Pay follows the others off the bus into the muggy Alabama night. The air, more water than air, Pay thinks, is hard to breathe and he opens his mouth to gulp it in. The line in which he is a part snakes into a small white building adorned with the flags of America and its states. Inside, the air is cool, and harsh light bounces off the white walls and highly polished white floor.

A man dressed in a crisp green uniform and sparkling black boots stands like a boulder in the middle of the hallway watching as they come walking in. The tail slips through the door and the hallway is as silent as midnight. The drill sergeant starts moving up and down the hallway, his heavy steps fill the hall with the ominous sound they will come to dread.

“Welcome to the U.S. Army,” his voice booms out at the tail. He walks to the head in silence. He points to the first person, calls out, “0-0-1,” and continues down the line pointing at each recruit and calling out a number. “0-5-8,” he calls out and walks back to the front of the line. “Privates, this is your line number. Remember it. Right now, it’s the most important thing you know.”

Shit, Pay thinks. He’s already forgotten his number. Wasn’t really paying attention. It’s already past midnight and instead of getting some sleep his last night at home, he went out drinking with some friends. They were out until the sun came up and he hasn’t slept in over forty-eight hours.

“Hey,” he whispers to the person in front of him. “What’s your number.”

The guy in front of him already has a military hair-cut and doesn’t answer. “Hey,” Pay repeats, a little louder but not much. The drill sergeant is saying something about a classroom and forms to be filled out.

“What?” the tight ass in front of him answers, curtly.

“What’s your number?”

The boy sighs loudly, that’s all he is, Pay thinks, a boy. Probably two days out of high school. Besides his shaved head, he wears a gray U.S. Army T-shirt tucked into too tight black jeans and his daddy’s scuffed combat boots. Pay hates him. “0-1-1,” he says finally.

“Thanks,” Pay says, his voice light and dry—That wasn’t so hard now was it?

Pay isn’t two days out of high school. He is, however, just a few weeks out of college. The army will be good for me, he told his skeptical friends while out drinking the first weekend of his last semester. I’ll get to travel, make money, pay off these student loans, work-out, shoot guns, all that cool shit. Now, sitting in a cramped desk looking down at the many forms to be filled out with his head banging, about to give up, he starts to doubt his situation.

They go through the forms line by line, the drill sergeant explaining in excruciating detail what information to put where. Personal information sheet, next of kin, bank information, dog tag information, duty assignment preference, these would serve notice to the army, a file would be generated and he would become a number, already had become a number. The efficiancy of the army made his head swim.

While filling out the personal history form, Pay hesitates on question ten. “Have you ever been arrested for a drug related offense?” This is his last chance. He told his recruiter about the arrest. One afternoon after class, Judy, the girl he had been dating on and off since freshman year, invited him over for a movie. Before putting in the movie, she pulled out a glass pipe and a plastic baggy of pot. When they finished smoking, they settled into the couch, watched the senseless movie flicker and flash, and were brought back to reality with a violent knock on the door. When Judy opened the door, three beefy police officers rushed into the room with their guns drawn barking different orders at the same time.

“You’ve only been arrested once?” his recruiter asked.

“Yup,” Pay answered, honestly.

“Shit man,” the recruiter said, reclining back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “That’s no big deal. When was the last time you smoked.”

“A few months ago.”

The recruiter nodded thoughtfully. “Check no,” he finally said.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, they won’t find out about one arrest as long as you piss clean.”

The drill sergeant is saying something about Fort Leavenworth, felonies, pound-me-in-the-ass prisons. Pay checks the “yes” box, looks up at the drill sergeant, and smiles.

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