Chapter 4

It boggles my mind that there's a direct correlation between lack of quality and bling.

At least in the suitcase department.

"Whoa, that sucks," Jess says slowly.

Miranda points to the offending wheel. "Amy, is that yours?"

"Yep." So now I have a broken piece of luggage and I'm still not at our barracks.

I swallow my ego and start walking toward the stupid broken wheel. I eye it in the ditch where it stopped. I'm wearing a pink tank and white jean shorts, and I know if I slip as I go down I'm going to have dirt all over me. Oh, don't go blaming me about wearing white shorts... climbing down into a ditch to retrieve a stupid wheel wasn't exactly one of the warnings in the Sababa brochure.

I take one step down. My foot slides a little, then stops.

I probably should tell you now that I'm wearing these really cute pink mules that aren't really made for traction--but they sure do match my tank perfectly. I'm not about to take out the gym shoes I bought for this trip, because they're at the bottom of one of my suitcases.

I take another step, and wobble because I'm walking on an angle.

"Be careful," Miranda warns.

Before I take another step, a boy in uniform walks up to us. "Mah karah? he asks. He's got short hair and beautiful olive skin without a trace of acne.

"Angleet, b'vakashah," I say. My dad taught me that phrase, which means "English, please."

"You need help?" He has a big Israeli accent along with a big Israeli smile (he's also got a big Israeli rifle slung on his back).

"Desperately," I admit, pointing to the wheel.

He scrambles down the bank as if he does it every day of his life, and picks up the wheel. On his way back up, he grabs my elbow and helps me back to the gravel road. Then attempts to reattach the wheel.

"This suitcase is a piece of sheet," he informs me. "It can't be fixed." He hands me the plastic wheel. I almost laugh at the word

"sheet"--American profanity with an Israeli accent comes out really funny. But I'm sweaty and unhappy and cannot physically laugh right now.

I shove the wheel in the front pocket of my suitcase. "Well, thanks for trying."

"Yeah, thanks," Miranda chimes in.

The guy holds out his hand. "I'm Nimrod."

"No, really, what's your name?" I ask.

"Nimrod."

He did not just say Nimrod, did he? With the Israeli accent it sounds like Nim-road.

I put my sunglasses on top of my head, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Nimrodi"

"Nimrod. I guess in America this is not a popular name, no?"

Jess is trying not to laugh. Miranda just looks confused. Some names in Israel do not translate to English well. Avi has friends named Doo-Doo, Moron, and O'dead. And my cousin's name is pronounced O'snot.

"I'm Amy. And this is Jessica and Miranda," I say, pointing to each of my friends.

Nimrod heaves the entire suitcase up into his arms. "Your group is at the bittan on the other side of the hill. I'll help you."

"Thanks," I say, noting that my hot pink suitcase looks very out of place in Nimrod's arms and I still have no clue what a bittan is. I roll my smaller suitcase behind him. As we pass other soldiers, they make comments in Hebrew to Nimrod, who laughs and shrugs as he leads us up the hill.

The guy isn't breaking a sweat in this heat, which is not normal.

Looking around, I notice that none of the Israeli soldiers milling around are sweating. It makes me wonder if Israelis are born without sweat glands.

"Where are you girls from?" Nimrod asks.

"Chicago," I say.

"I've never been there, but there's a guy in my unit whose girlfriend lives there."

Could Nimrod know Avi? That would be so cool and easy if the first guy I meet on the base knows where Avi is. "Is his name Avi Gefen? Because I know he's stationed on this base for a few weeks this summer--"

Nimrod stops and his eyes bug out. "You're Gefen's girlfriend?"

I smile wide. I can't help it. "Yep."

I think I notice the corners of his mouth twitch, but I'm not sure.

"Does Gefen know you're here?"

"No," I say sheepishly. "It's kind of a surprise."

"Oh, he will definitely be surprised." We all follow Nimrod to what I assume is the barracks (aka bittern). I spot them now. The barracks are off-white cement buildings (similar to every building on base), but they're one story and have only two small windows on each side.

"Amy! Jessica! Miranda!"

I wince at the sound of Ronit's voice. The four of us reach our very annoyed leader. She's standing next to a guy who resembles a Russian boxer I once saw in an old Rocky movie... or a WWE

wrestler. He's over six feet tall with blond hair and blue eyes. And his arms are crossed on his chest, making his huge muscles bunch up. Avis muscles are huge, but this guy must weightlifter small cars to get his arms that bulky.

I point to the luggage in Nimrod's hand. "Sorry we lagged behind.

One of my suitcases broke."

Nimrod sets my luggage down and salutes to the big, blond wrestler.

"Girls, this is Sergeant Ben-Shimon," Ronit says, introducing us to the big dude. "He'll be your unit commander."

