Fort Q-tip boot camp is no walk in the park.
Sure, we are not subjected to 5-mile runs, and push-ups are pretty much out of the question since we don’t have arms, but grunts are put through the gin like any other cotton soldier.
Many in my class went AWOL. They just didn’t have the backbone for it. I’m not sure if people realize how difficult it is to stand perfectly straight in formation, all the while preserving the soft cottony bulbs we trained so hard to maintain. Only the most determined and disciplined can do it.
On the eve of graduation from boot camp, the number of AWOL recruits neared 50 percent. That night, I laid upon my thin cot, struggling to sleep. The sickly sweet smell from across the yard burned like napalm in my fibrous nostrils.
I knew where the AWOLs went, those who didn’t have the backbone, who could not hold their posture to the straightest measures. From my bounceless mattress I gazed out the window and across the training compound.
Past the officers’ quarters and beyond the space occupied by the schools, libraries, and baseball fields that the officers’ children enjoyed, there towered smokestacks that spewed cloying clouds of sugary smoke.
A candy factory.
In this town, there were few options for the cotton folk like us. Either go to Q-tip boot camp or resign yourself to a toiling life in the confectionary mill. The latter option is not a pretty one. The candy business is hazardous, and not particularly rewarding.
I had made my choice.
I did not sleep that night. I tossed and turned, my rest disrupted by the fates of those who had surrendered the dream. I was on the verge of getting my dress blues, but the emotional blues I felt seemed to take away from the impending ceremony in the morning. I should have been excited, but I could not be.
The AWOLs would become nothing more than lollipop sticks.
I know. Life is not fair. Some of us are lollipop sticks, only to be discarded after the sweet candy center is sucked away. Others, like myself, we stick to it and push ourselves, striving to be the best that we can. All I ever wanted to do in life was to help others. My superiors told me that I would be afforded that opportunity soon. I knew not what my mission would be, but I was willing to accept it.
After my graduation ceremony, I marched with my fellow soldiers to the discharge area. Blue boxes were on the ground, flaps open to allow us entry for our mission.
I didn't know where I would be going as I jumped into my assigned box, but I was mighty proud to be a Q-tip.
I caught a glimpse of the candy factory before leaving. Shaking my head, I considered the AWOLs now laboring there. I whispered one last passing thought:
“What a bunch of suckers.”