“Hup, one, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four” The instructor barked at us. We had been marching for hours, still he wouldn’t let up stop. If someone missed a beat, they had to run around the oval. Carrying heavy weights, if they faltered, they had privileges removed. I did not want that to be me. I had watched this happen repeatedly and was praying I could hold it together.

“Hup, two, three, four. Move those lazy butts! You damn sissies could march you way out of a paper bag. I wished he would just shut up. Shut up an let us rest. This was supposed to make us stronger though. All it seemed to be doing was pissing people off. I wanted to think of other things, but anyone who did that quickly lost the beat and were punished. I couldn’t afford that, I had my birthday coming up and I knew he would make me miss out if I mucked up.

“Hup, two, three, four. Keep those matchstick legs going. I’ve seen better marching from Girl Guides.” I wondered what was going through his head. Did he enjoy doing this to us? Don’t lose concentration, it’s not worth it. Count it off in you head and keep each step perfectly in time. One false move and it was all over.

“Hup, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four.” Zone out what he is saying, and don’t pay attention to it. Just keep those legs moving. Moving in time, just like a millipede. I laugh inside myself, when I think of what we must look like. Each of us perfectly in time, until someone falters.