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Carmy’s not a runner. He never had and never would consider himself a runner. Frankly, he found the passtime to be completely psychotic and twisted. Bringing yourself to the point of exhaustion and pain for fun? No way.
But, somewhere in between walking to work and quick turnaround times in New York, he found himself sporting a slow jog every now and then.
It was a month or two in the big city before he realized his mind was clearer during his morning commutes. On his first day off, he set out on a walk to get a feel for his new environment, and ended up at his apartment two hours later with 10 miles under his belt.
His face was red and his skin was dewy, but his mind was clear and his thoughts were sane. For the first time in months, he felt okay.
He made it a part of his daily routine. He’d wake up early, a quick run done and fully showered by the time work rolled around at 5:30. He learned New York that way. He knew the best routes to work and the quickest way to his favorite bagel shop. He found the city's best pizza after a 13 miler, and a quaint art gallery tucked between ChinaTown and Little Italy. It made it feel like home.
When he got the news about Michael, he stopped running. He holed up in his tiny apartment and called out of work for days on end.
His boss had sympathy at first. It didn’t last very long. After three days of being a no show, Carmen got a call from his boss. It was predictable. We understand.. We’re sorry for your loss.. Take your time.. But we need you to come in..
In the end, Camry had a choice to make. New York or home. It should’ve been an easy one. New York made him queasy and anxious and tested his limits. Home was a different story. It was warm and familiar, but laced with painful memories and deep rooted fears that Carmy had spent too much time buried so many years ago.
He knew going home was the right thing, so he packed up his bags and quit his job and before he knew it, he was signing a lease in downtown Chicago.
Natalie offered the guest bedroom in her home with Pete, and even Richie said Carmen was welcome to crash on his couch. He was almost tempted to take the easy way out. Convince himself he wasn't going to be there any longer than a quick visit.
The reality wasn’t that simple.
So he signed a lease. Filled his apartment with cooking books and a TV, and he even splurged on a kitchen table he knew he would never put to good use.
He spent as little time as possible in his apartment. He told himself he’d get to know Chicago the same way he did New York. He needed to give it a chance.
He laced up his running shoes and pulled sweatshirt over his head, and then he took off. He jogged through the streets and over a bridge. He even ran past The Beef, picking up his pace to ensure his anonymity. It looked exactly how he remembered it. Running past the window, he could’ve sworn he saw Mikey behind the register. It made him sick to his stomach. He made it one more street before he doubled over, puking up the little he’d eaten that day.
*
Being back in Chicago proved to be difficult. The people and the weather and the constant noise of traffic. The toughest of it all, though, had to be being in Mikey’s restaurant.
There were times Carmy thought he was going crazy. So many times he swore he saw glimpses of Michael. Sitting in the office. Cooking with Tina. Talking to regulars. Most of the time it was Richie, or just a trick of the light. It made him feel insane.
So he started running more. It started the same way it did in New York. He ran to work rather than taking the L. Then, he started running from work to his AlAnon meetings, and then back to The Beef all coated in sweat and endorphins.
It started as a mode of transportation. It turned into a form of therapy. He stored a pair of tennis shoes in his locker. He kept a change of clothes in the office and kept it stocked up with deodorant.
Any time his heart rate rose, he found himself miles away from The Beef. At first, he thought the running cleared his head. He found out later, it was more so burying his thoughts. He found out the hard way.
He was already having a rough day. It was winter in Chicago, and all the roads were frozen over from the biggest snow of the season. He’d tried to go on a run the day before, but he ended up busting his ass so bad he was afraid he’d fucked up his back. He thought it was a good call to take the L.
So he took the train to work, getting off on The Beef’s exit and making the small walk to the store front. It was a busy day. Busier than normal. The heating broke and the line was out the door and they ran out of peppers and Carmy was feeling like he had little grasp on what he could actually control.
He felt so in over his head that he could pull his hair out, and for the first time since he’d been back, he really wished Michael was there. Sure, he missed him. He loved him more than anyone– looked up to him more than anyone. But Michael hurt people, and he hurt Carmy. He shut him out and made it hard to love him, and Carmy was mad at him for that. He was angry, and sometimes anger covered grief thicker than fog, and Carmy forgot that.
And suddenly the fog cleared and grief shoved itself so deeply into Camrys chest that he could barely take it. He was standing in the back of house, hands grasping thick chunks of his hair, trying his hardest to breathe. He just couldn’t remember how.
