If I Lose

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If I Lose Page 6

by Kelsey D. Garmendia


  “You’re going to school in that?” I say over my shoulder.

  “Yup.” Aisley grabs her book bag and straightens out the clothes she threw on. Before walking out into the rain, she looks up at me with sad eyes, and then, steps into the torrential downpour.

  I close the door after trying to watch her walk through the waterfall outside. I sit down at the table and eat the rest of Aisley’s oatmeal. I wonder if Keturah ever ate before yoga. I’m almost sure she couldn’t, not with everything that was going on.

  I run my hands over the bare wood of the table and can’t smother the feeling of dread.

  August 5, 2013

  I boil potatoes in a pot on the stove. The steam feels good on my face despite the heat outside. I pretend it’s cleansing me. Relieving me of hearing Xavier’s voice in my head. It’s all I can do to keep myself sane.

  I know what I saw under the hypnotist’s control was real. I lived that moment. It’s the only thing that explains the warmth I felt through Xavier’s stubble, the anguish in Aisley’s voice, the gunfire jolting me awake with each slamming of a hammer.

  I haven’t gone back to the hypnotist since Keturah introduced me to him. The fact that the nurse’s lied to me about Xavier still makes me uncomfortable. If they lied to me about that, what else is in their little black book?

  “Mom!” Aisley yells. I look down at the stove to see the water has boiled over onto our propane stove, killing the flame under the pot. Aisley grabs the handles and pushes the pot onto the back burner.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Geeze,” she responds. “You must’ve been pretty deep in your own head. What’s up with you lately?”

  “I guess I’m just tired,” I respond pouring the stifling water down the drain.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Language, Aisley!” I say placing the pot back on the stove.

  “I can tell when you’re lying to me, Mom,” she says. “And honestly, I think it’s bullshit that you are. I’m your daughter and you can’t even tell me the truth?”

  For some reason, I’m angrier about the fact that she repeated “bullshit” than her calling me a liar. I take a fork and begin mashing the potatoes to take out my frustrations. “I’m not lying to you, Aisley. I’m just trying to sort things out in my head,” I mumble.

  “Well, I can help—”

  “You already have,” I respond. “This really is just for me to figure out.”

  “I brought some chives like you asked,” Tristan says walking through the front door. We both turn to look towards him. His face goes pale when he looks at me. “Was this a bad time? I can go and come back later.”

  “No Tristan,” Aisley says hopping down from the counter. “Come on, we can chop the chives while Mom works on the potatoes.”

  I attempt a smile, but I already know it looks fake. I turn back to the stove and try to smother my thoughts of Xavier into the bottom of the pot of potatoes.

  * * *

  “Those potatoes were the bomb, Ms. Henderson,” Tristan says rubbing his hands over his stomach. “I’m literally about to explode.”

  “Well, please don’t do it in my kitchen,” I laugh. “It’ll make quite the mess.”

  Tristan laughs from his gut and drinks the rest of his water. Aisley sits with her food off to the side and her homework in front of her. A crease is frozen into her forehead as she reads from a thick textbook.

  “What chapter are you on?” Tristan asks.

  “I don’t know,” she mutters. “The one about the Soviets?”

  “In World War II?”

  Aisley nods her head. “My instructor told me if I don’t have the war strategy from the Soviets memorized to the ‘T,’ that I’ll be stuck on grain duty for the rest of the month.” Tristan groans in response.

  “Grain duty?” I ask looking at them both.

  “It sucks,” Aisley responds.

  “Basically, it’s punishment for not doing as you’re expected,” Tristan explains. “The instructor’s give a list of students to the Sergeants at school. We call it the Dirt List.”

  “And what exactly do you have to do to get on this ‘Dirt List’?” I ask.

  “Suck at history for one,” Aisley responds turning a page in her textbook.

