It’s 11 pm and I’m standing at the foot of the landfill, across from the front yard, in pajamas and old slippers. Wet hair.
There are three helicopters just above me. I could run up into one in 15 seconds if I had better slippers on. Their wind pushes my hair back.
They look like shadows against the night sky. Blacker than black. Cloaked shapes with a few red and green lights blinking at me violently.
The blades shake the ground and move the trees. It’s a great hum. I don’t hear the cadets jumping out of the helicopters and marching into the woods for training. That’s what’s happening though. I’ve seen this before in the day. Never at night.
The helicopters pull up off the landfill and hover for a moment before maneuvering away toward the river. As their hum fades I can hear the voices of cadets, wearing heavy backpacks and helmets and boots, stepping through the tree line. One voice carries above them all. Commands. Some laughter. Voices echo against the mountain. Gathered in the brush.
Truck engines start somewhere in the dark. Hidden close.
A part of me wants to follow the action. I just watched American Ninja Warrior. I feel ready. The trucks sound off like thunder. I think they’re marching towards me. My slippers are falling apart. I have to get up too early.
I hear another team of helicopters coming close. Descending invisibly. I’ll watch them land too, (who walks away from helicopters landing in their yard?) and if they don’t intercept me, than I’ll go to bed.