2 posts tagged “united states”

What happens when a soldier falls in love with a molested angel?

“All right, soldiers, line up in two’s and follow me,” shouted Drill Sergeant Delap.

            We followed the short woman to our barracks.  Her uniform fit her like a glove and it was obvious that she didn’t take any mess.  Our over-packed duffle bags were slung awkwardly on our backs, while we carried our personal belongings in our arms.  By the time we made it to our new home we were all sweating and panting from the long walk.

Inside the long room, there were two bays, each with two rows of bunks.  The first instruction we were given was to make up the disheveled bed we would be using for the next eight weeks.  All of us were exhausted.  Some girls just burst out crying and started saying they wanted to go home.  We were subjected to over an hour of needless torture and mind games ranging from, how to correctly fold a shirt to how to clean the dust out from under our beds.

            Finally, the drill sergeant grew tired of running us in circles and ordered us to bed.  Once in my bunk, I fell asleep wishing for my momma.

But after that night, I was fine with the idea of being away from home.  It finally dawned on me how great this moment of my life was.  There wasn’t a soul here who knew anything about me.  I could be any person I wanted to be.  It was like going on stage and being a star.  I decided to be a person without a past.

I thought, “Let’s see who I am.”

Basic training was an experience I will never forget.  All forty females in the barracks were awakened at five o’clock in the morning, every morning.  We jumped out of bed and had to be in formation by six o’clock.  We marched everywhere we went, whether it was the chow hall or to the track to run laps.  We were like one big family in green.

Our drill sergeant was a petite, fair-skinned, white woman with blonde hair.  Drill Sergeant Delap was thin enough to be swept away by a breeze.  She looked like a Barbie doll in fatigues.  Her boots looked like they weighed more than she did.  But as small as she was, she could holler so loud you’d think she was ten feet tall and weighed 300 pounds.  You just had to respect her.  Her fatigues were starched perfectly, with straight creases down the front of her pants.  Her shirt was so well starched it appeared to be made out of cardboard.  The woman was perfectly presented as a representative of the United States Army.

            “Private Tillard, get your butt over here, front and center.”

            “Yes, Drill Sergeant,” I bellowed.

            “You will be responsible for this platoon.”

            “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”

            On the inside I was doing cartwheels but on the outside I was stoic and at attention.  I couldn’t believe I was being selected to be the platoon leader of our squad.  We had waited a whole week to find out who it would be.  I thought it was going to be Gladys Jackson because she passed every inspection with little effort.  Some of the girls rolled their eyes at me, while others congratulated me.

            “She must really like you.  I don’t see anything spectacular you did that I didn’t do,” said Martha.

            Martha was jealous about any and everything pertaining to everybody, so I wasn’t surprised when she made that comment.

            “I bet if you weren’t so jealous-hearted, you probably would’ve been selected to be a platoon leader.  Your funny ways would just hold us back.”

            “Jealous?  You think I’m jealous of you?  You’re just a lucky black token.”

            “Oh, so you’re prejudiced, too?  You’re a poor thing, you can’t think for yourself.  You’re not just jealous and prejudiced, you’re ignorant.”

            “You’re a black fool.  You have no right to talk to me like that.  I’m better than you no matter what you think,” said Martha.

            “How are you better?  Oh is it because you got money?  It sure ain’t because you’re cute with your out of shape butt.  You think you’re all that?  Or is it because you have white skin and you’ve been brainwashed to believe you’re better than other people?  Which is it?  It can’t surely be because you have a brain because you’re stupid,” I said.

            “You both need to stop,” Ann said.

            I sucked my teeth. “She started it.  She’s evil!”

            “Hold on now,” said Jean.

This was beginning to turn into a racial war.  The black females gathered near me, while the white females joined Martha.  All the other races of girls just looked on, afraid of the outcome.

            “This is crazy,” I said as I turned and walked away.

            “You said I was evil.  That was not fair.  It’s a lie,” Martha said following close behind me.

            “I don’t hate you, but I’m not going to let you put me down because of the color of my skin.”

            The room was very quiet as everybody moved to their areas to prepare for inspection.  As I was folding my socks and underclothes, I couldn’t help but wonder why people were so quick to attack each other.  Out of all the things we could do in life, why choose to be less than loving?

After our argument, we managed to tolerate each other long enough to get through basic training.  I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s best friend and that was good enough for me at the moment.  The biggest accomplishment for us had to be passing the physical fitness test.  We had to run two miles in a certain time frame or flunk basic training.  Most of us did well with the sit-ups, pushups, jumping jacks, and the other requirements, but the track was another story.

The Alabama sun beamed down on us like it was trying to fry us up for afternoon chow.

            “I can’t make it,” cried Tina as she began to throw up toward the end of the run.

             I ran out on the track and hollered at her. “You better make it!  You only got a few more steps and you will make it, throw up and all!”

Tina dragged herself to the finish line, barely making her time.

Girls were falling out all over the track.  I helped as many as I could to cool their faces down and encouraged them to stand up and keep moving, even if they had to walk the rest of the way.  Though many of them came in soaking wet with sweat and vomit on their clothes, all of us passed our PT test.

            The next day we had to go through the gas chamber.  As we lined up outside the shack filled with tear gas, we stood quietly waiting our turns.  The first set of ten went in and came out crying and gasping for air and I thought I wasn’t going to make it because I do not like being closed in.

I call it a disgrace.