  “It’s more for kids who don’t do well in school,” he explains. “If you end up on the Dirt List more than once, you’re taken out of advanced classes and put to work in the grain greenhouse. You get covered in the stuff when you’re

  harvesting and tending to the fields. That’s why it’s called the Dirt List.”

  “How many times have you been on it, Aisley?” I ask.

  “She hasn’t,” Tristan responds for her. “That’s the thing. Instructor Broefsky threatened Aisley with it in class one day because she was having trouble reading out loud.”

  “What?” I respond.

  “I get nervous reading out loud,” she responds. “I stutter.”

  “And Broefsky is mean,” Tristan responds. “She picks on Aisley because of it. It’s gotten worse recently. The other day she—”

  “Tristan, shh,” Aisley responds.

  Tristan nods his head and pinches his lips shut. “No, tell me,” I say. “What did she do?”

  “Nothing Mom,” Aisley responds. “I just have to study harder from now on.”

  Tristan and I make eye contact while Aisley buries her head farther into the book. Something in his gaze brings back another voice that makes my blood run cold.I’ve got my eye on you.

  What if Gunnar didn’t mean he was just watching me? What if he had his gaze set a little bit to my right? What if he had them on Aisley this whole time to get to me?

  Clearly he was testing me my first day back. He was trying to see if I was telling the truth about what I remember. He nearly broke me. I can barely control my emotions as it is, and he knows that.

  “I should go back to Camp,” Tristan says pushing himself from the table.

  “Already?” I ask.

  “It’s almost curfew,” he responds. “I’ll get yelled at if I’m not back before then.”

  I watch Aisley’s shoulders slump forward. She rests her chin on one hand and flips the page again. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she mumbles.

  “Why don’t you stay?” I say before he reaches the door.

  “I don’t think I’m allowed to,” he responds.

  “Well, did anyone ever you tell you that you couldn’t stay at someone’s house?” I ask. Tristan frowns and shakes his head. “Well, it’s settled then. You’re staying over. Plus, Aisley needs help with her homework. And you’re smarter than me, remember?”

  Tristan laughs and sits back down at the table. “Ok, so this is how I memorized this part,” he starts and points at a line in the textbook. Aisley scoots her chair closer to his and leans towards him.

  “You can have Aisley’s bed for the night, Tristan,” I call out on my way into my bedroom. “Aisley, you’re bunking with me tonight.”

  “Thanks, Mom!” she yells out before I close my door.

  I breathe out and lower myself into bed. Gunnar won’t punish Aisley if she does nothing wrong. He can’t. And I’ll make sure he knows that.

  Murderers

  “Inviting me over for breakfast?” Isha says just outside the doorway.

  “Yeah, I’m trying out this new thing where I actually talk to people,” I respond feeling my cheeks heat up.

  “Let me know how it goes,” he responds. “I hear it’s the new trend around here.”

  I laugh rubbing the back of my neck to relieve some of the blood rushing to my face. “So what do you want? We got eggs today—”

  “I actually brought breakfast with me,” he says.

  “Oh, well—”

  “I brought some for you too,” he laughs holding up a brown paper bag. “I figured we could eat out in the courtyard.”

  “Oh all right,” I respond eyeing the red blinking dot hiding behind an air vent.

  “I
f you’d rather eat here, I don’t mind that either—”

  “No, no. Don’t be stupid,” I say shuffling out the door. “Aisley and Tristan are at school, Keturah’s at yoga. Breakfast outside seems like a perfect idea.”

  We make our way through the groups of soldiers and cadets to the plastic picnic tables out in front of the schoolhouse. My stomach ties itself into a knot once we sit down. The idea of telling Isha everything itches my bones. It’s not the smartest decision, but it’s the only one that’ll keep me from losing it.

  “So, you wanted to know how I was adjusting?” I ask. Start basic, Hayley. Don’t throw him too much in the first pitch.

  “Yes,” he responds after biting into his sandwich.

