If I Only Knew (Part 1) by Steven D. Queen

If I Only Knew (Part 1)

by Steven D. Queen

“Man, what the hell are we doing out here…it’s two in the damned morning!” 

“I heard Anderson crying for his mom. What a baby!” 

“Shh! Shut up, they’re going to hear us!”

I have been here two days and I already think I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. My mother bawled when I left. Her pleas for me to stay bring tears to my own eyes, and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. Right now, what I want more than anything in the world is sleep. 

It’s mid-June and still 90 degrees. I’ve been awake for 20 hours and now they have our whole company standing in formation at two in the morning. It’s impossible to conceive my situation as real. It’s almost like this is all a dream. The lack of sleep makes my vision blurry, and my head is spinning with sounds I know do not exist.

Our Instructor roars, “Tomorrow, ladies, your Drill Sergeants are coming to pick you up.” He sounds evil. “I’m glad, ‘cause that means I don’t have to look at your ugly-ass faces anymore. But I guarantee you’ll wish you were back here with me, when those Drills get a hold of you!”

His long-winded speech does nothing but eat away at the precious time I have for sleep. He finally releases us after thirty minutes of destroying what little hopes we have of surviving Basic Training. It’s time to try and get some sleep, but I’m not sure if I can calm myself enough to even close my eyes. Bound to my fate, I walk back to the barracks with the first friend I’ve made since my journey to manhood began. “Joe. What do you think they are going to do to us tomorrow?”

“I hear they come in cattle trucks and shove us in there like sardines. Then they drive us out to the country and run us into the ground.” He says this as a tear forms and runs slowly down his cheek. He wipes the tear away with the back of his shirtsleeve and walks away. This gives me something to dream about for the next two hours.

The next morning I wake to the cackle of the instructor. “Get your ass up ladies. Pack your duffel bags. The trucks are here!”

I look outside, and it takes a few seconds for me to catch my breath. Huge 18 wheeled trucks line the parking lot. Each one has a trailer engineered to carry human beings. It is sickening to think they are going to shove me into those trucks. It’s even more frightening to think of their destination.

PSHHHTT! Air locks open the doors on the side of the trailers, and there stand the most intimidating figures I’ve ever seen. I am wide-awake now. My heart is almost pounding from my chest and these figures just stand in the dark doors like stone statues.

They jump from the doors in a rage. The Drill Sergeants come at us from all directions, unprovoked, driven by nothing but the pure hatred of the sight of our bald heads and sun burned faces. “Get your monkey ass on my truck! You belong to me for the next eight weeks of your life…if you live that long!”


About the Author:
Steven D. Queen doesn't like to brag, but he did win All-State creative writing and a scholarship in high school. His favorite word is palindrome. Check out information about his mission trips to Nicaragua.