Iraq

I sat down today needing to write. I let my mind wander, my head relax, and the first thing that came to mind - my sister.
Rachel is in Iraq. IRAQ. Where the desert and Iraqis are. I cried when she left. Moms and Dads, sisters and brothers, we all run around the world carrying chunks of eachother. They come, and they leave, and a part of you rushes through the closing door and leaves with them.
We used to share underwear when we were little. We had to in a family of nine kids and not much money. Sharing is not the right word... I would steal hers and she would steal mine and on the foggy playground she would walk up to me and demand I show her what pair I had on. I looked behind me for friends- any friend- that would help me stand up to my scrawny big sister. I looked turned back around and true to her nature, she was gone by then, having accepted my silence for guilt and had pursued another pressing issue (winning a tetherball tournament).

She backpacked through Europe by herself.
I hiked the Y by myself.
She raced motocross.
I used to crash on my Grandpa's old dirt bike.
She restored old furniture.
I bought a nightstand from D.I. and spray painted it black.
She knows everything about everything.
I struggle to remember the names of Shakespeare plays.
She tans.
I freckle.

I love her and have watched her struggles and absolute towering successes and now that she's an Army paramedic things are scary... Because I love her. Her blonde hair, skinny legs, sharp tongue, the way she's turning into a 30 yr old woman.

I met a young guy today that just came back from Iraq. He looked like he was 17, but in his eyes you could tell he had seen things- He was grown up, tougher. I wanted to sit down with him and just talk. To see how shooting and being shot at for 18 months had changed him. America likes to be the world's street sweeper... and it's effect on me? I'm only beginning to understand.