Tony
The sun painted the early morning sky with strokes of pink and gold as it climbed above the horizon. The waves of the ocean rolled gently onto the shore, a soothing soundtrack to the quiet beach. A young woman, Rachel, stood with her toes buried in the cool sand, her eyes scanning the vastness of the sea. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the salty air, and let it out slowly, her shoulders dropping in a silent release.
Her long hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that fluttered in the breeze, and she wore a simple white t-shirt and shorts. The call of the ocean was a stark contrast to the strict schedule that awaited her once she stepped through the gates of the military base that loomed in the distance. Rachel knew that her days of tranquil solitude would soon be replaced with the rhythmic shouting of drill sergeants and the relentless grind of physical training. But she was ready.
Ahead of her, a group of recruits huddled together, all dressed in civilian clothes like her, looking equally unsure about the path they were about to embark on. Rachel took a step towards them, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the excitement of the unknown, the anticipation of becoming something more than she had ever been before. Her hand tightened around the small bag she carried, filled with the few items allowed from home: a couple of photos, a well-worn book, and a letter from her mother.
The sound of a whistle pierced the air, and a no-nonsense figure emerged from the base, barking orders that sent the recruits scurrying. Rachel’s stomach flipped, but she remained steadfast, her eyes on the horizon as she took one last moment to absorb the peace of the beach before it was swallowed by the chaos of bootcamp. As she approached the group, she saw the mix of fear, excitement, and determination in their eyes, and she knew she wasn’t alone.
A stern-faced drill sergeant approached, his boots digging into the sand as he moved closer. Rachel and the others snapped to attention, the weight of their impending journey pressing down upon them. “Listen up, maggots!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the crash of the waves. “Today, you leave behind everything you were. You’re not students, you’re not athletes, you’re not even people. You’re just numbers until you earn the right to be called soldiers!” Rachel felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she didn’t flinch.
The sergeant’s gaze swept over the group, pausing briefly on Rachel. “You think you know what you’re in for?” he sneered, his voice dropping to a growl. “You think because you’ve run a few miles and done a few push-ups that you’re ready for what the military has to offer? You’re about to find out just how wrong you are!” The recruits exchanged nervous glances, but Rachel held hers firmly on the horizon, her resolve unshaken.
The sergeant called out their names one by one, assigning them to different platoons. Rachel found herself in the third platoon, a diverse group of young men and women from all walks of life. They were told to strip down to their underwear and line up for their first round of physical examinations. The cold wind off the ocean sent shivers down Rachel’s spine, but she refused to let it show.
Once the physicals were done. They were lead, still in the underwear, to a building with a red and white spinning pole outside it’s doors. There Rachel got to witness how they were to become a single unit within the platoon. By receiving the same haircut. A haircut that would be the end of her long hair days. A buzzcut so short she could see the scalp showing after each recruits turn in the chair.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she watched the strands fall like autumn leaves around the chair. Rachel took a deep breath and stepped forward when her name was called. The barber chair was warm by the previous recruit as she sat down. The cape was thrown over her body and secured tightly around her neck. Her hair was pulled from its ponytail abd draped over her shoulders, showing its length as it gathered in her lap freely.
Rachel’s heart quickened as the clippers were snapped on. She felt the warm blades of the clippers touch her forehead, and only had a moment to say goodbye to her hair mentally, before the barber pushed the clippers backwards through her hair, shearing it from her head from her forehead to her crown in a quick pass.
The sensation was strange, a mix of coldness from the clippers and a gentle tug as her hair was lifted away. Rachel watched in the mirror as clumps of her hair fell to the floor, each one feeling like a piece of her old self being left behind. She gripped the chair tightly, her knuckles white, but she didn’t flinch. The sound of the clippers was constant, a rhythmic hum that filled the air and drowned out the sound of the ocean she had cherished only moments before.
The barber moved swiftly, buzzing the sides and back of Rachel’s head before returning to the top. With each pass, Rachel felt lighter, the weight of her hair and the expectations of her past life slipping away. When the barber finally stepped back, Rachel looked at her reflection, unrecognizable yet strangely empowered. Her eyes shone with determination, and she knew she was ready to face whatever bootcamp had in store for her.
The platoon was then handed their uniforms, a stark reminder of the transformation they were about to undergo. Rachel put on her freshly issued gear, feeling the rough fabric against her skin, and took her place in line once more. The sergeant marched them back to the base, where they were assigned their bunks and told to make their beds to perfection. Rachel’s hands trembled slightly as she folded her blanket into a perfect square, but she pushed aside any lingering fear and focused on the task at hand.
Days turned into weeks, and Rachel’s body grew accustomed to the punishing routine. She woke up before dawn for physical training, her muscles screaming with every push-up and sprint. She learned to navigate obstacle courses with ease, her once soft hands now calloused from gripping ropes and climbing over walls. The ocean’s whispers had been replaced by the grunts and panting of her fellow recruits, pushing themselves to their limits alongside her. Rachel’s smile had become a rare sight, reserved only for the moments of camaraderie that blossomed between the exhaustion.
Every two weeks, Rachel and the rest of her platoon would be lead to the barber’s and be reshorn to the stubble head look they received their first day. When a woman from her platoon asked why they had to keep their hair that short, their Sgt. quickly replied, ‘the shorter your hair is, the better outcome you’ll have in battle’ and he left it at that.