Everyone was so busy they hardly noticed. Tina and Ebraham were working hard at the stoves and Marcus was baking another batch of bread and Richie was yelling orders, and then Sydney hit his shoulder with hers. It snapped him out of his funk, and he swallowed a big breath of air as she muttered, “To your left , Carm. You can’t just stop in the middle of the walkway.”
And he nodded in agreement, slowly making his way to the office where he sunk into the floor. He pressed his back against the wall behind him and squeezed his eyes shut. He could almost hear Mikey calling his name, over and over again. He thought about all the times he’d cursed his brother, wishing he hadn’t. Wishing he hadn’t been so caught up in himself all those years growing up. Wishing Michael paid more attention to him, loved him more, made it known.
His lungs were on fire. His body hurt and his mind was spinning and he didn’t know what to do with it all. He could still hear Michael’s voice and he could’ve sworn he felt his hand brush his arm.
“Carm.”
He opens his eyes. It’s Richie, crouched in front of him. His face is painted with guilt and panic and he looks more worried than Carmen has ever seen him look.
“Carm, you’re not breathing,” he says, and it’s more of a command than it is an observation. Carmy wishes he could, but he just doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how to tell Richie, or make it known that he doesn’t want to feel this way. He just does. “Snap out of it, Carm. I know you know how to breathe. You’re a fuckin’ human. We breathe, Carm. That’s just what we do.”
It almost makes Camry laugh. Richie being so blatantly Richie in the face of crisis, keeping Carmen anchored by just being himself.
He chokes down a breath, the hardest he’s ever taken, and to his surprise, he’s earned gentle praise from Richie.
“Good,” he says softly. “That’s it. Try again.”
So Carmen does. He swallows another gulp of air, and then another, and another, until he somehow remembers how breathing works. It’s not something you have to fight for– it shouldn’t be something you have to fight for. It’s ten minutes before he figures that out, but once he does, the pain in his chest starts to dissipate.
His mind is still foggy and his body feels exhausted, like he just ran the entire city.
“There’s a line out the door,” Carmy mutters.
“Not anymore. I took care of it. Don’t worry about that.”
“Busiest day of the year..”
“Busiest day of the year, my ass,” Richie rolls his eyes. “We’ve gotten through worse, trust me.”
Carmy nods, still panting from lack of air, wishing he could feel anything other than this. He feels like he could throw up, sick to his stomach with everything he wished he could change.
Richie is patient. He watches Carm carefully, sitting criss cross applesauce in the small office. Camry wonders how many times Richie has had to sit with Eva, waiting for her to calm down from a temper tantrum or moment of overwhelming emotion. He wonders if Richie feels like Carmy is no different than his toddler. Carmy thinks so. He can’t believe he lets his emotions get the best of him. That he lets things pile so high until they fall so far.
“What’s all this about?” Richie finally speaks up. He’s beyond patient. Carmy wonders when he got this way. The Richie he used to know would slap the back of his head and tell him to pull it together. This was new.
“I think I miss Mikey.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Carmen nods. There’s nothing more to it. He holds his chest with his hand, like that’ll stop the feeling that it could burst at any moment.
“I miss him, too,” Richie says. “I mean, obviously. When someone dies you miss them. It feels more complicated with Mike, though. Don’t you think? He was a complicated guy. You want to hate him. For doing this to himself, and to us. But you can’t help but think about what was goin’ on in his head. What he must’ve been feeling. I think about it all the time.”
“I think it just hit me,” Carmen whispers. “What it feels like to miss him. I just wish he was here.”
Richie nods.
“You don’t have to miss him alone, you know?” Richie says. “If we pretend that he’s not here.. that he’s not in every inch of this Godforsaken place.. then he’ll be gone for good. And I don’t want that.”
Camry shakes his head quickly. “Me either. I don’t want that at all.”
“Good,” Richie says, purses his lips.
“Are you guys coming back, or do I have to–” Sydney opens the office door. She glances between the two of them, eyes wide. “Shit, is Carm crying?”
“I’m fine, Syd,” he says. “What’s up?”
“The line’s out the door,” she says. “We were just wondering when you guys were comin’ back,”
Carmen looks to Richie, head tilted. “You said you took care of it.”
“I lied,” he smiles, pushing himself off the floor. “We’re comin’ Syd! Rich and Carm to the rescue .”
He leaves the office, pushing past Sydney. Carmen follows, but she stops him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t run in two days. I’m a runner now, and I haven’t run in two days because I busted my ass on some ice.”
“You cried over not running?”
“I miss my brother.”
Sydney presses her lips together, a small nod. She throws an arm around Carmy, and together they walk into the storm.