Front Lines | Sodapop Curtis

05

   We arrived with a screeching halt at Fort Sam-Houston around 9:30 that night.

   The atmosphere of the bus was drastically different from what it had been that morning. We were all irritated, bored out of our skulls, and ready to hit the sack.

   "Single file off the bus! You will be shown which barracks to report to shortly."

   Sergeant Levine hadn't lost one bit of his spitfire attitude. Even I was getting angry every time he opened his mouth.

   I get it. That was the point of it all. But good gosh, I had thought, you won't change somebody's ways, somebody's thinkin,' just by yellin' at 'em!

   I had been very naive those first couple of days.

   Officer Levine had told us to stop for instructions, pacing slowly in front of us. The school bus stood stationary behind him, serving as a gut-wrenching reminder of my last glimpse of home.

    "Officers are assembled down on the front green. From there, you will be assigned your barrack number and your platoon number. Bedding, toiletries, and a set of uniforms will also be given out." Seargeant Levine began. "Due to the unfortunate time of arrival, regular draftee swearing-in will begin tomorrow morning at six with your first formation."

    It was dry out in Texas, I noticed. The air made my throat dry, or maybe it was because I was so nervous. I couldn't tell the difference.

    "Am I made clear?" Sergeant Levine yelled.

    Yes sir! 

    We continued single file down the sidewalk of Fort Sam-Houston. I took in the place. It had tall, barbed-wire fencing around the perimeter and all of the buildings seemed to one or two stories. I couldn't see much, really, which I figured was intentional.

    When we got to the front green, there were two tables set up with letters from A-Z for last names. Four officers, big and broad, stood behind them in full uniform.

   There were about fifty of us, so I figured it would take a while to get us all sorted out.

    I went up to the line that said A-H, and watched as the first guy told them his name, his age, and where he was bussed from. Then, he was handed a bag of what I assumed were the toiletries, and a set of sheets.

   Finally, it was my turn.

   "Full name, age, and hometown." The officer said, not looking at me just at his clipboard.

    "My name's Sodapop Patrick Curtis, I'm eighteen, and I'm from Tulsa, Oklahoma." I answered, swallowing.

    I took a look at his name tag on the right side of his uniform. It said, Randolph.

    While I was doing that, he asked me again what my name was.

   "Sodapop Patrick Curtis." I repeated.

   "This is not the time for games, private." The officer was serious. "Now I'm going to ask you one more time, what is your name?"

    I got scared when he got like that. What else was I supposed to do? I didn't just carry around my birth certificate.

    "Sir, I mean, officer, I'm not lying to you. If I had my birth certificate, I would show you." I said, my voice shaking. "I-I'm not trying to mess with you, I-"

    "It says right here on the roster that's this name." The officer beside him came to my rescue, annoyed. "Let him go through. We can't be here all night."