Page 91 of The Upside of Falling
Stryder.
Fuck, I haven’t talked to him since the night we got wasted in the pool house. Since graduation. Since he went off the next day, leaving me a note wishing me luck with flight school, and that was it. The only reason I knew he was alive was because of Hardie and Joey, who both called me yesterday and today to check in on me, regretful they couldn’t get time off to come to the funeral.
But he’s here now, hands folded in front of him, in his dress blues, looking sharp. Older, bulkier than I remember, as if he’s spent the last year and a half in a gym rather than the bar where I assumed he’d been. It’s where Hardie and Joey said he was hanging out whenever they saw him right after graduation.
Always wasted, always making an ass out of himself.
And I fucking hated that I couldn’t be there for him. He needed my help. Hell, he needed someone to guide him, but from the looks of it, he might just have found a way out of his downward spiral.
The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur and when it ends, Bent leans over and says, “Want me to drive you to the reception, Flyer?”
Flyer. The call sign I was given once I was paired to an F-22, just like Bent, Rowdy, and Colt. Usually call signs are given after a long, drawn-out process, but the guys said mine was the easiest to figure out. Just like Gramps always said, I was born to fly. And just like Gramps, they saw the same thing in me; my love of being in the air gave me my name.
Clearing my throat, my voice sounding weak, I say, “I’m going to go say hi to someone real quick. Meet you guys at the car.”
They nod and all pat me on the back before leaving. With my grandpa’s flag in hand, I walk to Stryder who hasn’t moved, standing stoic, waiting for me. Part of me hates the fact that he couldn’t walk to me.Couldn’t come to me to offer condolences. But, I guess I don’t know the man in front of me anymore. When I reach him, he waits a beat before pulling me into a hug and clasping me on the back.
And that one gesture, the familiarity of someone from my past, someone who mattered to me, brings me to my damn knees.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Stryder says gruffly. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
At that moment, his apology not only strikes me as singular for what happened to Gramps, but as an attempt to bridge the gap the has been between us.
And for that brief second, for the first time in over a year, I feel.
I feel the loss of a friend.
I feel the loss of a brother.
I feel the loss of a great man.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my words stretched thin. “Thank you for coming today.”
Pulling away, Stryder adjusts his hat and says, “He was my hero as well. Even though you two were obviously closer, I still looked up to Gramps and tried to do right by him.”
“And are you?” I ask, unsure of where Stryder stands.
He nods. “I am. He would hopefully be proud.”
“Good.” Looking toward the guys waiting for me, I say, “I’m heading to the reception where they’re going to pass Gramps’s medals to me for safe keeping. Would you like to come? It’s at the funeral home.”
Stryder pulls on the back of his neck, looking pained. “Fuck, I wish I could, but I have to get into work. I barely got this time off.”
“I understand.” I bite on my bottom lip. “I’m on town on TDY. Could we get a drink? Catch up?”
Looking behind me, his eyes not trained on mine, he answers, “Yeah. I think we should.”
“Okay, I’ll text you. Same number?”
“Same number.” Pulling me into a hug one last time, he walks away, a stiffness in his shoulders.
Saying goodbye to a few more people, I make my way to Bent’s rental car where all three guys are leaning against the door, arms crossed. When they spot me, they stand to attention.
Bent is the first to speak. “Fellow classmate from the academy?”
I nod. “That was Stryder.” They know about Stryder, how he was the one who took me in over breaks, my best friend, and the one guy who should be flying next to me but isn’t.
Turning their head to look at them, they nod. “Seems like he’s doing well,” Bent says.
