by Naomi Niles
I was dreaming. I couldn’t imagine how it happened. The sound of the helicopter rotors drowned out everything, even my thoughts. I had to focus. There was a group of children holed up in a school less than a hundred miles from where we were flying now. It was my job to go in and take out the Taliban operatives holding them prisoner before they killed the kids.
I tensed up and waited, watching as the Afghani desert passed below us. “Go! Go! Go!”
I jumped out of the helicopter, my body suspended in that split second before gravity caught me and pulled me back down to the ground. I was staring at a patchy, yellow canvas with jagged gray lines etched in the sand. They called it Allah’s cat box, the place that he forgot.
I could believe that. Nothing had changed there since Biblical times. The people still dressed in long pieces of cloth draped around their body. Their houses were crumbling mud brick, and they survived off of nothing but opium, wilted pot, and bread so tough it scraped against your throat going down. Life was cheap and fragile, not something to be cherished because it wasn’t worth living.
It was no wonder the Taliban didn’t have a problem using children as human shields. Everyone was disposable.
The next thing I knew, I was leaning against the back wall of a crumbling school, a concrete building with barred windows and a caved-in roof that’d long since been abandoned. I could hear the sounds of children, running around in the room on the other side, laughing and playing.
No, I couldn’t think of the children. I was in the plane. I told myself that over and over. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. I tried to see the rows of seats in front of me as part of the material universe. They existed. I could touch them, and I could smell the air around me – but I could also feel the dust blowing into my eyes as I loaded my weapon.
I couldn’t do this. I reached out to touch the headrest in front of me. Instead, I realized I was reaching out to the Afghani children staring at me, all lined up in a row, their eyes wide, like they thought I was going to shoot them.
I shouldn’t have burst in. That was stupid. The children were meant to be a deterrent. The Taliban knew we couldn’t bomb the base and risk losing our rapport with their villages. We had to go in after the kids and hope that we didn’t get killed in doing so.
The room was dark, save for the light coming in from a hole in the concrete roof. Behind the children, a tall shape was leaning against the back wall, like a pillar, black, save for the sheer fabric around her eyes allowing the woman to see through her costume.
“Are you really going to kill these children?” I asked her in broken Pashto.
My response was a hairy hand reaching out from under the burka holding an armed grenade. I looked at it, weighed my options, and decided to run, all in the time span of less than two seconds. I barely managed to get behind a crumbling, mud brick wall before I heard the crack, like the earth itself had been split in two.
“No!” My throat still hurt from the force of that scream.
“Howell!” I was back on the plane, and my commanding officer Jacobs was sitting next to me. “Get it together, soldier. You can’t let that happen.”
“What are you talking about?” I never told anyone that I was shell-shocked.
“You just yelled.” Everyone was looking at me. My head fell into my hands. “You’re going to need to learn how to stay in the moment if you want to make it on the outs.”
I nodded my head.
“How are you feeling about the discharge?”
“Jesus,” I leaned back against the headrest. “I’ve been a SEAL since I was eighteen.”
“You’re institutionalized. Reintegrating back into civilian life is a process. It won’t just happen overnight. Now, I need to know that you’re not going to have another flashback and start attacking people or something.”
“What? You’ve known me for years. Have I ever done anything that stupid?”
“No, but I’m not taking any chances. Drink this,” she handed me a shooter of whiskey, “and calm yourself down.”
“Alright.” I downed the shot, ignoring the sickening feeling of the alcohol sliding down my throat.
“What are you planning on doing about work?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I thought so.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “My brother runs a security company in Chattanooga. When I heard that he needed help, your name was the only one that came to mind.” She handed me the card. In the middle, etched in dark green letters were the words, “Granger Security.” I stashed the card in my pocket.
“Sounds like a lot of standing around and doing nothing.”
“It’s something to consider.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a good job. They pay well, and you’ll be treated with the respect you deserve. If you want, I can call him when we land and set you up right away.”
“I don’t see how I can turn down something like that.”
“Smart boy.” She patted me on the shoulder and walked back to her seat.
I closed my eyes and rested my head back, determined to get some rest. If I could get rid of this panic, slow my breath, and calm my heart, then maybe I could stay in the moment. It’d worked before. I just had to perfect the technique.
I focused straight ahead and tried to get lost in the rhythm of the in and out. I could feel the world sliding away and my muscles relaxing. I smiled. It was working.
I’d learned the trick from one of the other recruits. They were one of those semi-profound eastern philosophy types. They called it mindfulness meditation. It was a way for people to turn their mind away from anything that was distracting them from being fully present in the moment.
I’d focus on my breath for a few seconds, then catch my thoughts drifting. Every time I did that, I thought, Breathe, like a mantra to bring my focus back to my breath and the world around me. I stuck with it until I started to forget where I was and drifted off to sleep.
“Hey.” The sound of Jason’s voice jolted me awake. I opened my eyes. He was standing in the aisle. “Scoot over.”