"Oh, cool," I say. "Can we just call you Sergeant Ben?"

"No," he says in a stern voice. "The rest of your unit is already having lunch."

Great, they all left without us. "Well, I guess if you point us in the direction of the mess hall or whatever you call the place where we eat, that'll be great."

Ronit points to the open doorway. "Put your suitcases in the bittan, then follow me to the cheder ochel, where soldiers eat.

There isn't much time left before your next activity."

The inside of the place we'll be sleeping for the next three weeks isn't pretty. Bunk beds are lined up in neat rows (just in case you were wondering, the bunks are made out of metal, not wood) and the mattresses don't resemble anything like featherbeds. The place is not air conditioned, and the windows are open.

Unfortunately, the door to the room is open to the outside, too, so a few bees are flying around.

Do the Sababa tour people know that sleeping with bees is so not sababa?

Jessica and I eye each other. We don't even have to talk, because we've been best friends long enough to know what the other is thinking.

Miranda says, "This isn't so bad."

Jessica and I don't answer.

We all set our suitcases inside the barracks, then follow Ronit.

"Where are the bathrooms?" I ask. "I had an entire Diet Coke on the bus and I've got to pee."

"Me, too," Jessica says.

Miranda admits she's been holding it for the past two hours, so Ronit leads us to a small structure. It's bigger than a port-a-potty but smaller than the girls' bathroom at Chicago Academy, where I go to school.

"Here. But you better hurry, girls."

We file inside the bathroom. The stench of pee/poo/ bacterial disinfectant creeps up my nostrils immediately.

Jess takes her designer sunglasses off her nose slowly. "This place stinks so bad my eyes are starting to water."

I plug my nose. "Seriously, Mutt's farts aren't this bad." (Mutt is my crazy dog, and yes, he is a mutt.)

I hurry to pull back a curtain, which I assume is the equivalent to a bathroom stall back home. When I peek at what's behind the curtain, I can't believe my eyes.

It's a hole. In the ground.

Okay, so that's not entirely the right way to describe it.

It's a hole in the ground with two rubber non-skid mats in the shape of feet on either side of it... I guess for dumb people who have no clue where to place their feet.

"I can't pee in that," I say, but saying the word 'pee' makes my urge to do it that much stronger.

Jess whines. "Do you think I can hold it in for two weeks?"

I look back at Ronit. "Do you have any bathrooms with toilets?"

"This is a bathroom. And that's a toilet."

"No, that's a hole."

Ronit was previously cheery, but I think we've cracked her and now she's bordering on annoyed. She steps forward. "This isn't a hotel or spa, ladies. It's the IDF. Now either pee or not, I don't care. But you have three minutes to do your business and head to the cheder ochel to eat, or you'll be finding yourselves assigned to bathroom cleaning duties."

With that, Ronit leaves the three of us alone.

"I hate her," Jess says.

Miranda's mouth starts to quiver. I'm not sure if it's because she's late for lunch or because she doesn't know how to pee in a hole.

"My bladder is about to burst," I say, pushing past Jessica and closing the curtain shut.

"I'll go in the one next to you," Jess says.

I notice the graffiti on the side wall. In pen, someone etched words in English. It says: Beware of the Loof!

What or who is the Loof ?

I don't have time to think about the Loof too hard. I put my feet on the rubber pads and pull down my shorts. But when I try and squat, they're in the way.

"I can't squat for this long," Jess says. "My thigh muscles are starting to quiver."

"I think I just peed on my leg," Miranda informs us. Eww!

"When I'm finally in position, I can't relax because I'm listening to my two friends complain. "Shut up, guys. My pee is getting stage fright from listening to you both yapping."

"Thirty seconds!" Ronit yells from outside.

Yeah, as if pressure is going to help me relax.

I hear Miranda wash her hands and head outside. Then I hear Jess washing her hands by the sink. "Hurry up, Amy," she whispers loudly. "I don't want to do doo-doo duty."

I look down at the hole, to see if I am aiming in the right spot. "Oh, shit!" I yell. "My sunglasses fell in the hole!" I forgot they were on top of my head!

"If you stick your hand down there to get them, I cannot be best friends with you anymore. Just leave them!" Jess calls out. "And hurry up!"

"Those cost me $235."

"Now they're worth nothing. Come on!"

For a nanosecond I contemplate fishing them out of the crap (literally) below, but... I just can't. I think if I did I'd require more therapy than I already need.

Wiping myself (with brown toilet paper resembling brown paper towels they have in the art room at school-- which I now know is very scratchy and irritating on sensitive body parts) and putting my undies and shorts back on, I pray that I see Avi soon.

Because this army experience is not me, and while I knew that the experience would be challenging, I also knew that seeing Avi for even a little bit would be worth it.

Now if I could just find my boyfriend...

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 773