Fleeing the Past . Christopher LaGrone

Academy becoming another fantasy that would fade into the normality of regular life and discontent. He was holding hands with Fabiola now when they walked in public; she smiled, satisfied just knowing that he was putting forth effort.

      By happenstance, the green background of a website he had surfed across reminded him of his nearly forgotten attempt at true life, and on a whim, he loaded the Government website. He strained to remember his login—his password was always the same—and when he pressed “Enter” he stared in disbelief for several seconds at the word “Complete” next to Background Investigation. He stared frozen with shock for several seconds, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

      He wondered how long it had been complete. Perhaps he hadn’t responded in time and the Minnesota Hiring Center interpreted his failure to respond as a lack of motivation—that he was no longer interested in the job. Or maybe the completion was of little consequence. Did it mean that the security clearance was in place, or did it mean that the background report had been received and that a decision was pending? There was no urge to celebrate. He called Edward for an explanation, and the investigator assured him, “Everything looks good. You should be at the Academy in a month or so.”

      There was still no excitement or joy; he was functioning in a state of shock. His mind was quickly confronted with anxious deliberation about how to proceed with tying loose ends. He decided to tell Fabiola that Edward wouldn’t call him back in the event that Edward was mistaken. Edward couldn’t tell him how long it would take before he was at the Academy, he would need her until then.

      The next morning, he became overwhelmed with a sensation, an unprecedented feeling that something was about to change. The urge to leave had been revived, triumphantly, and was consuming him the way a migratory bird knows when it is time to leave for its other home. Visions of his future were appearing everywhere he looked. He would evolve like a misfit high school boy, who leaves for Marine Boot Camp a lost soul and returns home to visit, born again, transformed into a man.

      He was told to wait for a call that Edward assured him was imminent. Out of superstition he chose to keep the news a secret from everyone, including his parents, until there was no doubt that it was real. He struggled to go about his daily routine. He couldn’t concentrate and could barely function at work, but he couldn’t quit until he received confirmation. If his coworkers only knew what he was about to embark on—he tingled when he anticipated their stunned reaction.

      At night when he managed to fall asleep, his mind projected its conception of how the Academy would be. He floated vertically through a tesseract, surrounded by trainees in green uniforms moving busily at fast-forward speed on multiple floors above and below him. When he awoke, reality was so surreal that he had to confirm to himself that the website and phone call to Edward had actually happened and was not fictitious among the strange new dreams.

      It was difficult to behave normally around Fabiola, and she observed him with suspicion for two weeks until the call came.

      He was at work when his cell phone vibrated with a number coming from a strange area code. He disregarded the rule against cell phones during work and answered as he walked swiftly toward the bathroom as confused eyes followed him.

      “This is Agent Eagan from Tucson Sector Headquarters. I’m calling to offer you a position as Border Patrol Agent in the Tucson Sector.”

      “I accept,” Layne said.

      Agent Eagan was silent for a moment then said, “You want to consider what I’m telling you. We have a position open in Douglas, Arizona, right now. But if you wait a month or two, there will be a position open at Tucson Station.”

      Layne feared that an unresolvable complication might develop if he chose to hold out. He couldn’t risk it. “I can’t wait any longer,” he said. He was out of breath.

      “I know you’re anxious, but you want to consider the location,” Eagan said.

      “Douglas is fine; I’ve got to get on with this,” Layne said, swallowing with apprehension.

      “Are you sure?” Agent Eagan asked with sincere concern.

      Layne could hear himself breathing more rapidly. “Yes, I accept the position.”

      Agent Eagan paused again, then continued. “Okay, do you have a pen ready? You need to be at the Holiday Inn on Palo Verde in Tucson on May 19—that’s two weeks from today. You will be in Class 590.”

      Layne felt his heart trying to grasp that he had made it in. “What should I bring with me?”

      “We’ll send you an orientation packet. When you get there, they will take you to tour your station, then you’ll take a bus from Tucson to the Academy in Artesia, New Mexico. Just make sure to bring some good running shoes, and you’ll need about $700 to pay for your hotel room. You won’t start getting paid until your first day at the Academy.”

      Layne couldn’t wait to resign, and when he walked into his supervisor’s office and quit, she reacted with a look of disbelief. He left before she could say anything.

      He wanted to tell his parents right away; he imagined their excitement. But first, he had to call Matt. “I couldn’t have done it without your help,” he told the man he knew only as a voice on the phone. “It went just the way you said it would—even the part about trying to rattle my cage during the Oral Board. Thank you.”

      After Matt’s predictable “I-told-you-so” response, Layne called and told his parents he was coming over to tell them something important. Once there, he told them to sit down in the living room before he would tell them. By the smiles in their awaiting eyes he could tell that they knew what was coming. He tried not to smile as he told them: “I did it. I leave for the Academy in two weeks. I accepted a position as Border Patrol Agent in Douglas, Arizona.”

      They were speechless as they rose from their seats. His mother covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyes welled up. She approached him slowly, without a word, arms extended to hug him. His dad turned red and erupted. He clapped his hands together and began high-fiving Layne repeatedly while his mother was still hugging him. No more mistakes, Layne thought. The watershed was prominent as he surveyed it from over his mom’s shoulder. It caused him to swallow hard.

      * * * *

      THE BEER TOOK THE EDGE OFF, but sitting on the couch alone watching the door was like sitting in a surgery waiting room. He had been putting this off for a week now, each day losing his nerve when he saw her—deliberating, then electing to tell her when the mood was right the next day. He was driving his mom’s car. He had sold his old car earlier in the day but hadn’t mentioned it to Fabiola. Giving it up was like putting his dog to sleep, a sense of love loss. It was burning the boats.

      She was late, and in the meantime, he had drunk eight beers, having originally intended to have two or three. By force of habit he removed the remaining cans from the twelve-pack and folded the box and stuffed it deep down in the kitchen trash underneath the rest of the garbage. She would think he had only bought a six-pack and drank two. When the door opened, Fabiola gave him a dismissive glance, and walked into the kitchen to put her purse and keys on the countertop.

      There was intense silence.

      Like tearing off a Band-Aid, he forced himself to say to her, “I got the call.”

      She emerged from the kitchen. “For the job?”

      “Yeah, they offered me a position at Douglas Station,” Layne said, trying to face her.

      “Where is that?”

      “It’s in the far southeast corner of the state of Arizona.” Layne tried to find a comfortable position for his hands.

      “When do you leave?”

      “Thursday.”

      “That’s in three days. When did you get the call?”

      He couldn’t make eye contact with her. “I got the call a week ago,” he admitted.

      “Why didn’t you tell me the same day?”