A War Disguise

We got a letter in the mail today. We didn’t open it because we knew the words that would be planted on that piece of paper. Like getting a college acceptance letter. You either knew or you didn't. War. Such a short word with a powerful meaning. The letter read, “You’ve been drafted for war…” and a bunch of other information I didn't want to be reading.

Why us? Why were we basically given this death sentence, sending us into a fear frenzy. Even just the thought of going to war when we were already financially struggling, made me sick to my stomach. At this point in our lives, we didn't need this. We were told my husband would be forced to go to war in two days. Only two days. I didn't even know when I would see him again. Our lives basically just started and now there was something that had put a halt on it. A day passed like nothing had changed. But everything had.

This was the last day I would spend with him and I couldn’t even look at his face without bawling my eyes out. I was not ready to say goodbye. The morning before he was supposed to leave, I just sat at the kitchen table, drinking hot, steaming coffee, trying to wrap my head around exactly what was happening so suddenly. I thought, 'why can’t women be drafted for war too?” I am not saying I would want to be drafted, but things should be more equal. Why must I watch my husband leave without a chance of coming back. My hands quaked at even just the thought of never seeing him again. 

“I have no choice. This is an order, not an option.” He exclaimed, briskly. 

“Jack, I can’t let you do this.”

 My face became damp and red. I could not bear the thought of this. I had to make a decision, before it was too late. I sat and wondered, “What if I went instead?” And it was that night that I made the decision to go to war.

“Listen, I need to go to your place. I would rather go to war, than see you go. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, Jack.”

“How would this even be an option? Women can’t go to war. And even so, I wouldn't want you to leave”

“No…” I pondered, “but I can go as you. I would just need to disguise myself. And I wouldn’t make myself noticeable. Please Jack.”

“I leave tomorrow. There is no way we have any time to even make this decision. You’re not going, end of discussion.”

“Jack, I’m doing this because I love you.”

My face was now filled with tears, sad tears and guilt tears. I slowly got into bed and cried myself to sleep. I thought about the decisions I would make in the future and how they would affect my life. I thought about the fact that I needed to do this for myself, and not just for him. And it was then, I made my final decision to leave in the morning, without a trace. 

The next morning, I pulled myself out of bed. The sun had nearly just come up. I quickly changed into a t-shirt and cargo pants. I put my hair in a high bun with a hat covering. I had hoped this was disguised enough. I gave Jack a quick peck on the forehead, put a note on the bedspread and left, hoping I would walk through my house doors once again.

I was scared, but a little excited. Women couldn’t go to war and it was as if I was a representation of that; that women could fight just as well as men. I headed to the base where they began showing us where we would be staying, how we would be fighting, and a lot of other things I didn't understand. I was not meant for war and war was not meant for me.

There was no such thing as training, we just went and fought. Fields surrounded by bodies of people I didn't know, but knew so well. As I was a sitting target, I thought about what my husband thought about me doing this, for him. The next day, I got a letter. Jack exclaimed that he understood why I did what I did, but feared that I would not return. My letter back to him reassured him that I was doing okay. I wanted him to feel safe knowing that I was going to be okay, but in my head, I feared for my life. I knew my decision to go to war would be detrimental, but I needed to do this. Fighting was hard. Sometimes it felt like I had no fight left in me. Like I was the weak link. Days went by and I felt weaker and weaker. The base conditions were gruesome and we barely got fed. I was starving. I was just trying to survive.

Each day just brought more and more sadness. I wanted to go home. But I had to put up a positive front, because I didn't want to get caught. At this point, I hadn't gotten caught, but feared that I might, each day. A part of me wanted to get caught so that I could go home. But I couldn’t, and that would get me in much more danger. 

“You there sir, what is your name?” A guard called out as I frantically tried to answer

“I’m..I’m Jack. Jack Lenington.” I said in my deepest voice possible. My hands were shaking and my knees felt like rubber. 

He walked away. I was still frantic, unable to move. 

After that conversation, I just kept going. I kept fighting, though I was struggling. I needed to show everyone that women could fight just as well as men. The fight felt everlasting.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And then, it was all over.