Perdue: A Marie Perdita Suspense

Chapter 2

"I left you alone on that boat for three minutes..."

In the summer before I turned fourteen, my father thought I was old enough to start doing survival training. If my mom only knew the crazy shit he had us do; then again, I got it worse than my brothers. He used to tell me the world is hard on women and I needed to be twice as tough as them. I used to think he was nuts, but now I can take a punch or get thrown off a riverboat and survive. Thanks, Dad: You're one crazy dude, but I love you. My father did multiple tours in some messed-up places. He's seen some shit; it's given him the values and perceptions he carries to this day.

So, there I was, July 4th weekend before high school. I should have been worrying about boys or pimples, anything other than survival training. I mean, who teaches their kids this shit? Marines do. Navy SEALs do. I know this because that was my dad's defense: "Everyone else is teaching their kids." He wasn't going to have me be at risk. He wanted me to be a lady by day, but a killer by night if needed. We were training in the lake and around the property all weekend. "Erin, don't you roll your eyes at me." Dad was mad.

"Dad, I'm going to have to deal with high school boys, not angry militants."

"The skills you learn now with me will carry you forever. I have seen things no man should have to. I'm going to make sure you're prepared for anything. Hate me now, but you'll appreciate it when you need it." Dad was ge ing worked up.

"Okay, Dad, I love spending time with you regardless. If this is what you want to do for the holiday weekend, I guess I'm in. I'm not going to be happy about it, but I'm here."

"I think you'll have more fun than you realize." That was usually the case.

The first skill we worked on was dealing with your hands tied behind your back. He said it was to teach me to stay calm in high stress situations, to control my breathing. I learned basic focusing techniques, breathing techniques, and multiple ways to get out of that situation. The one my father couldn't stand was the way I would loop my arms under my legs and get them in front. He thought it was cheating to get my hands in the front so I could work on whatever makeshift handcuffs he put on me.

"Erin, being flexible at fourteen doesn't mean you'll be flexible at twenty-five or thirty. There are no rules that say no one can harm you in your thirties."

"I agree, Dad, but I can stay flexible. Work on it, take yoga or Pilates."

"Always a smart-ass, just like your dad. Well, I guess we'll just have to practice both ways. If I put you on a chair, you can't cheat." Good point.

This went on for the whole weekend. We would keep coming back to these exercises. He worked with me on finding my way home without a compass or a phone, dropping me off in the woods a mile up the street and leaving me alone. You probably think this guy is crazy, but he was worried about me, wanted me prepared. Maybe he knew I was going to be a wild child living life as a spy.

"Honey, you may be asking yourself, 'Why is my dad doing this to me? He knows that I'm only fourteen, doesn't he?'"

"Not quite like that! But it's close enough." I smiled.

"Well, my only response is that I'm sorry I waited so long to get you started on this stuff. I'm going to push you more than your brothers. You need to be better, faster, and smarter than they are. If a guy is going to attack you, chances are he will be stronger. You just have to be quicker and sharper with your mind. Do you understand? It's about more than just being fast and smart." He always pushed it past the norm.

"Yes. I'll rarely be able to overpower a guy, but I can outsmart and outmaneuver him. I got it, Dad, I'm just glad we're hanging together. Plus, this shit is fun."