Page 40 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“One week down, and fifty-one more to go.”

—Loïc Berkeley

A week of plane travel, a stop off in Qatar, and a short three-day layover in Kuwait, and we’ve finally arrived at our final destination—Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan. Cooper and I always say that the Army doesn’t get anywhere fast.

I’m exhausted, but the traveling hasn’t been that bad. When we’re not sleeping, we’re shooting the shit with the rest of the guys in our deployment unit. I’ve been deployed with many of the same guys before, so it’s cool to see them again and hear what they’ve been up to since our last tour in Iraq.

As far as bases go, Bagram’s not bad. It’s the size of a small city. It’s basically sectioned off in two halves—the west and east side. Our unit is stationed on the west side, as is most of the Army and Navy. The east side mainly houses the flyers, the Air Force units. It has several huge mess halls—where I’m hoping they have decent food—a couple of gyms, a recreation building, and decent living quarters.

After checking in with command and grabbing our issued supplies, Cooper and I grab our duffels and head to our designated living quarters. The buildings are large wooden rectangular cubes. We walk down the dimly lit narrow hall. The plywood beneath our boots creak with each step. Toward the end of the hallway, I spot a white piece of paper taped to a wooden door withBerkeleyscrawled across it. The door to the right of mine has the same welcome sign but withCooperwritten on it.

“Home sweet home,” Cooper says with an air of sarcasm.

“Yep,” I sigh.

“Chow in an hour?” Cooper says as he enters his room.

“Okay,” I respond before my door closes behind me.

We’re fortunate. Because of our rank and jobs, we get our own places. Granted, the room isn’t much more than a box. It’s as wide as my bed; the head and foot of the twin bed touches each opposing wall. To the right of the bed are a small desk and chair. There’s enough space to set my trunk of stuff beside the foot of the bed, and that’s about it. But it beats having a roommate any day.

The first thing I do is pull out the laptop I brought from home. It’s a few years old and enclosed in a durable silver case. I brought it for mission-related work, like writing reports and doing research. But, of course, its most important function will be emailing and Skyping with London back home. Having Internet at this place, which exists in a valley at the base of a section of the magnificent Hindu Kush mountain range, is a feat in itself. I wouldn’t think they could get reliable signals here, but thankfully for me, they do—or at least most of the time. I’ve heard the Internet here is spotty—going in and out throughout the day—but it’s better than not having it at all.

It’s been seven days exactly since I’ve seen London, and sure enough, when I finally sit down in front of my wobbly little desk and log into my Gmail, I find seven emails from London, entitledQuestion 1throughQuestion 7.

I open the oldest email first.

To: Loïc Berkeley

From: London Wright

Subject: Question 1—Last Meal

Hey, babe. So, I saw you this morning, which means that you haven’t even technically left yet. But I promised that I would write you once a day, so here I am, writing you.

Let me start out by saying that I already miss you like crazy. Like, I might have turned into a crazy person in a matter of ten hours minus Loïc. Completely insane.Loco en la cabeza. That means crazy in the head. It’s, like, the one phrase I remember from high school Spanish. I mean, just the mere thought of you being gone is driving me crazy.

What am I actually going to do when it’s been days or months versus hours?

I’m being a total bitch, right? I mean, you’re the one being shipped off to some Third World terrorist country, and I’m the one sitting here, feeling sorry for myself. I’m selfish. What can I say? You already know that’s a major flaw of mine. ;-)

I know I tried to be all positive before you left. “Oh, it’s just a year! A year is nothing!” Blah, blah, blah. Well, I’m calling total BS. A year is a very long freaking time, and I hate it already.

Don’t take this to mean I’m not going to wait or anything silly like that. You’re stuck with me forever, Loïc Berkeley.

I just recently decided—like, three minutes ago when I started typing this letter—that we should be completely honest with each other while you’re gone. I don’t know if that’s a good idea or not. I could just be speaking out of my ass. But I was thinking that, maybe if we’re open and honest with everything, including our fears, then we can help each other get over them or at least talk about them, you know? Putting your feelings out in the open is supposed to help. Total transparency, right?

So, here I am, telling you that I love you and I miss you and that this year without you is going to totally blow—and you haven’t even left US soil yet! Ugh.

So, question 1, if you were dying—like, let’s say you were about to be electrocuted for a crime—what would you request as your last meal?

My answer is shrimp pad thai from this new place in Ann Arbor. Paige brought home takeout, and I’m telling you, these noodles are to freaking die for. Like, so good. When you get back in a year, we are going there, so you can see for yourself.

I love you so much.

Love,

London

---