If I Lose

by Kelsey D. Garmendia

  “Yes,” I respond giving her a plate of food. “What time?”

  “Late, maybe 2000 hours?”

  I nod my head and push Nolan’s eggs onto a plate.

  It’s gotten easier accepting how things run around here. I barely flinch anymore when Aisley tells about what happened at school that day.

  They both devour their food and leave in a hurry. I slump into my bed and close my eyes. Four years of non-stop parenting seems to all hit me just now.

  * * *

  “Hayley, wake up,” Isha says. “You missed morning yoga.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t miss nap time,” I laugh. “I was going to switch out to self-defense instead—”

  “That’s in five minutes.”

  “Tomorrow,” I finish nodding my head.

  He laughs and leans up against the doorway. “Either way, you have placement testing again,” he says through a crooked smile.

  “Well, I failed everything else,” I say throwing my hands in the air. “What else is there that they could test me on?”

  “They’re going to try you out as a teacher,” Isha says grabbing a hold of my wrist and pulls me up.

  “A teacher?”

  “Well, you’re going to do something useful or someone else is going to be doing the placement testing,” he says leaving the doorway. “Someone who you will not appreciate being your proctor.”

  Gunnar. “Say no more,” I say throwing on my third class jacket. “Where are we headed?”

  “Academic building across campus,” he says grabbing his bag. “Don’t be late.”

  I follow Isha out of our apartment and jog across the grounds to the adult schoolhouse. It isn’t much because most adults here are women bearing child or single mothers.

  Kids who were running the track or marching outside are now armed and ready to slaughter anything that attempts to come in here. Aisley wears the same hardened face when someone’s around, but for the past four years here, I can hear cry to Tristan at night when the camera’s can’t see.

  The academic building has a separate division for testing adults like me. The room is inside a dilapidated stone building on the other side of the grand entrance. There are no windows, so I can only assume it was some sort of bomb shelter in the past.

  I push open the wood door to find rows of picnic tables and a soldier standing at the front of the room. “Ms. Henderson,” the soldier says. “Please have a seat.”

  I sit at the farthest table from the front out of habit and cross my legs under the wooden table top. The soldier clears his throat and marches to the back of the room.

  “Afternoon ma’am,” he says.

  “What do I do today to prove I suck at everything?”

  “We’re trying a new approach with you,” he says sitting across from me. He sits so straight that he looks like a plank of wood. I attempt to fix my posture, but decide that I’m sitting up straight enough. “Doctor Isha informed us that you wanted to enroll in self-defense and my commanding officer believes that’s a good idea.”

  My throat goes dry. I nod my head like a zombie and lean back in my seat. “Why?”

  “Well, he wants to keep you involved in the Fort’s activities,” he says. “Idle hands are the devil’s playground.”

  “What’s my job going to be?”

  “You’ll transport food on trading day,” he says. “Other than that, you’ll stay in shape by choosing from the classes we offer here.”

  The soldier smiles, stands and heads towards the wooden door.

  “Wait! That’s it?”

  “For now,” the soldier says turning to face me. “He said we’re waiting for the right time for you.” He smiles again, but it isn’t friendly or reassuring. He looks like a snarling tiger at night in the darkness of this building. I shudder, but attempt a smile that seems sincere.

  “Good day, Ms. Henderson.” He opens the door to shadowy daylight and steps outside.

  The right time? I swallow and look up at the blinking red light in the corner of the room opposite me. My stomach tightens. Gunnar is probably looking at me from somewhere in the Fort laughing at the color draining from my face.

  I shake my head. I’m over thinking this. It’s been four years almost five since Nolan was born. If Gunnar

  wanted to toss me out the front gates, he would’ve already done it. I’m safe here.

  Right?

  October 30, 2017: 2349 Hours

  I finger the sharpest edge of the blade. It’s heavy on the handle side—harder to throw these ones. I aim at the black ‘X’ in the wall.

  I pull back and release the blade—directly into the dirt.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  “You’re thinking too much,” Aisley says from in front of me. “I can practically hear it before you throw the knife.”

  “Well, maybe if you weren’t standing six inches from the damn ‘X,’ I wouldn’t be missing all the time.”

  “You shouldn’t even be thinking about the fact that I’m there,” Aisley says throwing her hands in the air. She picks up the knife and marches over to me. “Besides, you’re not going to hit me.”

  “What if I did?”

  “Ifyou did, then I guess we’d have a lot of explaining to do,” she responds. “But trust me, I wouldn’t be standing up there if I thought you could even remotely hit the ‘X.'”

  For a 13-year-old, she’s got the sarcasm of an adult. The Fort’s training has made her grow up way too fast. Sometimes I miss the 10-year-old Aisley who still cried, laughed. She’s in there somewhere. I see it mostly when Tristan is around. He’s still her only friend here. He may be two years older than Aisley, but I let that slide. She needs someone her age to keep her levelheaded.

  When Aisley was moved to officer school about two years after Nolan was born, Tristan was devastated; he remained in “Grunt Training.”

