Volume 2, Number 1 -- January, 1997
| |
Volume 2, Number 1 -- January, 1997 |
Training Day OneThe bus shakesfrom the nerves of the newbees who rub the same hand which made the oath. We arrive at night. The bus halts and by command the doors part; it's too late for a turnabout. His first step from the curb weighs our vehicle down. My throat tightens as if it knows of the strain of cadence and of sounding off, but this is my first day and the training has yet to begin, my voice is post-pubescent, pre-marine. Enter Smokey Bear, whose brim rides securely over the eyebrows of a man who lives to greet this bus. "Listen up, maggots! When I give the command you are to remove your stinking civilian bodies from this here bus as fast as humanly possible." I do it As fast as I am able to, glad that I am neither first nor last, then wondering why I signed that contract. Maggot? Wait a second... But the seconds are moving at the quick-time pace of this new way of life with sounds of muffled protest encircling my mind. I stand now full of patriotism and propaganda, molars clenched in tension with my thumb and forefinger running along the seems of my trousers, feet at a 45 degree angle. I wait for instruction. D.I.s are approaching from all sides as their voices crescendo. I hear only my own self-doubt. The bus is now empty the stammering resides only in my brain and in the heel/toe demeanor of the warfare instructors who start off by directing our attention to the illuminated placard which reads God, Country, Corps.
by Jason Stephens (jason@hooked.net)
[an error occurred while processing this directive]
|