17. Friends
Dear Bucky,
I have a lot of time between missions. It's one thing that I can't get used to. When I first became Captain America there was never enough time: it was always go, go go! Next mission, next Hydra takedown, next debriefing, next camp. And then I was frozen for seventy years and thawed out just long enough to rush to save the world from aliens (still trying to come to grips with that, if we're being honest here) and now all I have is time. Hard to believe that in a world with so much to do I can't find anything to do to keep me occupied.
I read, sure. But I was always a fast reader. I draw: I've filled sketchbooks and sharpened charcoal pencils down to nubs. And I run.
Running is methodical, and I think I appreciate it because I never could run much when I was younger. Half a block had me wheezing; forget a full block. I always said I never ran away from bullies because I had to stand my ground; maybe, just maybe it was because I couldn't run away. But now, it feels good. Wind on my face, in my hair, sweat pouring down my face and back, the rhythmic pound, pound, pound, pound of my feet on the ground, and breathing in, then out. In, then out. In, then out, over and over again for miles and miles.
The other morning I did… well, some would call it an obscene amount of miles. But it just felt good to run. I passed another guy running. Did a few loops around another part of the mall, and passed him again further down. He gave this sort of breathless chuckle, but the third time I lapped him, he yelled, "Oh come on!" after me and started running faster! Only guy I've ever met who's crazy enough to attempt keeping up with me is you, Buck. And that was just us being crazy.
When I finished, he was sitting under a tree, breathing hard and gulping down water. His name's Sam Wilson. We only talked a short time, but I think he may be the first person who gets it. He served two tours. He's trying to come back to normal life. He knows what it's like when the bed's too soft. I wouldn't be surprised if he too has slept on the floor because it's the only way he can get comfortable. He works at the VA. I looked it up: Veteran's Affairs. It seems to have come a long way since our fathers came back from the Great War. Our, being collective, of course. Then again, war has changed a lot since then, too.
"Come by anytime you want to make me look good for the lady at the front desk," Sam told me when I had to leave. He grinned.
I might just go. I mean, what else do I do? It may even be nice to have friends again. Natasha's great, but I don't always feel like I trust her, and she's been a little distant since the museum. And then on our most recent mission together… well. She and I are on rocky ground right now. But Sam, he knows what it's like. I think he could be a friend. So long as he doesn't want to go running at all. It may be better for us both if I stick to running alone.
I can't do everything alone. You taught me that a long time ago, and I think it's been haunting me a lot lately because, and I hate to admit it, I'm lonely. Work, running, art… they only fill so many gaps, and the gaps I have aren't quite getting filled by those anymore. I may have to take a stroll down to the VA some afternoon.
Lonely in DC,
Steve