  “Listen, remember what I taught you with the bow?” Aisley says. I nod my head. “One fluid motion. Don’t break things down in stages; it screws with your brain and your steadiness.”

  She throws the knife, without aiming, and hits the wall within an inch of the ‘X’ mark. Show off.

  Aisley walks over to the wall and pulls it from its divot. “Stop thinking and throw the damn thing.”

  * * *

  I run at night after Aisley and Nolan are asleep. It’s always past curfew—none of the soldiers bother me since I broke Broefsky’s nose.

  Before the Fort, running was an everyday thing. It was always in the back of your head, eating at your spine. Now, it’s all I can do to stop myself from going insane after my last testing session.

  I whiz past the far side of the Fort and through first-class housing. My legs are burning, but I don’t stop. I couldn't care less about the screaming protest from my muscles or the dull throbbing behind my chest.

  I trained hard after having Nolan. It was mostly out of fear. No one would tell me about Keturah. Four years later, and I still don’t know what happened to her. I was afraid that after I got over my postpartum depression that they would chuck me out the front door. I’ll be the first to admit that it would’ve been an easy way to get rid of me.

  I was weak from having Nolan; I got winded from walking to the kitchen from my bedroom. I started with push-ups, sit-ups and squats. I couldn’t leave the house with Nolan being so young.

  After about a year or so of being on the Fort’s “post-pregnancy diet,” I lost most of the weight I gained when I was pregnant. I felt strong, so I started walking with Nolan on my back. They gave me a pack to carry him in, which made it easier to work my ass off.

  Now, all I do is run. Every night when Aisley and Nolan fall asleep, I run three miles around the entirety of the Fort. It really is massive. The gray concrete walls show the wear from years of vacancy. The parts that crumbled have been repaired with a concrete mix. You can tell where the weaker spots are after living here for this long.

  Sometimes, I make it to areas of the Fort that have no one living
there. Just silent blackness. It’s perfect to run in—I can’t stand all the eyes on me.

  “Hayley,” someone calls out from behind me. I turn my head to see Isha in white sneakers trailing behind me. I slow my pace until his footsteps match mine. “You’ve gotten faster.”

  I nod my head and pick up my pace again. I can tell Isha’s struggling to keep up. But I have to push myself until I can’t walk anymore. There were times out in The Wild with Xavier that I felt like that.

  I take off around the corner until I’m rushing through the darkness. The air blasting past me creates a whirlwind sound in my ears. I hear Isha for only a few seconds, and then I’m alone again.

  Third class housing comes into view, and I push myself harder until my hands meet the greenhouse tent that holds the third classes crops. My legs vibrate with my pulse, and I squat down outside the doorway. I stretch out my leg muscles already feeling the soreness setting in.

  “My Lord,” Isha wheezes. He walks the last few feet and flops down in the dirt next to me. “Are they feeding you steroids? I completely lost you back there.”

  “I know,” I say switching my stretch to my other leg. “I had to see if I could ditch you.”

  “Mission accomplished,” he says sitting up and leaning on his elbows. “Only half a lap?”

  “I’ve been running for about two hours, Isha,” I say.

  “Oh,” he responds. “Well, I guess I missed my chance to work out.”

  “It’s past curfew.”

  “Doesn’t seem to bother you,” he says.

  He got me on that one. I lay on my stomach and hear my spine crack; having a child can do quite a number on your back. My whole body pulses—I’m definitely going to be feeling this one tomorrow.

  “What happened to your hand?” Isha asks. I look down at the bandage I wrapped it in before my run. I almost forgot that I sliced it while I was practicing with Aisley. The once-white bandage is now crimson.

  “It’s nothing,” I say. “Cut it with a knife.”

  “Let me take a look at it,” he says holding out his hand. I let mine fall into his palm, and he unwraps the bandage. “Hayley, how did you get a laceration like this?”

  Well, Isha, I was practicing throwing knives and got frustrated because I suck. Instead, I say, “I was cooking.”

  “Must have been some meal you were making,” he mumbles. He must know I’m lying. “Where is all this training coming from?”

  “Maybe it’s coming from the Fort ‘waiting for the right time’ to place me somewhere,” I say before I can turn my filter on. We sit in silence letting the stars listen harder.

  “Throwing knives,” he says. I only nod my head. “You’re quite fast, that’s an asset and a skill.”

  “Yeah, a fast girl who they won’t let shoot a gun, who’s failed every attempt at being placed somewhere, and doesn’t even know how to defend herself against anyone,” I respond. “I’d be awesome bait for a serial killer.”

  “Hayley, don’t say that,” he whispers.

  “It’s the truth,” I say. “The only thing I’ve got going for me is that I’m fast and apparently very fertile regardless of the environment around me.”

  Isha coughs and looks away. I feel heat rise to my cheeks. That must have been an earful for him to hear.

  “Come to my quarters. Let me patch up your hand properly,” he says after a couple agonizing seconds of crickets. I glance over my shoulder at our apartment window over the greenhouse—the lights are still out, and I haven’t heard anything since I started stretching.

  “I’ll have you back in no time,” he says holding out his hand for me. He pulls me to my feet and we head towards the farthest part of the Fort towards Isha’s place.

