloves.

“Thanks.”

I peel off the label and snap the plastic thing that keeps them stuck together. They are light and warm.

When we’re both ready, when our watches have been strapped around our wrists, our gloves drawn over our hands, and our keys tucked into our pockets, we head out the door at a jog.

It doesn’t take long for us to get into our rhythm. There are few cars on the road, so we hit the asphalt for the even surface.

At first, my thoughts are still firing: Will the bookstore be packed with Christmas-frantic customers? How am I going to finish the three papers I have due this week? What if my dad does spot Christian, checks the number on his jersey, and gets our last name online?

But I focus on my breathing, and the little panicky thoughts recede, clearing the way for bigger ones. The road slopes downhill and curves away out of sight. The sky is changing at the horizon. The sun isn’t up yet, but color is coming anyway, a sort of whitish-gold. Beyond our path, I can see the smaller mountain ridges in the west. I don’t know their names yet.

Maybe I’ll ask Dakota to head out there with me, and she can draw while I shoot. She gets a focused quiet when she draws, all her thoughts attuned to the swoosh on the page. I wonder if I can capture her concentration in a photo. I hope she’ll let me try.

The sounds of running start to dissolve my thoughts, and I know soon I’ll hit the step, breath, wind rhythm that quiets my brain. For now, my thoughts interrupt in unrelated bursts.

… step … step … step …

 

I think about the October mornings so long ago when Christian and I would head out, him on foot and me on my bike. I didn’t know how much those mornings would mean to me once Christian left.

… step … step … step …

 

Last night Christian apologized again for not coming back for me. When he finished berating himself, I told him that I get it. We all screw up. We all wish we were stronger than we are, and not one of us will get through this life without regret.

… step … breath …

 

When we get back, Mirriam will be in the apartment. She has taken to coming over in the morning and eating breakfast with us. She will have made tea and will be perched on a counter stool, grading or reading. We’ll sit down together and eat before we splinter into our respective worlds, have our days, and then return again.

… step … breath … wind …

… step … breath … wind …

 

In the light cones from the streetlamps, snowflakes fall. My breathing becomes controlled and regular, and the chest-squishing elephant never shows up. Instead, the air slips through, in and out of my lungs, carrying on it the scent of dust and sage and frost.

We run and run and run until there’s nothing but sound and my brother beside me. I don’t know who is cuing off of whom, but when we’ve gone far enough, we turn around and head back, up the long rise toward home.