Freedom Flight

by Patrick Jones

  “No.”

  Her mom pounded the door again, but then Paige heard her stand and walk away toward the kitchen. Was she coming back with a knife? A few second later, Paige heard her mother sit down outside the door. Silence and then her mom’s voice: “Hello, is this Lita Garcia?”

  Paige clawed at the door. “Don’t you dare!”

  “Mrs. Garcia, this is Helen Harkins, Paige’s mother,” her mom said, each word slicing Paige as deeply as the knife had sliced her dad’s skin. “We need to talk about your son and—”

  Paige unlocked the door and hurled the bag of pills at her mother. “I wish you’d never come home.”

  Her mother grabbed the bag, told Mrs. Garcia she had to go, and retreated toward her room, but didn’t disagree.

  19

  NOVEMBER 2 / MONDAY / AFTER SCHOOL

  SAM HOUSTON HIGH SCHOOL

  “I’m so sorry, Commander Eckert,” Paige said, pleading her case.

  “Rank insubordination,” he answered. Eckert, also a history teacher at the school, sat behind his desk. Paige stood in front of him, feeling naked and lost without her uniform.

  “Why do you deserve a second chance in my unit?” Eckert asked.

  Paige stood as straight and tall as any cadet had ever stood in front of Eckert. “Because both of my parents served. One died, one came back wounded. Because we all make mistakes and mine was protecting another cadet. Mine was a mistake of pride and loyalty, not weakness.”

  Eckert scratched his bald head and fumbled with papers on his desk.

  “Sir, I will do anything you ask, anything you say. This matters more to me than anything.” Paige lied to him. David mattered most. She had traded her mom’s bag of pills to make sure she’d stay with David. She vowed to herself never to be put in that position again. If her mother would go to those extremes, then Paige knew she’d have to go one more. It was war.

  “I had a very convincing call from your mother this morning,” Eckert said.

  Paige stayed still, her fists clenched. She didn’t want her mother’s help. If my mother is going to help anyone, Paige thought, she should start with herself. “Sir, I didn’t ask—”

  “She told me that,” Eckert said. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but I thought you should know that she’s concerned about you. We both agreed that what you need most right now is discipline, not to be disciplined. I’ll see you at six on Friday morning. Dismissed!”

  Paige saluted Commander Eckert and marched military style to the door. Once outside, she reached for her phone. David? Josie? Erin? No, someone else. Like everything else about her mom, Paige’s emotions slammed against each other. She was happy to be back in the unit, but she didn’t need her mom to fix things.

  “You’ve reached Capt. Helen Harkins. I’m not—” Paige stopped the call.

  Of course, she thought, the voice on her mom’s phone. The voicemail she listened to. It had to be. Her dad.

  20

  NOVEMBER 7 / SATURDAY / AFTERNOON

  MILAM PARK

  “We missed you, Paige.” Josie hugged Paige as their ROTC unit disbanded at Milam Park. Erin, David, and Alonzo huddled next to Paige, sharing the same sentiments.

  “I’m so happy to be back,” Paige said. “It was only a little while without you guys, this unit, but it felt so much longer. Being in this unit made me feel part of something. Thank you.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re making some kind of farewell speech?” Alonzo said.

  “You are part of something,” David whispered and reached out for her. “Us.”

  But Paige backed away. “Hey, David, no PDA in uniform. I can’t risk anything.”

  “Well, maybe later out of uniform,” David said.

  Paige laughed. “How much out of uniform?” she asked, embarrassed, but also intrigued.

  David laughed. “What was with that phone call from your mom? My aunt thought it was so odd. I mean, they haven’t met and out of the blue, your mom calls but then hangs up on her?”

  “David, follow me.” Paige pulled on David’s arm, leading him away from the unit.

  “What’s going on?” David asked. Paige sat down on a park bench; David sat next to her.

  “I’m going to tell you some things you need to know,” Paige said softly. In the distance, she could still hear bands playing and crowds cheering. Her unit had led the parade, but the mile-long route was still filled with school bands, ROTC units, veterans’ group, and active duty units, including her mother’s. Somewhere her mom sat in an Air Force vehicle being cheered. It made what she was about to say, and then do, feel even stranger than she could have imagined.

  “You can tell me anything, Paige. I won’t tell a soul. Promise.”

  Paige studied the dirt below her boots on the ground. “Some promises are hard to keep.”

  “I’ll never break a promise to you,” David whispered.

  Paige knew what she was supposed to say in return but couldn’t form the words. “David, my mom came home with a problem. She’s hooked on pain pills. It’s so hard.”

  “Never mind the PDA rules.” David pulled Paige toward him and held her tight. With his arms steadying her, Paige told David about her mom and her own inability to do anything about it.

  “She needs to get into treatment,” David said. “There’s no shame to it.”

  “I know it and she knows it, but she can’t face it. There’s only one thing to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Drastic times call for drastic measures. I hope you understand and you know how much I love you.” Paige kissed David, defeating his attempts to question her.

  Rules, like promises, Paige thought, were easily made in good times, and just as easily broken in desperate days.

  ***

  Paige kicked down her mother’s door and used a crowbar to pry open the new locked desk where, no doubt, her mom stored her pills. The first cache was small, but it was enough. Paige examined the bottles. A different doctor for each prescription. Dr. Thompson had prescribed the Valium that Paige buried in the pocket of her perfectly pressed ROTC pants. Paige checked her phone again. Her mother had said she’d be home for dinner at six. It was five.

