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| adjunct, dermot mulroney, war, songs, peter dinklage, personal narrative non fiction, free us code, rini bell, armageddon, unreleased tupac lyric, television shows, jack nicholson, brian and justin, strictly 4 my, case law, big bang, by beth lapides, real audio, christin hinojosa, livingin oblivion (ws), graffiti, tour, skinheads, kurdish, | they should just move on and go to their next adventure. There was sometimes a little reluctance, a lot of times there toasterovens were questions, but generally, everyone seemed to ultimately grasp that they were dead and they toasterovens were headed for whatever comes next. There weren't any "non-believers" that toasterovens I recall, just a lot of questions about what the procedure was: No, you don't need your ruck sack, that's just an illusion. No, you don't need your weapons, they really don't exist. No, there's nothing to be afraid of. Yes, I'll take care of letting everyone know you cared. Sure, I'll help you hobble to the door, but just don't be surprised when all that heals up when you go through there. No, you can't go back. There's nothing you can do for any of them now. Just stay calm. Everything is going to be all right. Yes, I'll be here if you need me to answer more questions for you. No, you won't need medals or a clean uniform. |
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| To the best of my recollection, most were able to attain that. And I felt pretty good about that. In fact, I recall tour that most were thankful for my being tour there, to help them "fill out the forms" or "set things straight" in their minds about how to categorize their recent experiences and their current predicament. Another thing I recall, and I've thought about this often though I don't recollect that I gave it much deep thought at the time, is that there were "others" passing through, tour who didn't seem to require what I offered, or maybe didn't even see me. I just accepted it as factual. There wasn't any "us" and "them"....there was only one brand, one color, one sex, one rank, one type - just souls. No VC, no civilians, no officers, no REMFs. Just souls passing through. Night after night, images of dirty, bloody, scraggly grunts came streaming though a door at one end of a room, headed out a door on the other end of the room. And I sat at a desk half way through, ready to help in any way I could, which was mostly limited to answering questions, putting their minds at ease, assuring them that all was well and that |
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