Basic

It's 9:00 am on a Sunday. We're in the barracks at Fort Sill, Oklahoma doing the usual garrison tasks during our three budgeted hours of personal time. 

I'm sitting on my bunk in my BDU's or Battle Dress Uniform, writing a letter home. Just across and to the front of me is Private Williams and Private First-Class Blevins, each with their noses in their wall lockers.

Williams, a bigger girl with bigger hair and bigger hips, is on her knees folding socks when she says, "I'm missing one of my chonies." Her body jiggles under her PT (physical training) shirt and shorts as she riffles through her drawer.

"Try the fucking bathroom," says Blevins, shutting her wall locker door. "Wouldn't be the first time you've left your shit out." Blevins, a taller, white girl from Hawaii, is too skinny for her PT shirt and shorts, which hang off of her like she's a laundry line. She only recently learned to use curse words.

Williams glares at Blevins over her shoulder, but Blevins doesn't notice.

Bracing herself on one knee, Williams rises to her feet and then stomps off to the bathroom.

Blevins throws some shoe polish and a rag onto her bunk, along with her standard issue boots, and takes a seat.

"Like we're supposed to keep track of her crap," Blevins says.

I stop writing, whisper, "Shh. Don't set her off."

"Whatever Caster," she says. "Everybody knows you're fucking afraid of her anyway."

"Bull shit," I say to Blevins.

She rolls her eyes.

My knees hurt from sitting cross-legged and I shift uneasily on my bunk.

Squinting, Blevins examines me like she's looking for a weakness.

"What?" I ask.

She reaches between the mattress and frame of her bunk and pulls out a pair of underwear. She throws them at me, and I recoil as if struck by a snake, though I can't get out of the way fast enough.

"Damnit Blevins," I say, grabbing the white granny-panties and throwing them back to her. Unfortunately, she stands up from the bunk before they touch her.

The crinkliness of the dirty underwear is a too-recent memory on my hands, and I wipe them on my BDU's in long strokes.

Blevins reaches down to where the underwear had landed on the floor and throws them at me again, but I hop over my bunk to put distance between me and the soiled undies.

They land on the bunk and I can feel my skin flush because Williams is stomping down the aisle, her footfalls heavy on the linoleum floor despite her wearing thick, wool socks. She stops short and holds a toothbrush in her hand.

"You were right, Blevins. I left my toothbrush in the––"

She stops speaking.

I wince.

She eyes both of us: Blevins polishing her boots and me standing at the far side of my bunk (the only thing separating me from her), as she becomes aware of her dirty underwear on the bunk, unmistakable with her initials 'R.W.' on the tag. Her fist tightens around the toothbrush.

"Where did those come from?" she asks.

I open my mouth to say something, but Blevins says, "Caster stole 'em."

"I did not," I say, my voice shaking.

Williams points her toothbrush at me. "Why the hell would you steal my underwear you, disgusting little freak?" She bellows this question at the top of her lungs. Her voice attracts the attention of the other female soldiers strolling into the room through the metal double doors that remind me of the multi-purpose room doors at my old high school. The female soldiers stop walking, interlock arms and watch us.