I did. “I was almost asleep.”
“Sorry, Jesus. Can’t expect me to sit here and twiddle my thumbs the entire flight.”
“You are the worst partner imaginable.”
He laughed. “What’d sour pussy have to say?”
“Her brother owns this security company in Chattanooga. She wants me to go work for him.” I sighed.
“She wants your jock.” He elbowed me, and I scooted to the edge of my seat away from him.
“I’m sure that’s the last thing on her mind.”
“Please, a sour old bat like that — she’s probably got a vibrator stash the size of an armory.” He laughed at his own joke.
I was getting tired of seeing his bald red head. “I don’t know.”
“I can’t wait to leave, man.” He made a sound like his body was deflating. “The second we do, I’m going to find the nearest titty bar and drink until I forget where I am.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’ll bet you can’t wait to find something to sink your dick into.”
“Guess so.” I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“Isn’t it crazy? We’re leaving at the same time.”
“Yeah… I’m getting tired, man. I think I’m going to pass out.”
“Ah,” he groaned, “you’re no fun.” He finally got up and walked back to his seat.
Jason had attached himself to me the moment he met me. At first I thought he was just lonely or upset about everything that we’d seen in Afghanistan, so I gave him some slack, but over time my patience started to wear thin. He would keep me up late at night asking about my life. At first, I didn’t tell him much, just quick one or two word responses, but he would keep pushing until I had to answer just to get him to shut up long enough to let me sleep.
That was a mistake. The second I’d opened my mouth, he latched onto me like we were b
est friends. He followed me around everywhere, constantly yammering about one thing or another. He was vulgar and moody with the sense of humor of a grade schooler, laughing about farts and talking about boobs. I couldn’t respect a man like that.
I was relieved when the Navy announced my discharge. I was certain that I’d finally get a chance to get away from him. That lasted for about three hours. Then he ran into the dorms to tell me that he was getting out the same day. Now, I was stuck listening to him talk about everything he wanted to do and how I should visit and drink with him and all the things that we could do together.
I almost told him to leave me alone when I first met him, but it occurred to me that he would probably be hurt by it. He was sensitive. He internalized everything, and I needed to be able to rely on him when I was in danger. Now that we were leaving and it didn’t matter, I decided to keep quiet to avoid having to hurt his feelings.
I went back to focusing on my breathing again, letting my thoughts pass me by with sense of detachment. I grew more and more distant as the time passed and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Two
Gillian
It began with a short burst of sound, quick but light, steadily increasing in tempo and magnitude, until it became a fully composed symphony, Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Little Swans.” I reached over and turned off my alarm, smiling. I imagined a troop of little girls spinning across the stage, their arms held high above their heads. It was a beautiful image, one I couldn’t shake. I’d work my whole life trying to perfect it.
I tied my long black hair in a bun, donned an old pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, and grabbed a black duffel bag before I ran out the door. Lexie’s ballet studio was a small, red brick building on the edge of downtown. She was standing out back leaning against her car when I pulled up. I parked my car, grabbed my bag, and walked over to where she was standing, looking down at her phone.
“Good morning,” I said in a sing song voice.
“How are you, Gillian?” She put her phone away.
“Excited for class.”
“I just hope we don’t get too much trouble. One of the parents came in yesterday to sign up her three-year-old.”
“A dance mom?” I asked.
“Of course. When I told her the girl was too young, she screamed at me, saying that I just didn’t know talent when I saw it and her girl was going to be a star.”
“You should’ve told her to get the little girl to plié.”
Lexie laughed. “The look on her face would’ve been priceless.”
“You have to have a sense of humor with these women,” I continued as we started walking to the back door. “They’re like rabid dogs, all of them hell bent on turning their daughters into the next Britney Spears.”
“Dance is supposed to be fun and easy,” Lexie said. “It’s about expression, not sabotaging everyone you come across just to get your daughter on stage.”
“I just love playing with them,” I said.
“Your backhanded compliments.” Lexie rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Ms. Halverson, what a wonderful dress. Isn’t it wonderful when you find great bargains like that?” She laughed. “It always takes them a second to get it. Their eyes just get wider and wider as they begin to realize what you’re saying. Then, all of a sudden, bam — you’re one of the haters and they’re obsessed with throwing every achievement in your face.”
“You’re evil.” Lexie unlocked the back door.
“They’re always so serious. I just wish they’d lighten up.”
“I know. I came this close to banning them from sitting in on practice.”
“There’d be designer shreds of cloth and hair extensions everywhere.” We walked through the hall into dance studio. Lexie flicked on the lights, illuminating the buffed wooden floor, the wall-length mirrors, and of course, the infamous barre.
“I can’t believe that this place is real. I keep expecting it to fade away or fail somehow.”
“I think we’re on solid ground,” I said.
“Now we are, but it’s only because you work so hard. You took a big risk moving to the city to do this with me. You could’ve lost everything, and you did it anyway. I hope you know how much that means.”
