After a three week dry spell, Angela and I had our usual (and very much anticipated) beer 'n bitch fest at Avalanche. We drink beer and bitch about our lives to each other. One interesting offbeat happening, though. Long story short... I got to talking to a very attractive lady, and had a most excellent conversation with her. We even exchanged email addresses (and I gave her this blog. Her handwritinging is pretty clear, and her name is spelled Angella. Hi Angella!) It wasn't some "ooh, baby" conversation, either. Is there anything better than two people who, desperately needing to purge shit off their chests (and under the protection of the relative anonymity of talking to a stranger), just spill the beans to each other. I mean, we told each other some really freakin personal stuff, and you could just sense the relief between us. What a pleasant evening.
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On the drive home, I had to stop for gas. At the station, Angela had struck up a conversation with a guy in an Army windbreaker. We get to talking, and it turns out he just got back from Fallujah for a four day leave before shipping back off to Baghdad. He was going to spend the time with his six year old son.
I can't begin to comprehend how intensely that has to hurt, how it must be almost like a dream... to spend months in a desert on the other side of the planet, only to come back to America for four days before returning to that hell. I can't imagine how I'd panic trying to get in everything I'd want to do. This guy was front-line hardcore shit, too. He had one very graphic story I'm not going to relate here. I asked him what he thought of Bush and the Iraq war. He being enlisted and Bush being his Commander in Chief, I understand he couldn't say anything bad about him, but he did say that we have absolutely no business being there.
He's over there dodging grenades and gunfire everyday for a cause that's lost on the soldiers defending it. Every day he wonders if his son will grow up with or without a daddy.
And all he gets is four fucking days, and the profuse admiration and gratitude from two kids driving home in the middle of the night who suddenly realize just what an almost unfair blessing it is to live the cushy lives that we do.
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On the drive home, I had to stop for gas. At the station, Angela had struck up a conversation with a guy in an Army windbreaker. We get to talking, and it turns out he just got back from Fallujah for a four day leave before shipping back off to Baghdad. He was going to spend the time with his six year old son.
I can't begin to comprehend how intensely that has to hurt, how it must be almost like a dream... to spend months in a desert on the other side of the planet, only to come back to America for four days before returning to that hell. I can't imagine how I'd panic trying to get in everything I'd want to do. This guy was front-line hardcore shit, too. He had one very graphic story I'm not going to relate here. I asked him what he thought of Bush and the Iraq war. He being enlisted and Bush being his Commander in Chief, I understand he couldn't say anything bad about him, but he did say that we have absolutely no business being there.
He's over there dodging grenades and gunfire everyday for a cause that's lost on the soldiers defending it. Every day he wonders if his son will grow up with or without a daddy.
And all he gets is four fucking days, and the profuse admiration and gratitude from two kids driving home in the middle of the night who suddenly realize just what an almost unfair blessing it is to live the cushy lives that we do.
posted by Grover at 10/07/2005 07:33:00 PM
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