  “Well,” a laugh that sounds like a strangled cat escapes my throat. Isha frowns at me and takes another bite of his breakfast wrap. “Did I ever tell you I’m a twin?”

  “No, I don’t believe you did.”

  “Yeah, well—I was, anyway,” I continue.

  “Was?”

  “Her name was Cassie.”

  We sit in silence for a few seconds allowing the constant march of the Fort listen in on us. I breathe in the warm August air and let out the knot in my stomach through my exhale.

  “I used to live in Queens before all of this happened. I moved there to get away from my family and my hometown,” I explain. “You see, Cassie and I had the

  same best friend growing up. His name is Xavier.” I pause and glance up at Isha. Besides the look of intrigue on his face, I don’t see a bit of surprise from hearing Xavier’s name come out of my mouth, so I continue.

  “During high school, they started dating. It crushed me. I loved Xavier, but I didn’t want to come between him and my sister—”

  “So you left,” Isha comments.

  I nod my head. “I came back one Thanksgiving when I decided I was past it all and could accept that he loved her and not me. He loved me too, but not the way he loved Cassie.

  Anyway, I drove from the city and surprised my family. One night that I was there, Cassie and I decided to go to a college reunion party. She told me they were engaged. I thought I was past it, I really did. I zoned out, went numb, and then I crashed the car I was driving.” A flash of Cassie screaming and the wreck pulse in my head. I swallow and shake the image from my mind.

  “I’m sorry, Hayley,” Isha says taking hold of my hand. “You should have never had to lose someone like that.”

  I look down at his hand on mine and feel goosebumps shoot across my skin. His hand is uncomfortably warm. It twitches before pulling back.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “No, no,” I respond shaking my head. “It’s not your fault. Just—me.”

  Isha nods his head, but folds his hands on the closest edge of the table to himself. I bite into my wrap and my mouth waters. “Is this real chicken?” I ask.

  “Yes, it is,” he laughs. “I realized that Aisley has not been collecting chicken and meat on trade day, so I brought some for you.”

  “Thank you!”

  “There’s more in the paper bag for you to take home as well,” he responds. “Try and space it out. I don’t get more for a month.”

  I nod my head and inhale another bite. We each finish our wraps and begin picking at some almonds and grapes that Isha packed along. “So?” I ask popping a grape into my mouth.

  Isha raises and eyebrow, and I hold out my hand trying to get him to talk. “Ah,” he responds. “You want to exchange stories.” I nod my head and crunch down on an almond. “What would you like to know?”

  “Who are you, how you got here,” I respond. “You know, the basics.”

  “Well, let’s see,” Isha starts. “I was born and raised in Dubai—”

  “India!”

  “I see you’ve heard of the place,” he laughs. “But yes, India. I first came here for university when I was 23. I wanted to be an American doctor. I was renowned in my village in India, but after some time, I felt unchallenged.

  I excelled at the university I attended and went to John Hopkins to obtain my Doctorate and medical license. While I was there, I met another woman from India. Her name was Aja. I knew from the day I met her that we’d be friends for quite some time.

  I loved her, but I suppose I was in the same situation as you. We remained friends throughout our studying. After both her and I obtained our degrees, she married her American soldier boyfriend.

  About a year later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She made me the Godfather.” He pauses for a moment. A glazed look sweeps across his eyes. I feel a sting of pain in my chest—that’s the look I had for months after Cassie died. Something awful happened to her, I know it.

  He clears his throat and straightens up. “Anyway, about three years later, a suicide bomber followed a group of soldiers down the street in Iraq. Aja’s husband was killed,” he says. “She called me on the phone and cried the story out. She was lost, I could hear it in her voice. So I resigned from my position at the CDC and moved to Manhattan to help her adjust.” He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw while letting out a long sigh—this is it.

  “The food went missing about nine years later. At first, it wasn’t that bad in the city,” he says in a flat voice. “Most people had food in their homes that would last them for what they thought was a temporary problem.