“I just like hearing it.” I beamed. “Say it again.”
“Thank you, Gillian.”
“It’s not just me, you know.”
“I refuse to take any credit.” Lexie grabbed her elbow and stretched out her arm. I followed suit. We bent over, touched our toes, grabbed at the air, and stretched our legs. Then we started our morning routine, a quick warm up to keep the blood flowing. When the kids came in at nine, we had to be at our best.
When we were done, Lexie went to check her phone. “It’s getting to be time.”
“Good, I love new classes. We get to mold the children in our image.”
“Now you’re talking like one of the dance moms,” she said.
“The evil is contagious.” The sound of the door chiming interrupted our laughter. “I’ll get that. You go ahead and setup.”
There was a bony woman with long blonde hair and a stern look on her face, holding her young daughter’s hand. “Are you the teacher?” She looked me up and down. I stopped and looked down. I was supposed to change into my leotard before class had completely forgot.
“I’m one of them.”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” I said. “And, you are?”
“Kirsten and this is my daughter Maddie.” She motioned towards her daughter who was struggling to wriggle out of her firm grip. The woman was wearing a simple white dress with a gold belt, something elegant that reminded me of a supermodel. It must’ve cost her thousands, but it was so basic. She might as well have draped a sheet over her head.
I knelt down in front of Maddie. “Are you ready to dance?”
My burst of energy was all the girl needed. She hopped up and down nodding her head. Then she stopped and threw her hand in the air. “Yeah!”
“Great,” I stood back up to address the mom. “I assume you’ll be wanting to stay for practice.”
“Of course.” She seemed offended.
“If you just want to make your way into the back and wait for the other girls.”
“Don’t you have a place for the parents to sit and watch?”
“There arre chairs in there.”
She threw her head high. “Come on, Maddie.”
Once she was gone, I disappeared into the bathroom to get changed and make myself look presentable. The mothers expected poise and composure, labels with a full face of makeup and a blemish-free complexion.
I didn’t need any of that to look good. My face was compact, my skin pale. I’d been compared to a porcelain doll, but I wasn’t the kind of woman that spent hours in the bathroom perfecting my contour and highlighting. I was casual, maybe a little sloppy, so I took a minute every day before the moms came to make sure that didn’t show. They were a judgmental bunch, and our business relied on what they thought of us.
When I walked out, there were four women standing in the lobby, trying to wrestle their daughters. They jumped up when I walked in. Judging by the looks on their faces, I could tell that we were going to have to have a Q and A session to placate some of their fears.
Lexie was way ahead of me. When I led the mothers into the studio, she had a white board setup and was already passing around handouts. That way the moms had something that they could hold onto to make themselves feel better.
I introduced myself to the group, then stood back while Lexie went over the curriculum and answered the mothers’ questions. They wanted to know everything, from how much experience we had to which celebrities we’d trained. There were always a few moms that were dissatisfied with our answers. This time was no different. Two of them walked out before we could even begin the class.
It used to bother Lexie. We worked so hard to impress the women and even went so far as to purchase designer outfits that
we could wear outside of class, but nothing we did would ever be enough for them, so we gave up and let the bad apples leave if they didn’t want to be there, or their standards were too high. We didn’t want them there.
When we were done with the question and answer session, I stepped up to the front of the room, gave the mothers my warmest smile, and turned to the kids. “Are you guys excited?” There was no response so I cupped my ear. “I said, are you guys excited?”
“Yeah!” they screamed.
“That’s better. Now stand up and find a place on the barre.”
They all scrambled, screaming and shouting for their place. A little blonde girl, no older than five years old, shot up and ran as fast as she could to end of the barre. Another girl saw what was happening and pushed her to the ground.
Time seemed to stop. Her face scrunched up, turned bright red, then her head flew back and her shrieking cry drowned everything else out. Her mother was already off of her feet running to swoop her up. “Come here, Jenny.” She lifted her daughter off the floor. “It’s okay.” I gave her some room to deal with her daughter and looked around to find the assailant’s mother.
Nobody was chastising her, and none of the mothers seemed particularly perturbed by anything except for the sound of the girl crying. The little brat had taken her place in line and seemed to be quite happy with herself. She stuck her tongue out at the crying girl, then looked straight ahead.
One of the women, a straight-backed brunette with the demeanor of a supermodel gave the brat a nod of approval. There was always one. We called them the predators, women who teach their children to hurt other people to get ahead. Their excuse was that they were trying to teach their children to be competitive and wanted their daughters to know what it took to succeed. What they were really doing was breeding little monsters.
Lexie shot up out of her place in the corner and pulled the mom aside. It was always the same thing. We told the mothers that their children need to behave or leave. They only got one chance, and if it happened again, they had to go. I knew the mother would be trouble, and I didn’t want to bring attention to the situation so I turned back to the girls who were all lined up on the wall, holding their barres.
