Alright, I know this is still sort of in prologue territory, but the next chapter Billie officially starts in with Rising, so you'll start to see some familiar faces! Let me know what you guys think!

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"If you're brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello." — Paulo Coelho

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July 11th 2004

It was a warm summer day when I left. A Sunday, which, in my opinion, was the best day of the week to wander around Harlem. It was late afternoon, and the street was buzzing with activity — as it always did, though I watched it all more carefully than before, hoping to commit as much of it to memory as possible while I waited for my father.

On the corner closest to me, in front of the deli, a couple of gypsy cab drivers leaned against their black sedans, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, ready to jump in their cars should a cop come by and notice that they were parked in a 'No Standing' zone. Next door, George sat playing dominoes on a foldable card table set up on the sidewalk in the even spaces between trees and parking meters with Mr. Cohen, Mr. Quincy and Mr. Knight. The four men, all in their sixties, talked loudly as they played, the only thing that could quiet them was the radio placed on the curb, when the announcer's voice took on new a sense of urgency as he commentated on the Yankees game in progress. His voice echoed up and down the narrow street as most of the block paused to listen; "Sheffield hits a long drive deep into left field… that ball is going, going, gone! Another home run for the Yanks, and the score is 10 to 3 over the Tampa Bay Devil Rays."

Several cheers followed before everyone went back to their business. George yelled into his hole-in-the-wall pizza shop in Greek, updating his employees on the score, though his voice was quickly drowned out by the rhythmic thudding coming from the nearby grates, signaling a train passing underground. A blast of cool air hit my back as the door to the hair and nail salon that stood on the other side of my building opened, the sound of chattering women and blow dryers wafting to my ears as strongly as the air conditioning.

"Billie!" cried the woman who exited as she quickly engulfed me in a tight hug.

"April," I replied, squeezing her back.

"Are you leaving already?" she asked, pulling back to meet my eye. Her hair was pinned up in large curlers tucked under a hair net, and I knew she'd spotted me through the window.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm taking the absolute latest flight possible before I have to report for duty. I'll have to book it from the airport once I land in Colorado Springs."

She smiled, though it was a sad one. "We'll miss you."

I reached out and grasped her hand. "I'll miss you too." The familiar clang of our apartment building's door slamming shut drew my attention, and I turned to see my father emerging from the building, my Air Force issue pack slung over his shoulder.

"I've got cash for a cab. You ready, Billie?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Immediately I felt a lump form in my throat. I swallowed hard, refusing to cry. I'd cried plenty already. "Yep." I turned back to April. "Keep an eye on them for me?" I asked, nodding at my father and the building.

"Of course. You'll keep in touch?" she asked as she drew me in for another hug.

"I don't know how often I'll be able to, but I will as soon as I can."

"Be safe, Billie. And be brave." With that, April withdrew, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to the salon. I spotted her wipe a tear from her eye as she went, and I coughed, hoping to push back my own. My father slid an arm around my shoulder, squeezing it tightly as we walked towards the cabs on the corner. As we walked a chorus of goodbyes and good lucks were directed at me by my neighbors, and I simply smiled in thanks. This wasn't the first time I'd left, and for all they knew, I was going to come back in a year, just as safe and sound as I had this time, and the time before that. But this time was different — this time I was going on a mission that was potentially a one-way trip. That knowledge was what made leaving so much harder than it had when I'd first left for boot camp.

"Dad," I started, looking up at him. "You know this could be a one-way trip. I— I'm— If I—" I stuttered, trying to find the words that would convey everything I was feeling… everything I wanted him to know.

"I know," he said with a smile, squeezing my shoulders. "And you'll be just fine, I know it." His confidence surprised me, and I raised an eyebrow.

"You do?"

"Absolutely. You'll be back."

I eyed him suspiciously. "And what makes you think that?"

He looked down at me, his expression fierce and his tone serious. "Because God built you to last, Billie Simmons, and don't you forget it."

I didn't know how to reply to that. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't believe him.

000000000000000000000000000

Billie sighed and un-clicked her pen, hooking it onto the spiral rings of her new purple notebook before shutting it. She pulled out a small white envelope from the front pocket of the pack sitting at her feet and opened it. Inside were four photographs and a letter, and as she looked them over her lips formed a wistful smile for just a second before she stuffed them back in the envelope and slipped it between the pages of the notebook.

She stared at the cover and inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. "You can do this," she muttered under her breath.

"Final boarding call for all passengers on flight 1278 to Colorado Springs. Final call for all passengers," piped through the loudspeakers, causing Billie to look up.

She quickly tucked the notebook back into her pack and in a single movement swung it over her shoulder as she stood up. She headed for the gate and pulled her ticket out of her pocket, handing it to the attendant, smiling and nodding as she was ushered onto the plane. In less than a minute, she was in seat 33A, staring out the window with a perfect view of downtown. The skyscrapers loomed over her, even from a distance, and she smiled at the familiarity of it. The sun was setting, and its warm light was shining in the slivers of space between the buildings, making the whole city look like it was the hot, glowing wood of a bonfire.

Billie kept her nose to the glass, entranced as the plane began to move, ignoring the announcements and safety demonstrations by the sickeningly cheerful flight attendants. Slowly, it taxied into position, and then, with the demonstration over and the attendants strapped in, the plane began to rumble and move with a new kind of energy. Billie's heart leapt as the plane surged forward, picking up speed and finally lifting off, rising up, up, up into the sky, cloudless and awash in color — shades of golds, reds, pinks and purples tinting the view of the city below.

As the plane rose, she tried to spot the familiar landmarks, but she could only vaguely guess which neighborhoods they were racing over as they increased in altitude. Then she saw it; there — Central Park, and just north of it, that was it. That was home. Harlem.

"Goodbye," Billie whispered.

"Hello," a voice to her right said cheerfully.

Billie whipped around, discovering that the passenger in the center seat was smirking at her. With a start, she realized that the young man was, like her, dressed in camouflage BDUs. "Oh, hello," she replied a little awkwardly.

Without hesitating he stuck out a hand for her to shake. "First Lieutenant Aiden Ford, Marine Corps."

Uncertainly, Billie shook his hand and returned a small smile. "Second Lieutenant Billie Simmons, Air Force."