… Sonic. There is something about this nostalgic drive- in food place
that strikes me as so 1950’s Americana. It is sweet, and sad- that’s
nostalgia, after all- and utterly ridiculous, as nostalgia for a time
I’ve never seen should be.
It is so odd, to be slowly saying goodbye to my home- a country I am so
conflicted about. I’ve never felt the need to be surrounded by the
familiar, but lately I am picking out the things that represent this
place in pieces. I didn’t do this when I left to live overseas; maybe it
is a mortality issue? Or maybe I’m just out of practice, maybe I’ve gone
I think about Luke all the time, these days; that’s another sadness. In
our IED courses and on the IED lane (where we hunted for handmade bombs
in a simulated environment) I was haunted by him, my living brother in
Iraq. Gutting. It is so much easier when it is you; loving someone in
harm’s way is a hard thing. It clenches your jaw, stiffens your spine,
turns your chest into a gordian knot. I sat through the following
combat first aid courses doing my best to avoid the faces of the
training dummy, who suddenly had a gender and my stepfather’s eyes.
I don’t know how Rachel does it. I don’t know how S stands it,
gracefully, supportively. Who was it that said it is a fearful thing to
love what death can touch?