So David is in Taji, near Baghdad now. He's had his last patrol for the time-being, and has reassured me that he is in now danger.
Except when we were talking on the phone on Wednesday, he suddenly said he had to go and hung up almost immediately. I assumed he'd run out of minutes on his phone card, but then I this nonchalant comment on his blog:
"The main gate was hit by two car bombs while I was at the phone center a few hundred meters away, but I'm safer than I was in Baqubah."
Which tells me a lot, as does the blog entry below that, which talks about his 10-second fantasy about the shift in trust.
It's not the "I'm OK" message I'm hearing on the phone, but what did I expect? "Hi, Mom, they're shooting at me today? Guess what, it's dangerous out here?"
The mother in me drinks from that cup of comfort on the phone; the journalist in me believes the blog item, and maybe each in their own way, they're both right.
I'm not mad, I'm not confused, I just want him to come home.
He should have some interesting stories to tell.
1 comment:
I got a phonecall one morning when he was back in Baquobah. He called from his terps cell while out in the city. We talked for a few minutes and it was yet another of our casual conversations about everything and nothing, when all of a sudden there was some noise over his radio.
I couldn't understand most of it (both because of the qaulity of the sound and all the acronyms) but I did make out the word "sniper" very clearly, several times. Next thing I know, "Gotta go. Love you." [click... dial tone.]. Not quite the ending to a conversation you want...
Sure enough, he called again about an hour later. But obviously (and despite the fact that it was 5am) I had not fallen back to sleep. Everything was (obviously) fine. Still, sometimes it is just better not to know ...
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