My 1st Ride

1 am: I arrive at the fort. My room is full of four sleeping soldiers from another company. In the dark I get into bed with my clothes on. My luggage is somewhere in some airport.

I toss and turn. I am afraid I'll get up late on my first day in the Army. I wake up tangled in my sheet, the plastic mattress sticking to my legs.

8 am: I meet up with a group of soldiers from Illinois. I make the mistake of pronouncing their state with an s. We discuss passenger guidelines for riding in the helicopter. They ask me if I understand. I tell them all I have to do is stay in my seat until someone shoves me overboard. They laugh because that is essentially right.

10 am: I feel like strands from my ears, eyebrows and chin lift me up into vast swirls of blue and white outside the window. Every notch in my spine vibrates. I am officially riding in my first Blackhawk. It is my first day as a civilian in the Army.
After take off I am lulled to sleep by the helicopter's blades.
In the afternoon, we stop in a small town to grab lunch and refuel the aircraft.
Once again the Blackhawk lifts me up and the ground below shrinks. Great land formation of valleys and plauteaus seem like photos I could stick in my pocket.
Life is great.

Then comes the wind, followed by the sickness. The Blackhawk dips in and out. I try focusing on the horizon, but it sways like waves in the ocean.

"Do not get sick on you first flight," I repeat to myself clenching the edge of the seat with my sweaty fingers.

Luckily I have a bag in my purse so I won't have to use my shirt in case I can't hold it in.

I look at the soldier in front of me who is reading the paper. I close my eyes feeling green just thinking about one word. When I open my eyes again he is working on a Sudoku puzzle. This guy must be made of steel.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for this," I think.


After several nasueating hours we reach the ground. I try to conceal my joy.
When I meet the other soldiers in my company they tell me that their flights are cancelled because of the wind. "So rides are not usually that bumpy?" I ask.

After another flight and several days talking to soldiers I find out the answer.
Definitely not.

Turns out I will be able to handle most rides in the Blackhawk, but you will never see me with a newspaper in hand, unless it can be used as a barf bag.