I awoke after only 2 hours of sleep to write this because God herself wanted me too. Actually, I know God is male through the process of deduction: Men dominate the world. I think this is a well documented fact and not my opinion. A fact that may be slightly more open to opinion is that they certainly didn’t attain that status on the merit system. Therefor, God being a man tends to make more sense…
Anyway, God sent me an angel that told me I had to get up and write this – if angels come in the form of big sweaty, slightly oldish, slightly overweight, permanent-5 O’Clock-shadow-bearing Army Sergeants… Come on! - my mom always told me angels would appear in forms you wouldn’t expect! …
So my body has grown accustomed to the night shift after this first week. The 5-ton trucks struggling up the hill outside my window no longer even register in my consciousness. The occasional group of rowdy soldiers passing on the sidewalk right outside my window calling each other vulgar names is as much music to my ears as the crows perched atop the tree at the end of the building.
So I think what actually awakened me was not the rasping desperate gasps for air from the room across the hall – which are not deadened at all by the ceiling, which are conspicuously not present in these quarters – but my own curiosity and sudden need to identify and categorize the sound. My first recollection was annoyance that someone had decided to audibly share their hangover with me. “But wait,” I remember my mind begging…“that’s not right.” It wasn’t the sound of pain. It was the sound of the minute joy of pain having subsided… a sound I’ve heard from myself in that moment of relief that comes from having finally puked!… But no, that wasn’t right either, because even as I grew more awake and more aware of the additional ambient clues to this mystery (as well as amused at my own curiosity – at this point) I began to realize, at first without understanding the cues, that the source of the beastly noise was human, and recently showered. Ah! That’s it! The sound of toiletries being meticulously put back in drawers and zippered bags!
At this point I remember the amusement subsiding and a sudden decision to yell something. Not something rude, but something to remind Bullwinkle that Rocky was currently nocturnal.
“Why am I not yelling?”, I remember thinking next. “Oh. I know! – I’m amused again!” I had noticed yet new clues that painted a full story about this poor sap and what was going on. The sound was now unmistakable. It was the sound of someone out of shape that had just taken a PT test – probably his first physical exercise in months! But sympathy alone wasn’t enough for me to stop the yell. In the fraction of a second that all this was going through my mind, the guttural, whispered attempts at taking breaths – and I don’t mean whispered in the sense that someone was trying to keep a secret – I mean whispered like when a automobile engine blows a pressure hose! – the breaths started taking on the form of words…
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear oh dear…
[pause]
[deep breath]
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear oh dear…
[pause]
[deep breath]
At this point, I actually remembering hearing myself giggle! Amused, but still annoyed, I decided to take a different tack. I’ll get up and walk to the bathroom, identify the culprit, and politely remind him – without any hint of sarcasm, that there are – at least some – night-shifters in these quarters. But my plan instantly goes to hell when the humming begins! Now I recognize the voice! Sergeant Ixxx! And that bastard knows I’m in here trying to sleep! For God’s Sake, he said good night to me at breakfast! But then again, I like the guy. And after all, it’s obvious he’s suffering.
I modify my plan. I rip my sleeping bag zipper down in one unceremonious jerk. I’m sure it can be heard from at least several rooms away. The sound that you only make with a sleeping bag zipper when you are in a hurry to the bathroom or pissed at your neighbor (which are now BOTH true, having been thinking about the original plan for a couple minutes.) I jump up, wrap myself in a bath towel and march to the huge steel fire-door that separates my little cube room from the hallway (you can’t enjoy this mental image unless you remember … THERE IS NO CEILING IN HERE!).
I open the door… SGT Ixxx is finished showering and has now completed his change back into his Combat Uniform… he’s on his way back to work… this leaves us face-to-face in the hallway… my half of our now-collective story suddenly, instantaneously, downloads into his head!
“Oh, my God, sir! I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t worry about it, Sergeant, I especially liked the humming!,” I said; not even sure, myself, if I was being honest, or trying to embarrass him.
“I just took my PT Test, Sir… I wasn’t thinking.”
“I know”, I said.
“Oh, of course you do. You know everyone’s schedules, being in the Operations Section”
“Actually, I don’t remember reading it anywhere. I just kind of figured it out from your breathing pattern… So how’d you do?”
“Not too good.”
“Well at least you passed, right?”
“Well, I’m not sure.”
“Awe, fuck! You’re kidding me!?” (Now feeling sincerely bad for the guy.)
“Well, Sir… My doctor told me I’m not supposed to do PT until my heart-test results come back… but I didn’t want anyone to think I was just wimping out, so I took the test anyway.”
“O.K. So let me just get this straight: You purposely failed a PT test, against doctor’s orders, in hope that you could come back to the “Q”, take a steaming hot shower, have a heart attack and wake my ass up to somehow miraculously revive you, because this will somehow make you look like less of a wimp?”
“I’m really sorry, Sir! I didn’t think I would fail the test! I just didn’t want to sit on the sidelines while everyone else was taking it.”
“Really, SGT Ixxx: it’s ok,” In the most paternal tone I can muster, now in a mood of sincerity and compassion, “It’s just a matter of stealing silk.”
He couldn’t have understood the reference, but he didn’t ask for clarification. As he left the “Q”, I patted him on the back. And he was smiling.
We were both smiling.