  First Class Housing

  The inside of Isha’s space here makes me feel like The Wild isn’t happening outside these walls. It’s all very white—blinding actually. There’s a couch, a fireplace, real stoves, a fridge—it’s like a luxury apartment.

  “It’s just my sister and I here,” he says cleaning out my wound.

  “Where is she?”

  He shakes his head and grabs a clean bandage from his doctor’s bag. The gauze looks dirty against the white walls. “How does it feel?” he asks.

  “Better,” I respond.

  “Good,” he says patting the back of my good hand. He grabs his doctor’s bag and places it inside a closet on

  the far side of the room. “So are you going to tell me why after four years this is the first time you visited me here?”

  “Well, as you can imagine, the Fort never gave me a reason to trust them,” I say sitting back in the plush armchair. “They kept me sedated for four months without my consent.”

  He nods and looks down at his hands. “What about me?” he says.

  “What?”

  “Did you trust me?”

  I rub the back of my bandaged hand and try and avoid eye contact. “Not really,” I say. “A lot was very confusing for me when I first was released. You were the nicest person by far that I spoke to.”

  He breathes out a sigh. “You had every right not to trust me,” he says. I look up to meet his gaze a lot closer than before. “Do you trust me now?”

  I want to say yes, my body is saying yes, but for some reason, “Mostly,” is what escapes my mouth.

  He nods his head and looks back down at his hands. “Would you like some tea?” he asks pushing himself from the couch across from me.

  “Tea?” I say. “I thought caffeine was contraband here?”

  “Only for third and obviously second class,” he says turning away from me. His shoulders are taught. The muscles in his back are like a statue.

  “Do you know of a hypnotist here?” I say. He freezes at the stove and then, nods his head. “Well, I’ve seen him a couple of times and he’s helped me a lot.”

  “Has he?” Isha says. A whistling sound interrupts him from turning to face me. He reaches into a cabinet and grabs two mugs from the shelves. “How has he helped?”

  “Well,” I start. “Don’t you know?”

  He turns and walks the steaming mugs from the kitchen to the coffee table in front of us both. “I only know what you tell me, Hayley.”

  Is that some type of code? Isha has to be the hypnotist—it’s his voice I heard. Maybe he’s trying to hide the fact from me just in case I go back. Or maybe it’s because I’ve only told Keturah what I saw at my sessions. It would make sense if he didn’t know.

  “Hayley?” Isha calls out. He cups the back of my hand. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I saw you,” I say. “I saw you before I knew who you were. Before I was released.”

  Isha sits back in his chair and frowns. He goes to speak twice, but both times, he covers his mouth with his pointer finger. “You didn’t see anything else?” he says finally.

  “No.” I can’t tell him everything I saw. I trust him most of the time, but honestly, do I even know if he’s on my side? He still won’t tell me what happened to Keturah and judging by the way he avoids the subject, it wasn’t good. I watch his expression change from intrigued to disappointed.

  “What is it?” I say.

  “Nothing.” Guess we both get to have secrets.

  “Hayley?” a girl’s voice says. “What are you doing here?” I look up to see Marieska hovering behind Isha. I just now realize that Isha’s knee is resting against mine. I push myself back spilling my tea in the process.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I say jumping up.

  “That’s all right,” Isha says. “Marieska—”

  “Already got it!” Marieska brings in a dry towel and places it over the pool of tea. We sit in silence as the tea soaks into the towel.

  “I should go,” I say after most of the tea is cleaned up. “I’ve gotta get back to the kids.”

  “Right,” Isha says. “You’re more than welcome to come back.”

  “Even after ruining your carpet?”

  “Yes, even after that,” he lau
ghs.

  “Thank you,” I say. I raise my bandaged hand and add, “For everything.”

  “My pleasure,” he says.

  I practically run through the door and into the stone staircase. My footsteps echo up and down the walls until my body feels like it’s on vibrate.

  “Hayley,” a girl’s voice echoes through the stones. Great, now I’m hearing things. I move faster down the staircase until I’m at the exit. A hand slams on the door next to my head which makes me jump about two feet in the air.

  “Jesus, what are you running from?” Marieska says.

  “Myself mostly.”

  “Deep,” she says. “You ever considered being a poet?” I laugh and pick under my nails to avoid eye contact. “Listen, I know you’re close with Isha, but there’s a couple things you should know about him.”

  “Ok,” I say. She sits on the last step of the stairs and pats the stone next to her. I sit even though every part of me wants to flee and hide.

  “Isha has been trying to make things better here,” she says. “Ever since he was moved up, things have changed. Part of that is because of you.

  I don’t know what he saw in you that first day you were admitted. Not saying you’re ugly or anything. You’re pretty and all that—anyway, back to Isha.

  When we first got here, which was well before you came here, he was different. A lot of things we saw out there ate away at him. He was hurting from all the loss, and even though I was young, I knew he was suffering.

  He was harsh and cold to many of the patients that went through Rehabilitation. Many of which you see walking around like Stepford Wives out there. But then you came along.”