“Where does it hurt?” I asked.

“On my side and around my stomach,” she said as she held the side that hurt the most underneath her palms.

“Can you describe it?”

“I don’t know. Sharp?” she sounded a bit irritated with that last comment.

The other girl suggested that it might be a cramp, and to wait for it to pass. I felt differently. I’ve had cramps before, and they are very painful like a pounding migraine, but the way Braggs looked seemed like it was something else.

“Maybe I should tell the Drill Instructor?” I questioned.

“If you think so,” she barely breathed, her face turning pale as a ghost.

It was hard to tell if she was terrified of an infuriated Drill Instructor being woken up from her sleep like a rabid bear, or if the pain from her side was worsening with every breath she took. The other recruit tried to comfort Braggs as I paced back and forth between the stall and the door to the Drill Instructors’ hut. My mind was racing with fear of the Drill instructor’s rage and concern of Braggs’ crying in pain. The pressure was on. I could feel my heart trying to leap out of my chest, trying to escape the anxiety I was feeling.

“Whatever you plan to do, please do it,” Braggs whimpered, feeling utterly defeated.

With those words, I made up my mind, and run towards the Drill Instructor’s door like I was running into battle. I pounded so hard that my hand went numb. The seconds felt like hours as I waited by the door. When it finally opened, I tried to calm my mind long enough to speak coherently so that the Drill Instructor could get a clear idea of the situation at hand. My words still came out like garbage, messy and full of crap. She told me to shut up, and marched her way toward the stall where Braggs’ sat, still sobbing in pain. At first, the Drill Instructor looked like a bomb, ready to explode, but like a light switch, her demeanor changed. Concern was now written all over her face just like ours even though she still had a bitter tone in her voice when she told us to scram.