I wonder how old he is?

(Note: the following is a cross-post of a diary I wrote at the kollective this morning. It is not my habit to cross-post items, but I felt like this merited an exception.)

Looks like he's about 16 or 17. I'd guess he's probably closer to 20, but that's a stretch. The two girls who have been waiting to greet him look even younger.

I wonder how old he is?

The girls have been here a while. They both seem excited. I'm not trying to eavesdrop, but I pick up on the fact that Cody is coming home, and that it's been a long time, and that one of them is his girlfriend (I think). Idle chatter, until I hear someone say Iraq.

I'm standing in PDX, waiting for a good friend to arrive home from Boston. I'm a little early, so I take one of the available seats in the waiting area. The chattering pair of girls are two seats away. A couple of punk-rock chicks, carrying a sign welcoming "Tom-Tom" are the only other folks talking. Everyone else looks tired, subdued.

One of the girls mentions Iraq. She makes few breathless phone calls, then settles back in to wait. Won't be long. They lament the security that will keep them from running up and hugging their friend as soon as he disembarks.

Cody is off the plane before my friend, C____, so I get a good look. Still in his BDU's, First Cavalry Division, by the patch. He looks tired and happy. As soon as he enters the non-restricted area, the girls are on him. A long hug with one, while the other takes some pictures.

I wonder how old he is?

Everyone else seems to be studiously directing their attention elsewhere. A few sidelong glances, maybe. A couple of his fellow passengers size him up as they walk through.

Here comes C____. She looks tired and happy, too. We exchange a quick hug, and head downstairs, to baggage claim. Some idle chit-chat about the holidays. We wind up waiting a few feet from Cody and his welcoming crew. C____ says she has to find the loo, so I babysit the carry-ons for a few.

I wonder how old he is?

"15 months." More eavesdropping, but that's really all I catch. 15 months? Gods, he's had at least one birthday, "over there". He's fingering a pack of Marlboro Reds. Looks at the door, then the baggage carousel. Plays with the pack some more. I'm looking around, and there's still no one that even looks interested.

"Excuse me."
"Yeah?"
"Did you just get back?"
"Yeah."
Offer him my hand. Manage to choke out a "thank you", and a "welcome home". Seems like I should have more to say, but I can't think of what. One of the girls asks him if this happens often. He shrugs.

C____ is back. We're watching the carousel go 'round. More idle chit-chat, this time about about architecture in Boston, and on Martha's Vineyard. Here comes her bag.

"Thanks, again." Another handshake. He sort of smiles, just a bit. The girls start asking him what color his luggage is, teasing him that it's probably pink. C____ is ready to get home, so we leave.

I wonder how old he is?

Update [2008-1-3 7:51:31 by Marcus Tullius]: jimstaro has an excellent diary up, concerning those serving in the military, and the shortages they face.