Dreaming

About

The

Infantry

~

by

Sp4 Clyde Collins

Caducean Newspaper

Tripler Army Medical Center

early 1980’s

~

     PFC Donald Duty, inspiration specialist, was sliding along a pink-painted wall of a hall of Tripler Army Medical Center on his way back to the Poetics Lab, after having accomplished another mission, when he became engulfed in ~ the blues.

     He was tired of having to tiptoe around pregnant women racked with the pain of Eve, the teeter-tottering elderly, and wheelchair victims involuntarily acquainting themselves with the slow lane (after having broken their bones in the fast lane).

     He was oh sooooooo tired of working indoors day after day and the “soothing” color of pink.

     Duty was duty-ed out.

     So the mind of Duty faded from the scene and disappeared into a dream ~ the kind of dream a person dreams with eyes open ~ lasts maybe two minutes ~ ends when maybe soomebody waves a hand in front of the dreamer’s face and says, “Wake up!”  In this moment, the young inspiration specialist, as he walked along the TAMC hallway, dreamed about being in the infantry ~ the mighty, mighty infantry!

     He dreamed about singing cadence in harmony with a platoon of “real” soldiers bursting at the seams with espirit de corps while marching through a country villa; the physical exhilaration of digging a fox hole or erecting a tent; and sleeping in the woods with the best music on earth ~ nature’s…

     Duty dreamed of working up a true sweat, crawling in the mud, getting good n’ dirty and spitting chewing-tobacco juice while learning what every red-blooded American male ought to know ~ combat/survival skills ~ and learning to know them like the back of his hand.

     And while beating the bush, living a life that’s real fun because its real tough, oh boy, wouldn’t Duty shout some wildly colorful curses.  With a burr in his pants and a mosquito bite on his nose, Duty would truly be walking poetry ~ in the infantry!

     Back in the labyrinthine halls of Tripler, Duty’s floating feet came to an abrupt halt.  He blinked and turned around.  That girl he had just passed ~ a patient ~ she had her bathrobe all tangled up in her portable IV pole.  Standing alone, she was trying to put the robe over her pajamas ~ not faring too well, seeing as she had an IV tube attached to her wrist.

     Duty retraced his steps and said to her, “Uh, want some help?”

     The girl ceased her trembling efforts and, like a neon light, blushed with a sudden smile.  Duty helped her out.

     “Thank you so very much!” she said.

     “No sweat,” said Duty ~ and he continued on his way to the Poetics Lab, committed to the job that awaited him there.

~~~

DUTY WORLD

1980-1984

~~~