Page 103 of Fight Or Flight

Brooklyn

Tell me to stay.

Those four words have been haunting me since Eric walked through the TSA gates and out of my sight. At the time, I honestly thought I was doing the right thing, that being the supportive, loving girlfriend was what he needed.

For someone who didn’t want to live life wondering, I sure had a lot of questions. Like, what if Eric only asked me to tell him to stay because he had changed his mind? What if he didn’t know how to reverse what he had done and needed me to help him? Was becoming a soldier really what he wanted from life?

As soon as we got back to the house, I excused myself to the basement and cried.

I cried for the boy I lost.

I cried for the man he was about to become.

And lastly, I cried for me—the girl who wished he hadn’t asked. The girl who was heartbroken and wondering if she made the biggest mistake of both their lives.

I wish I could tell you that the ache in my chest eased up, but it’s been a week since he’s left and every day that passes has me doubting myself more and more. But I think what really threw me over the edge was not hearing from him. There was zero communication.

Upon arriving at Fort Benning, they allowed him to call Lauren and tell her he had arrived and was processed—but that was it. The phone call lasted a total of twenty seconds and I’m ashamed to admit that I was jealous he called his mom and not me. It was nothing personal, this I knew, but it still stung.

I got over it, though. I told myself if I kept busy, Sunday would be here before I knew it and he’d call me. I kept my phone glued to my hand the entire day. When Wolf and Maria came over for Sunday dinner and rang the bell, I lifted my phone to my ear. I was desperate to hear his voice.

Sunday came and went, though, and the phone never rang—neither did Lauren’s. I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t want to bother Lauren and Riggs with my concerns, seeing as they were torn up over Eric themselves. All I knew was that I was feeling an indescribable sense of loss. It was a different kind of ache and nothing like I experienced when my mom passed. I think that’s because I know my mom is in a better place, that she is free from pain. With Eric, I don’t know anything.

So I did what any normal person would do—I googled all my questions.

Big mistake.

First off, I should’ve been more specific when typing my questions into the search engine. Instead of typing my soldier is in basic training, why isn’t he calling, I should’ve typed my soldier is at Fort Benning when will he call. Every fort has different rules—hell, every platoon has different rules, and I learned phone privileges were earned and given at the drill sergeant's discretion. If one trainee in the platoon failed a task, the drill sergeant had the authority to punish the entire platoon, so even if Eric had done everything expected of him, he might not be able to call home.

That sucked, but weirdly I found comfort in that bit of information. The more informed a person is, the less room there is for doubt. I had researched all the ways to be supportive, but I didn’t give myself the tools I would need to allow me to portray that role. I didn’t educate myself on every detail.

So, in between classes and work, I spent most of my time researching everything and anything I could find on the internet about Fort Benning. I might not be able to speak to Eric, but I could learn what he was doing. I could read testimonies from other soldiers who had completed their basic training program there.

My findings were fascinating and somewhat terrifying too.

There are three phases to basic combat training, and Eric was currently enduring the red phase. By now Eric has received his military uniform, basic orientation, and an army-issued haircut. As soon as I read that last part, I closed my eyes and pictured my soldier boy dressed in his uniform, sporting a short buzz cut.

The vision was too much for me and suddenly, I felt just as anxious as I did my first night in the Montgomery house—only this time there was no boy to meet me in the kitchen and talk me off the ledge. I had his flag, our fish, and a stuffed teddy bear, that whenever I pressed his paw, Eric’s voice would fill my ears.

I love you, my pretty little hurricane.

It wasn’t the same, but it would have to do.

Once I could push past the vision of Eric in uniform, I continued to educate myself on what else he was learning and just like Eric can recite The Warrior Ethos and The Soldier’s Creed, so can I.

I will always place the mission first. I will never accept defeat. I will never quit. I will never leave a fallen comrade.

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills. I always maintain my arms, my equipment, and myself. I am an expert and I am a professional. I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy…I am a guardian of freedom…I am an American Soldier.

The red phase also includes physical readiness, road marches, and confidence training. He’d also be introduced to Chemical Warfare and how to breathe properly through a mask. The phase lasts two weeks and by this coming Sunday, he will receive his first patch that he’ll wear on the left shoulder of his uniform.

He might not be able to tell me about his days, but I have a sense of what they look like and every night when I write to him, I start my letter by reciting The Soldier’s Creed. I tell him I’m so unbelievably proud of him and that I love him more today than I did yesterday.

And it’s true.

I loved Eric the day he walked to the gate, but knowing everything he is doing, and the resolve it takes to be a soldier, makes me love him ten times more. It takes a certain type of man to choose sacrifice and stand up for everyone else but himself. And to be that man’s girl is an honor itself.

If these two weeks have taught me anything it’s that the distance between two hearts is not an obstacle but rather a reminder of just how strong true love can be.

Now, onto the white phase.

Let’s hope he calls during it.

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