In the army there are no gray areas. I was wrong to ask him to break the rules, and Avi is paying the price for listening to me.
The next time he stands, I mimic him like a mirror and get on the ground to do a pushup with him. I try and do a manly pushup without putting my knees on the ground, even though my arms have the strength of a spaghetti noodle.
Silently I pray to God to give me strength.
"When Avi and I both stand, this time he looks right at me and is not in "the zone" anymore. He shakes his head just the slightest bit, telling me to stop mimicking him. But I won't. I did the crime; it's not fair that he's the only one doing the time. The sergeant wanted to make me feel guilty. It worked.
I am back on the ground again, doing another pushup. Little pebbles get stuck to my sweaty palms, and it makes me cringe imagining what Avi's palms must feel like. But I don't stop.
"Die!" Sergeant B-S says.
For a second, I think he's giving an order for both of us to die on the spot... maybe he'll just take his gun and shoot us both. A harsh punishment for disobeying orders, but this is the army so maybe anything goes.
But then I remember it means "stop." Avi and I immediately stand at ease.
"I told you watch him. You're not good with following directions," the sergeant tells me.
I don't know if I'm supposed to answer or not, so I stay silent.
"Gefen tells me you and him are, uh, together. Is this the truth?"
My eyes stay on Avi when I say, "Yes, sir." "This is a problem. On this base, between parachute training and Counter Terror School, Sayeret Tzefa trainees are assigned as instructors for the American volunteers. Special Ops soldiers must obey rules or they get reassigned. Eighty percent of Sayeret Tzefa trainees flunk training. Gefen might get reassigned as a driver if he doesn't obey the rules. And Gefen would rather die than be a driver. Nachon, Gefen?"
Avi stands tall and says, "Ken, Hamefa'kedr "I understand," I say. "It won't happen again." "I don't care what you do off base or when Gefen is out of uniform. On my base, he's my soldier. Amy, you are a civilian trainee, don't forget that. Israeli soldiers are not to go off in private with civilian trainees of the opposite sex. Understand?"
"Ken, sir," I say, using the Hebrew word for "yes." It's one of the few Hebrew words that I actually know how to use correctly.
"You're both dismissed," he says. "Zooz." Avi does an immediate about-face and jogs away as if he hasn't just pushed his body to the limit. I want to run after him and apologize. I itch to examine his palms and take away whatever pain and cuts and bruises he's endured because of me.
I'm mentally drained and want this day to end. Sergeant B-S disappears while Ronit and I walk to the barracks. When we get inside, I notice that everyone has two sets of military olive green uniforms lying on their bunk, matching floppy hats, and a canteen with a strap. Liron is passing out towels.
"Shower time," Ronit informs me. "Each of you has seven minutes to shower."
I stand next to my bunk and receive my towel. Quickly collecting my papaya-scented bath gel, my poofy sponge, my shampoo, conditioner, and other essentials, I follow everyone to the showers.
Thank goodness the showers are next to, not in, the same room as the stinky bathrooms. There are six curtained stalls on either side. "When it's our turn, I take the one next to Jessica.
The cement floor of the shower stall doesn't look blatantly dirty, but it's old and cracked. I can just imagine the amount of bacteria lurking on it, ready to attack bare skin and cause a foot fungus. Thank goodness for my shower shoes.
Foot fungus is not an option.
I hang my toiletries and PJs on the only hook in the stall. Getting undressed is not easy to do while you're wearing shower shoes. I balance on one foot as I slip out of my dirty shorts, but unfortunately my ballet skills aren't translating to shower balance.
Like a movie in slow motion, my naked body slips on the cement.
I make a huge noise that comes out as "Whoooaaa!" but it really sounds like that big ape-looking guy from Star Wars that Mitch made me watch when we dated. He made me come over to his house one Saturday and watch all six episodes. That's over twelve hours of movies in one day, if you include the deleted scenes. Once, in the middle of making out during Episode 5, Mitch asked if I wanted to see his Wookie. I sat up and slapped him. I mean, we'd only been going out for a few weeks and the thought of his "thingie" being a short, hairy thing grossed me out.
Mitch said later, after putting ice on his cheek to reduce the swelling from the hand-shaped red mark of my slap, that he only wanted to show me his set of Wookie figurines. As if.
"You okay?" I hear Jessica's voice echo in the other stall.
Okay, so now that I slipped/fell, I'm on all fours on the floor. I guarantee that no matter how fast I get up, the five-second rule doesn't count. I've for sure got things that grow in petri dishes on my hands, knees, and butt.
I turn the water on, refusing to be bacteria-ridden for even one more second. I'm ready to wash off the dirt and dust and bacteria and stress from my first day as an IDF trainee.
I stick my hand in the water to test the temperature. It's cold.
I turn the crank in the opposite direction, then test again.
It's still cold.
Maybe it needs time to warm up. So I wait a minute, then test again.
Still cold.
Now I'm starting to shiver, because I'm naked and the temperature has definitely dropped at least twenty degrees from this afternoon.