Freefall by Anna Levine

me.
    Pigtails, North Carolina, Argentina, Amber, and I are given a stretcher. Doesn’t look like a very sturdy thing: two long poles with a flimsy canvas in the middle. Still, I’m hoping that they’ll volunteer me to lie on it, since I’m probably the lightest. And I could use the rest.
    â€œYour sacks of sand. On the stretcher. Now!”
    We heave our sacks on the stretcher. I can tell the other girls, like me, are feeling hopeful. Maybe we’ve finished this part of the exercise and it’s time to pack in the sandbags and move on to something else. Anything would be better.
    We slap the dust off our hands and grin at one another. The other girls stand beside their sandbags, looking disgruntled and jealous.
    â€œYou girls want to go into the field?”
    â€œ Ken , Commander.”
    â€œThen you’ve got to be able to carry each other out. When we’re under enemy fire and you’ve got a man down, you’ll do everything in your power to take him home. This is the army, but now”—she pauses and looks at each of us—“it’s also your family. We never leave a soldier behind. You got that? Never. Now, lift it up!”
    â€œLift that?” says Argentina, pointing to the stretcher loaded with the sandbags. “But nobody weighs that much.”
    â€œNot even Lily,” says Sonya.
    â€œHike the poles onto your shoulders. You four will hold it, and you,” she says, pointing at Amber, “will run behind ready to switch off. The rest of you girls will carry the spare water canteens in those packs. Get moving. Keep it sturdy. Dropping an injured soldier could mean a life.”
    We each grab a side of the stretcher and heave it onto our shoulders. It seems to weigh more than everything I have ever carried in my whole life put together.
    â€œDon’t drop it,” the commander warns. “It could be you up there one day.”
    I’ve cursed these sandbags and wished I could throw them into the sea. Now I’ll do anything to keep the stretcher balanced on my shoulder. I don’t want to be the one who drops it.
    â€œMy shoulder’s killing me,” says Carolina. “I can’t do this much longer. Can someone switch me?”
    â€œWho’s on the stretcher, Private!” the commander shouts, running up to her.
    No one answers.
    We trudge on a bit faster, maybe thinking we can get away from her. I don’t know what she wants. We don’t have anyone up there, just our sandbags. Heavy, shoulder-crushing loads I’d like to toss over the next ridge.
    â€œWho’s on the stretcher, Private?” She waits another second. “The people who care about you the most, and who you worry about, are sometimes the heaviest ones to bear. The ones we’d like to rid ourselves of are the ones who give us strength. Who’s on the stretcher, Private?”
    â€œMy ma,” says North Carolina.
    â€œYour mother?”
    â€œYes, Commander. My ma’s been on my back for eighteen years.”
    No one speaks.
    Her accent gets thicker. “Shouldn’t you be studying, Hadas?” She pants and struggles for breath. “Shouldn’t you be reading something more intellectual?” Her breath comes in short bursts. “Isn’t that boy a bad influence on you? I’ve seen bathing suits with more material than that shirt you’re wearing. ”
    The commander motions to Amber to switch off with her.
    â€œTough stuff,” mutters Argentina.
    â€œWho’s on your stretcher, Private!” the commander shouts at Argentina.
    She staggers but catches herself. “My brother, Commander. My brother the Navy SEAL. My brother the genius. My brother the serious, successful one.”
    She switches off with Sonya.
    We shuffle on.
    I’m hoping she won’t ask me. But she reads my mind.
    â€œWho’s on the stretcher, Private!” she hollers at me.
    I don’t know. My mind is