After my first week of class, I wake up on Saturday morning and decide that I need to figure out my running route. Everyone, from the RAs to profs to student advisors, keep saying that it’s up to us to be independent, and no one’s checking in on us. I know they’re talking about homework and stuff, but I won’t have Coach riding my ass anymore either, and I’m not going to be one of those jocks who goes to college and loses it all.
I was already the guy hanging out at high school after graduation.
For some reason, I only sleep until eight, but it’s for the best since it’s still pretty hot by midday.
Brett the boring, as I’ve taken to thinking of him, is still sleeping. For the past week, we’ve lived like an invisible line divides our floor after an argument we’ve never had. I’m not sure why he’s as disinterested in getting to know me as I am him. He might have friends on another floor of the dormitory, because I’ve seen him in the common room every night doing whatever activity is being put on. He made a DIY stress ball; he went to movie night; he even went to the microwave cooking class. It’s possible that Brett doesn’t have any friends either and is attending those activities to make some. But during the day, he never seems to leave the room, and I’ve never seen him in the dining hall. The few times I’ve stopped by the room
between classes, he’s always been there, almost as if he doesn’t have classes of his own.
I would be offended that he doesn’t look up or greet me when I enter the room, except I don’t want to go through those niceties either. I still say “Hey” sometimes, and I’m not sure if I’m doing it to be friendly or to be a dick, pointing out how rude he’s being.
Brett keeps a picture of himself in a frame on his desk. It’s one of those dopey baseball card pics, and he looks about fourteen or so. Must have been a stellar season.
So that first Saturday at college, I leave Brett, the middle school baseball star, sleeping on his side of the room and head to the dining hall. I scarf half a bagel and some juice and head out to scout my new route.
The track around the football field is the obvious choice, but it may not always be available, especially during football season. I head toward the quad, but it doesn’t take long for me to rule it out. There’re too many old trees in this part of campus, which means too many sidewalk squares being lifted by roots, creating tripping hazards. It wouldn’t have bothered me much before, but best to avoid an absurd accident in college.
After one loop, I leave the shade of the old trees and move into a newer part of the campus. The sidewalks here aren’t simply smoother; they’re wider and will make it easier to avoid someone walking.
Which I don’t think I’m going to have to worry about today. All week, people have been handing me flyers for various official and unofficial welcome parties that took place last night. Brett woke me up when he stumbled home close to dawn. It seems likely he went rather than fell asleep watching TV in the common room.
Would Finn and I have gone out together last night?
Only if Autumn was coming too, and I have no idea what she would have wanted to do.
I’m halfway down a long straight path that might be a third of a mile. It ends in a plaza in front of the newest building and loops around from the other side for foot traffic. If the other side is as smooth as this side, this will definitely be my route.
Would Finn run with me, or would he be sleeping in Autumn’s room?
I don’t know the answer to that either. I can’t really know what it would be like if Finn were here, no matter how certain I am that he and Autumn would be annoyingly attached at the hip.
My stride is long and even, and with each footfall, I recognize I need to try to stop thinking about what it would be like if Finn were here. I’m torturing myself, obsessing like this.
Part of me doesn’t want to get better though.
What will I have left of Finn when the hurt is gone? Second lap.
I’m not breathing deeply enough. I need to correct that before I get a stitch in my side.
I need to stop thinking about what it would be like if Finn were here with me.
It feels like I can almost touch that reality where he is alive and we’re rooming together.
Breathe, Murphy!
It feels like, if I think hard enough, I’ll cross over to that world.
Too late.
There’s that pain in my side, just above the hip, the dreaded stitch. I grit my teeth and keep running.
That’s what you get for not breathing, Murphy.
I still know Finn so well. Someday I won’t know him like this. I’m losing a bit of him each and every moment.
Time is changing me. Nothing is changing Finn.
Keep breathing through the pain.
Will I someday dismiss the depth of our friendship as kid stuff? Will I someday remember Finn and realize it’s been years since I thought of him?
Breathe.
No.
I could never go years without thinking about Finn. No matter how long I live, he’s always going to be one of the best guys I’ve ever known.
Keep breathing. You got this.
It hurts to think that I’d go a day without thinking about him, but I surely won’t hurt like this forever, which means I’ll have to stop thinking about Finn.
Breathe.
Or I could find a way of thinking about Finn that doesn’t hurt.
I don’t know how to do that. Everything about Finn being gone is so wrong.
Keep breathing.
Then I remember the morning of the funeral, telling myself that I had to do it because I was doing it for Finn. Of Angelina, saying she’d like to think of his clothes and belongings being useful out in the world, of Finn wanting that.
It had almost felt good, thinking about Finn like that.
Breathe.
Finn would want me to have a good time in college, whatever that means.
What else would Finn want?
The stitch in my side is easing. I’m on my third lap. I’ve got a good rhythm going, and I need to maintain it. I try to stop my thoughts and focus on my body.
Keep breathing.
I don’t know what it means, to have a good time in college. Some mythical combination of youthful hijinks and studiousness I suppose. Maybe it’s different for everyone.
Except I won’t figure out what it means for me if I keep thinking about Finn being here. Because he’s not.
And that hurts.
But it’s true.
Breathe.
So.
For Finn’s sake.
Because he would want me to.
I need to let myself accept his death.
Breathe.
And that hurts. But the truth hurts.
I’ll just have to breathe through it.
