I have procrastinated every way I can. After sitting down and turning the computer on, I decided I needed a washroom break. Then I smoked a cigarette, finished my coffee, turned on country music, which usually helps me write, and, in desperation, looked everywhere I could think of for story ideas. Now I am listing the process and chuckling at how this all works.
I pause and look out the window. It is sunny, and the temperature showing in the lower corner of my pc screen says it is 21C. But what I see in my mind is the scene through a windshield. Snow-covered farmers' fields speckled with random protrusions of earth, wire fences along the ditches, wisps of snow swirling across the dark grey pavement. An olive-green canvas roof and door barely offer protection from the bitter wind as we move cautiously down the road.
I am sitting in the passenger seat. A headset is on my head over my beret, and the handset for talking lies in my lap. I have every button of my combat jacket done up, plus a scarf for warmth, and I'm wearing combat gloves, leather with wool liners, trying to stay warm. The warmth put out by the jeep heater is negligible, barely warming my booted feet.
Chase, a recruit, is learning to drive, and I am instructing. He is very intent on watching the road, and his two fists are clenched on the steering wheel.
There were two other jeeps following us along the back roads of Elgin County, training new drivers. None of them had driven a stick shift before, so we took our time. The instructor in the jeep following us said he needed to stop and switch drivers. He had two recruits in his vehicle. I said, "Okay, stop here."
Chase immediately overreacted. He slammed his foot down on the brake in a panic-stop-type move. The jeep spun 360 degrees on the slippery pavement, and I was thrown against the canvas door. We came to a stop with the engine stalled. I was instantly angry and lashed out, with my left clenched fist hitting Chase in the shoulder.
"Don't you EVER do that again!" I shouted.
Chase looked at me, his face pale. I shouldn't have hit him; that is not how it is done in the military. But he nearly got us killed.
The radio crackled to life. The instructor of the jeep following us asked, "What the hell was that?"
I answered, "We stopped, didn't we?"
I told Chase to relax and start the engine. "Yes, corporal," he answered.
When the crew behind us had switched drivers, I told Chase, “Drive on ... slowly.”
