Hard to shake loose

I was uploading some pictures of Iraq for some students in class. I started hashing through them all, putting captions up on some of them.

I stopped part way through, mostly because it was taking a damn long time, but also because I started remembering being there. Not that it was the typical nightmarish, post traumatic stress sort of thing, but I remembered walking down the paths between our buildings. I could see myself there.

I remember how the ground felt on certain nights…how the weather was on some missions.

Pretty freaky, actually. It’s weird how well we remember some things—even distant things, isn’t it?

I mean, I can look back at growing up and recall aspects of my time in Maryland with crystal clarity; but then go forward to my senior year of high school, in a new town, and only have fuzzy recollections.

Iraq for me was nearly two years ago, but I can bring it back to mind in a second. Shouldn’t I be moving past all that? Strange stuff.

The grit in between the sidewalk tiles. The alien smell of grass around the chapel (contrasting the typical chalky mud aroma of Iraq). The cables propping up the communication antenna. The shells of buildings.  It’s all there, like it was a few weeks ago.

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