I spent a good deal of time this past Thursday afternoon at The VA Medical Center here in Cleveland. I am in need of new glasses and since I have no other health care options, I am using this benefit. I am grateful that I have this available to me. There are so many that have no options at all.
While waiting for my glasses I decided that I would sit and talk to any vet that “looked” like they wanted to talk.
The first person that I struck up a conversation with was a woman that was just recently discharged from the Army. She was waiting for her turn to get some blood work done. She was a bit pissed about the wait. I asked what she did when she was in the army. She said that she was pretty much a vehicle driver. She talked about the time she spent in the Middle East, and how everyday was a “will this be the day that I get blown the fuck up.” She cussed a lot… I mean more than I do. It is common for profanity to be a “second language” in the military.
She seemed a bit restless. She would not sit for too long. In mid sentence for no apparent reason she would get up and start to walk around. I got up too and followed her (I was now on her six…) she kept talking… she knew where I was and she never looked back… she just kept talking. She was bitter. She had hoped that being a vet would open some doors for her when she “got back to the world.” She said that it was like no one gives a shit about what we have done… the sacrifices that we made. She said “we” a lot. There is a certain kind of "we" that comes with a military life, especially amongst combat vets.
She turned around and started walking back to where we were. I waited… she seem to want to be “on point” so I fell back. She sat back down and asked the person behind the window if she would be seen soon. The person behind the window asked what every person behind the window asks… “Last four?” Meaning what are the last four digits of your social security number. The person behind the window said “not yet.”
For the first time she seem to be a little calmer now. She looked at me. This was the first time that we really made eye contact. She said “you know what?” “What?” I ask. She said that she was sick of being a “number” and a “rank.”
Some time had past and we did not talk much more.
It dawned on me at that moment that I had not asked her what her name was… I asked and she said that her name was Angela but her friends called her Angie. I asked her if I could call her Angie. She said yes. I told her my name was Darrell.
The person at the window called her name. She stood up and walk through the door that was “buzzed” opened for her to enter. I stood up and started leave.
As I was walking away I heard the door open again. There stood Angie. She looked at me and simply said, “thanks Darrell.” I looked at her and said “thank you too Angie.” That was enough said.
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