Rachel had become a master at making her bed to the exact specifications required, her movements swift and precise. She could now disassemble and reassemble her rifle in the dark, a task that had once seemed daunting. The days of squeamishness were long gone, replaced by a cold efficiency that had seeped into every aspect of her life. Even showering in the communal bathroom, surrounded by other naked soldiers, had become a mundane part of the daily routine.
The training grew more intense, with endless marches under the scorching sun, and Rachel found herself craving the coolness of the ocean she had left behind. But she didn’t complain, not out loud at least. The bond she had formed with her platoon grew stronger with each passing day, and their shared suffering had become a silent language of camaraderie and respect. They were a team, a family, and Rachel knew she could rely on any of them to watch her back when it counted.
Finally after months and months of training, commands, camaraderie, and haircuts. Rachel and the rest of the recruits finally became soldiers. They ‘graduated’ from basic training and was now ready for assignments.
Rachel, like the rest of the now soldiers, had a little leave before moving to their next assignment, so she headed home to visit her family, whom didn’t know that she had enlisted and had figured she been on a surfing tour.
Walking through the door, Rachel’s mother screamed in shock at the sight of her daughter.
“What you do to your beautiful hair!?!” Her mother asked, running a hand over the short bristles of her shorn blonde hair.
Rachel’s heart swelled with love for the shock and concern in her mother’s voice. She had expected this reaction, but it still hit her harder than any drill sergeant’s shout. “It’s for the military, mom,” Rachel said with a small smile, bracing herself for the questions she knew were coming.
Her mother’s hand hovered over Rachel’s head, unable to fully grasp the transformation. Rachel stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her mother’s waist, feeling the soft fabric of her civilian clothes against her now-toughened skin. “I’m a soldier now,” Rachel said, her voice steady and proud.
Her mother’s eyes searched Rachel’s, looking for a hint of doubt or regret. But all she saw was a strength she hadn’t noticed before, a determination that made her heart swell with a mix of pride and fear. Rachel’s father, standing in the background, cleared his throat. “It suits you,” he said gruffly, his own military experience etched into the lines of his face. Rachel knew he understood, even if he didn’t agree with her decision.
The first few days were filled with questions about her training, about the other soldiers, and the endless days of discipline and hardship. Rachel recounted stories of camaraderie, of the bonds forged under the harsh glow of the barracks lights, and of the moments when she had thought she couldn’t go on, only to push through and find a well of resilience she never knew existed. Her parents listened, their eyes wide with a mix of admiration and concern, as Rachel shared the highlights of her new life.
On the third day, Rachel went into town to do some grocery shopping. Having been living with the lack of hair for so long, Rachel forgot that people in her hometown had never seen her without her waist length blonde waves, and had to hold back laughter at the wide-eyed reception she received from everyone. But the most shocking reception she got came from her best friend Ashley, whom didn’t even know Rachel had wanted to enlist in the first place.
They saw each other from across the aisle at the supermarket, and Rachel watched as Ashley’s eyes went from confusion to shock and then to horror as she realized who Rachel was. Rachel waved, her hand cutting through the air in a sharp military salute that she hadn’t even realized was second nature to her now. Ashley squeaked, her hand flying to her mouth as Rachel strode over, her combat boots echoing through the store.
“Rachel?” Ashley’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes glued to Rachel’s buzzcut. Rachel grinned, the joy of seeing her friend after so long overwhelming the awkwardness of her new look. “Is that really you?”
“In the flesh,” Rachel said, dropping her salute and embracing Ashley tightly. “Surprise.”
Ashley’s arms wrapped around Rachel, her eyes still wide with disbelief. “What happened to your hair?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Rachel pulled back and shrugged, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Bootcamp,” she said simply, running a hand over her now-bare head. “They don’t exactly encourage individuality in the military.”
Ashley’s grip on Rachel’s arms tightened, her eyes searching Rachel’s for any sign of regret. Rachel just laughed, the sound echoing through the supermarket. “Don’t worry,” she said, “it’ll grow back. And besides, it’s not about the hair. It’s about what’s underneath it.”
The two friends talked for hours that day, Rachel filling Ashley in on the grueling training, the camaraderie, and the moments of doubt that had plagued her. She spoke of the pride she felt in her newfound strength, and the excitement of what lay ahead in her military career. Ashley listened with a mix of admiration and fear, her own life feeling trivial compared to Rachel’s new path. Rachel assured her that she had made the right choice, that she felt more alive than ever before.
Finally the last day of her leave came, and Rachel was repacking to head back to the base for her next assihnment.
As Rachel zipped her duffel bag shut, her mother’s hand hovered over the shorn hair, a silent question in her eyes. Rachel understood, she knew her mother was trying to grasp the gravity of her decision. Rachel reached up and gently took her mother’s hand in hers. “I’ve got to go, Mom,” she said, her voice thick with the emotion she had been fighting all morning. “But I promise to come back, and when I do, I’ll tell you all about it.”
Her mother nodded, her eyes misting over as she pulled Rachel into a tight embrace. Rachel felt the softness of her mother’s civilian clothes against her stiff military attire, and for a moment, she was torn between the comfort of home and the call of duty. But the decision had been made, and Rachel knew she had to leave. She pulled away, her hand lingering on her mother’s cheek for a brief moment before she turned and headed out the door.
The ride back to the base was a blur of familiar sights and the bittersweet taste of home left behind. Rachel’s heart felt heavy as she stepped off the bus and onto the well-worn path that led to her platoon’s barracks. She could hear the distant shouts of drill sergeants and the rhythmic marching of boots, and she knew that life would never be the same again. But she was ready for the next challenge.