  Paige went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a can of Lone Star. Like she’d heard her mother do every night, she popped open the can, and took a nasty sip. She opened the nearly full bottle of pills and dumped all but two in the sink, grinding them up in the garbage disposal. Putting the pill bottle in her pocket and tucking the beer under her arm, Paige stopped at the kitchen counter and picked up a single sheet of paper and a black marker, and she grabbed a stapler from the drawer.

  Paige opened the bottle, swallowed two Valiums, and washed them down with the rest of the Lone Star. Slowly she walked to the sofa that she’d seen her mom pass out on so many times. That crap, Paige thought, ends today.

  On the single sheet of paper, she wrote the words and then stapled the paper to her uniform, right in the middle over her heart. As she shut her eyes, she imagined her mom walking in the door and seeing Paige lying there and then reading the note.

  Mom, this is what it is like to live with you. Tell David I’m sorry I broke my promise. I love you. Get help. Goodbye.

  21

  NOVEMBER 7 / SATURDAY / EVENING

  WILFORD HALL MEDICAL FACILITY

  “Paige, can you hear me?”

  Paige slowly opened her eyes and just as slowly took in her surroundings: she was in a hospital room. She tried to raise her arm to wipe her eyes clear, but they were restrained.

  “It’s just a precaution,” Paige’s mom whispered. Her aunt and uncle stood behind Paige’s mom, whose wooden chair scraped against the metal hospital bed. Perry stood in the corner, arms crossed, head down like it weighed a hundred pounds.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “You should be!” Perry shouted from across the room. “What a stupid stunt. How—”

  “Perry, please, now isn’t the time!” Paige’s mom s
aid. Perry cursed loudly at his sister and then stormed out of the room. “Paige, I don’t understand what you were thinking.”

  Paige remembered writing the note and swallowing the pills but nothing after. Had Perry found her? Her mother? Did David know? But most of all, Paige wondered, did it matter?

  “Mom, you do know why I did it, don’t you?” Paige said. Her mouth felt dry.

  Paige’s mom nodded over and over, like someone praying. “I know.”

  “What are you going to do?” Paige asked.

  No nods, no tears, no words, just the clicks and beeps of machines.

  “Mom, please.”

  Paige could see her aunt and uncle closing in. Each of them put a hand on her mom’s shoulder like guardian angels.

  “You told me after I landed that you called that my freedom flight,” Paige’s mom said slowly, “But I’m not free, am I?”

  Paige swallowed her words just as her mother, Paige thought, had to swallow her pride.

  “I fought for freedom for others,” her mom said. “I need to fight now for my own.”

  22

  NOVEMBER 26 / THANKSGIVING / EVENING

  JACOB AND TRACY ALEXANDER’S HOUSE

  “Mom, stop using so many acronyms,” Paige said into the phone as her mom rambled on about the ADAPT rehab program at the Travis Air Force Base medical center in California. Her aunt and uncle stood beside her, but Perry sat in the other room watching football.

  “I’m sorry, Pug,” her mom said. “And I’m sorry I missed Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “We’ll save you a plate,” Aunt Tracy said.

  “Will you be home for Christmas?” Paige asked.

  In the other room, the football crowd roared, but the phone brought nothing but silence.

  “Mom?”

  “I don’t know, it depends on my progress,” her mom started and then explained the ADAPT program, ending with nothing but praise for her treatment team.

  “That all sounds promising, Helen,” Uncle Jacob said.

  “Is Perry there?” Paige’s mom asked. Paige looked at her aunt and uncle, hoping that one of them would answer. When her mom was overseas, they spoke on Skype. For once, she was glad her mom couldn’t see her. “It’s a simple question. I know he’s angry at me.”

  “And me.” Since he’d stormed out of the hospital room, Perry had refused to speak to Paige. He spent more nights at friend’s houses, doing everything to avoid his sister. Even at Thanksgiving dinner, he’d said nothing more than necessary and left the table while still chewing his last bite.

  Paige’s mom sighed deeply. “I know he thinks this will ruin my career, and maybe—”

  “But it will save your life. Isn’t that more important?”

  “When you’re in the Air Force, they’re one and the same. Perry knows that.”

  Paige thought about her friends, thought about David; they didn’t associate the military with life but with death. She hadn’t told David what she did and felt wrong keeping it a secret, but figured maybe like her mom never telling her about her dad’s death, some secrets should stay hidden.

  “Look, I’ll fight this and I’ll beat it,” her mom said forcefully. “I was strong when I was in country, but I let myself get weak when I came home. I thought I could handle it. I was wrong. I’m not leaving my children orphans; I’m not giving the war another casualty.”

  Paige knew just saying “I was wrong” was a big step for her mom.

  “I’m not the only one.” Paige’s mom rattled off statistics about vets and active duty personnel like herself with painkiller addiction. “We’ve got each other and our treatment team.”

  Paige thought about all the teams and groups she’d depended on to help her through hard times, but she knew it was her family that mattered most, even if Perry had turned his back on her.

  “Listen, Paige, what you did was dangerous, you could have—”

  “I was desperate, Mom,” Paige said. “I made it look worse than it was, but it worked.”

  The phone went silent. “Mom, are you okay?”

  “Not yet, Pug, but I will be the next time you see me.”

  Paige started to speak, but stopped when she heard an odd sound on the other end of the phone: crying. It was everything Paige needed to know. It doesn’t matter whether cadets or soldiers cry. They live. They die. They fight.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Patrick Jones is the author of more than twenty novels for teens. He has also written two nonfiction books about combat sports, The Main Event, on professional wrestling, and Ultimate Fighting, on mixed martial arts. He has spoken to students at more than one hundred alternative schools, including residents of juvenile correctional facilities. Find him on the web at www.connectingya.com and on Twitter: @PatrickJonesYA.