Page 32 of Hero Hair
My heart thumps a little jaggedly and I have more adrenaline in this moment than I will when they finally let me out into the vacant atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground. Because I control that. It’s all on me. I’m not relying on pilots, or worried about the dickhole sitting behind me accidently screwing with something. I play well with others when in it’s in my best interest.
I stare at the red light while I let my mind fill with everything that needs to happen next. Plan A and then Plan B and everything after that and in between. It’s mostly autopilot at this point in my career. I’ve skydived hundreds upon hundreds of times. I’ve jumped out of an airplane at night when it’s pitch-dark, when it’s raining, when we’re so high we have to wear oxygen, and it almost feels like we’re in outer space. Someone lets a fart rip and it’s so loud I hear it over the goddamn roar of the engine.
The light turns green. Just in time. I was about to add another name to my hit list. The hatch is opened and the sound of the wind overtakes the small space. I stand immediately, holding on to the bars overhead. Sweat beads on my forehead as I watch a few of my teammates exit the plane. They drop like rocks the second they leave the hatch. We only have a certain amount of time and it’s with precision accuracy that everything is measured. A few moments later I’m freefalling, finally able to take a deep breath. I have my altimeter on my right wrist and I glance at it every few seconds so the ground doesn’t creep up too quickly.
The world looks round up here. If Christopher Columbus had this view there would be no doubt the Earth is just one spinning dome. The sky is the place where I feel smallest. There’s no way I can change anything significant in something so large. I’m a fleck. A miniscule thread woven into a tapestry so vast you can’t even tell what the pattern is. My altimeter says I’m at three thousand feet, so I pull the ball on the right side of my parachute strapped to my back. I look up and over my shoulder to make sure it’s deploying properly and grab on to the handles as they rise over my head.
I see my friends who jumped out before and after, everyone a perfect distance away, forming an octagon of sorts. I steer, pulling one handle and then the other to close a gap. Under parachute is the longest part of a jump. After falling at what feels like warp speed, cruising to my landing seems to be at a snail’s pace. Studying my surroundings and the tiny buildings on the ground, I find my way to the landing zone. Minutes pass, as does the agonizing thump as I hit the rough grassy patch of field.
I look at my left wrist and calculate the time.I did it.
I went a whole thirty-six minutes without thinking about Teala. I snap a photo of my parachute behind me and send it off without another word.
I did it. Why does this make me so happy? I start cutting away so I can drag my rig over to begin the packing once again. She doesn’t respond right away, but when she does, it simply says,Take me next time.
I raise my brows. That definitely has potential for a date. “Why do I care about a date?” I chastise myself under my breath.
Tahoe grunts from behind me. A place I didn’t realize he was. “You’re acting like a straight fool today, man. What’s going on?” His voice is cavalier. He doesn’t really care, he’s just asking because he’s my friend. That’s the way it is with dudes.
“I hate this shit,” I mutter. I turn to glance his way, and he nods, his piercing blue eyes assessing. He’ll think I mean packing my chute.
He grunts again. “Leave your phone in the car. You’re a little bitch with it today. Checking it constantly. What’s the problem? Is the pussy well dry here?”
I could lie. He wouldn’t have a clue if I was being truthful. I think back to the voicemail. “Nah. Family issues,” I reply, doing my best to avoid his acid gaze.
“What’s wrong with Shirley and Robert?” he asks. “They doing okay?”
I should have known better. I’m digging a deeper hole. SEALs pride themselves on honor, and I adhere to that ethos. I’m shit at deceit.
I nod. “They’re fine. Ma wants me to go for a visit. I’m trying to hash out the details. We’ve got a lot going on the next few weeks.” All truths.
He spits, a huge, brown hued pile behind him. “You’re a cagey motherfucker. It has to do with a chick. Check that shit, bro. Check it,” Tahoe says.
I could argue, but I want his help this weekend. And his tools.
I sigh. “Don’t spit that nasty shit near me,” I snap back. A lot of the guys dip or chew. I find it repulsive. I tried it a time or two when I had to. You’d be surprised at the things SEALs have to do to blend in. The long ass beards and mustaches while deployed are just the tip of the iceberg, what we want you to associate with us. I can be another person entirely. That’s true for me more than other guys. Because I do care about clothing and my hair and vain things most don’t think twice about. I can also go without showering for weeks while rotating two outfits that stay filled with sand, dirt, and sweat.
Tahoe laughs, spits again, farther away this time, and shakes his head. He knows. I’m failing at keeping Teala and our arrangement hidden and it pisses me off. My skin prickles with heat as my hands work. I won’t look at my phone again today. Maybe not even tomorrow either. I decide I’m done for the day and check the fuck out. I head back to my hotel, a five star resort that carries Pappy at the penthouse bar. I dial my mom as I drive the shitty rental car down the long road. When she answers, I put her on Bluetooth. I tell her I’ll be home for a visit the following weekend. She’s so joyful and her voice is so soothing that I go a step further.
“I’m going to bring someone home I want you to meet,” I say. I don’t think I’ve heard her that happy in a long time.
She squeals, screams the news to my father, and then tells me she has to go so she can prepare. What she really means is she needs to go so she can call all her friends and spread the good news faster than burning Chlamydia. Teala will agree. She has to.
What’s that saying? It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask permission?
I hang up the phone and concentrate on the road. It’s not until I get back to the hotel parking garage that I realize I haven’t stopped smiling.