  Days went by. Then weeks. When the one month anniversary hit, that’s when the murders started. People shot each other over a bag of peanuts or a slice of bread. The police couldn’t control the madness—or what was left of the police force. Most went mad about that time.

  When I heard the broadcast about Fort Ticonderoga opening it’s doors to help, I begged Aja to take her daughter and come with me to the Fort. And after days of trying to convince her, she finally buckled. Neither of us had a car. We lived in the city, there was no point. So we walked.

  We were somewhere near Albany when we were captured by a group of men. They took Aja and skinned her alive in front of me and her daughter.”

  My god. My mouth hangs open like a broken hinge. Isha’s eyes go blank. He stares through me at some fractured point in time.

  “I snapped and killed every one of them with my bare hands. Aja died in my arms,” he says in a monotonous voice. “Her last words were, ‘Save her.’” He breaks his gaze past me and looks at me. I feel nauseous when I look back at him. He tries to smile, but all he manages is a twitch in his lip.

  The clock tower vibrates my ears—it must be 11. Isha glances down at his watch and raises his eyebrows. “It seems that I’ve made you late for meditation,” he says packing away the leftover food.

  “That’s all right,” I respond pushing myself up from the picnic table. “Talking with you is more important.”

  Isha folds the food neatly away and hands the bag to me. “For the kids,” he explains.

  We walk in silence across the grounds to the wellness center. The goosebumps that form on my arm don’t go away by the time we reach the rusted-out building.

  “Well, enjoy meditation,” he says. “Send my regards to Keturah.” His hand grips my shoulder and slides off creating another layer of goosebumps. He glides off in the other direction.

  “Isha!” I shout. He turns and stops about 10 feet away. “Did you ever save her daughter?”

  He strains a half smile and turns his head to the ground. “No,” he says and walks with his hands in his doctor’s coat towards the rehabilitation building.

  August 23, 2013

  “What about Xavier?” Aisley asks.

  “No,” I respond. “I’m not gonna give him the same name as—just no.”

  “But you’ll be able to have one Xavier with you at least,” she says taking a bite of her sandwich.

  “What about Sergeant Badass?” Tristan asks.

  Aisley laughs until she’s holding her stomach. “Thanks for the suggestion, Tristan, but I’m gonna have to pass,” I respond.
/>
  I’ve been flipping through thePick Your Baby’s Namebook that Aisley picked up from the small library at school. The books mostly come from people who brought

  them on their way to the Fort. Luckily, someone had an ancient copy of this baby naming book.

  “I just don’t know what I’m going to name this little one,” I say rubbing my stomach in a circle. I still don’t know if it’s going to be a girl or boy.

  “I was thinking Gabrielle if it’s a girl,” I say. “It was my mom’s name.”

  “I dig it,” Tristan responds.

  “Me too,” Aisley chimes in.

  I flip through a couple more pages until I reach one name that sticks out. “Nolan,” I say aloud.

  “That’s kinda weird,” Aisley responds.

  “That’s not very nice, Aisley,” Tristan says. “That’s your little brother you’re talking about.”

  “It could be a girl.”

  “Or a boy.”

  The clock tower rings and Aisley and Tristan both groan. I can’t help but laugh at both of them. They’re perfect for each other. It gives some type of normalcy to their childhood.

  “Go on,” I say. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

  “Can Tristan come too?”

  “Yes, you’re more than welcome to.”

  Aisley and Tristan take off in the opposite direction from me. I stay in the crisp autumn sunlight and continue reading my book.

  Nolan—my champion. Sounds dumb in my head, but the name is fitting. A champion against all odds.

  Yeah, I think I like Nolan.

  Normalcy

  “What about Nolan?”

  “Nolan,” Tristan says. “I like it.”

  “I don’t know,” Aisley says shoveling broccoli into her mouth. “I think it still sounds kinda weird.”

 

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