Creative Writing: The Immigrant In Iraq
“Okay, everything looks good,” they nod and hand me a small plastic receipt, “Go ‘round the corner and one of our technicians will be with you shortly.”
I’d been donating blood to ZLB plasma for the past few months, ever since I’d left Lana and the luxury of Kenwood for this small one bedroom apartment in Stadium Village.
Twice a week I would come here, less than a block from the apartment that Chris had let me use while he was deployed in Iraq.
He was just a young boot-ass then, always getting in trouble for directing snide comments toward an un-amused Lieutenant Brumm or Sergeant Landsverk. For half the deployment, when I wasn’t shuffled from the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) to the Company Commander’s Personal Security Detail (PSD), I was with Brumm and his squad: Chris, Cox, Landsverk and …show more content…
Inside the empty terminal, I threw my green duffel bag on the linoleum floor and tenderly I laid down, using the bag as my pillow until 5:11 am, when the bustle of the busying airport awoke me.
Hazily, I lurched to the ticket counter.
I pondered odds, fateful chance, the erratic winds, be they destiny or chaos, which carry us through our days.
I’d gone to Australia on a whim, a road trip to Key West at a mere suggestion, which if I discounted my arrest one drunken night was well worth the thirteen hour drive there then the thirteen hour drive back, I’d figured I could simply go to Denver to see what I could see.
“Check in for Denver flight,” I moaned as I placed my duffel bag on the check-in platform. After slowly plodding through security, the wand-ing and terse pat down by stoic TSA employees in blue latex gloves, I texted Kristen.
I’m going to Denver, I thumbed on the keyboard, but I’m planning to enjoy it on my own. I just thought you should know, so you wouldn’t bother me this weekend.
I pressed
I’d been donating blood to ZLB plasma for the past few months, ever since I’d left Lana and the luxury of Kenwood for this small one bedroom apartment in Stadium Village.
Twice a week I would come here, less than a block from the apartment that Chris had let me use while he was deployed in Iraq.
He was just a young boot-ass then, always getting in trouble for directing snide comments toward an un-amused Lieutenant Brumm or Sergeant Landsverk. For half the deployment, when I wasn’t shuffled from the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) to the Company Commander’s Personal Security Detail (PSD), I was with Brumm and his squad: Chris, Cox, Landsverk and …show more content…
Inside the empty terminal, I threw my green duffel bag on the linoleum floor and tenderly I laid down, using the bag as my pillow until 5:11 am, when the bustle of the busying airport awoke me.
Hazily, I lurched to the ticket counter.
I pondered odds, fateful chance, the erratic winds, be they destiny or chaos, which carry us through our days.
I’d gone to Australia on a whim, a road trip to Key West at a mere suggestion, which if I discounted my arrest one drunken night was well worth the thirteen hour drive there then the thirteen hour drive back, I’d figured I could simply go to Denver to see what I could see.
“Check in for Denver flight,” I moaned as I placed my duffel bag on the check-in platform. After slowly plodding through security, the wand-ing and terse pat down by stoic TSA employees in blue latex gloves, I texted Kristen.
I’m going to Denver, I thumbed on the keyboard, but I’m planning to enjoy it on my own. I just thought you should know, so you wouldn’t bother me this weekend.
I pressed