Table of Contents

Green Lake - novella - entered December 2 to 11 - adventures of an Afghan-American US Air Force officer 1,000 years in the future.

Time Corps - book - October 27 to November 22 - adventures of a young woman and her friends 10,000 years in the future.

Romance - short story - October 13 to 16 - set aboard a space ship.

Jamila - novella - October 1 to 9 - Lily is a total outcast who decides to end it. Two surprise visitors change all that.

Dark Chronicles of Nooria - book - August 30 to September 29 - a sweet ten-year-old from the Lilac Valley Indian Reserve is plunged into a living nightmare, as a 10-y-o Afghan.

Iris - short story - August 26 to 28 - Irish woman joins contingent of Afghans through time travel.

Farzana - novella - August 11 to 25 - a ten-year-old white Canadian girl freezes to death during a savage blizzard, gets a second chance at life as a 10-y-o Afghan.

Soap (Opera) - book - July 26 to August 10 - a variety of eccentric and marginal foreigners joins a contingent of Afghan women.

Vignettes - short short story length - mostly entered July 25 and prior; most under 1,50o words.

Moral Tone: overall the aim is to make the literature suitable for the whole family.
Profanity - there are times when it is inescapable, especially in military sci fi. Stars (***) have been used.
Violence - kept to the absolute minimum required by the story line, no gratuitous violence.
Sex - adult relationships outside of matrimony are alluded to. In certain circumstances, it is essential to show pickup scenes, to portray the angst the characters are dealing with, but this has been kept to a minimum. There are no direct sex scenes.

This blog in neither for nor against any political organization, religion or ethnic group. The sole purpose is entertainment.

All of this is a work of imagination, along the lines of historical fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely accidental. It is not autobiographical. Certain historical events did indeed occur, similar to how I described them, but not with the characters I invented. As for any friends who might think they see themselves portrayed herein, it simply is not so.

Green Lake 15

It proves easy to hit things off with Brent. Now I ain't saying I'm any attractive knockout, but he is fairly easy pickings. Only white boy in a class of Afghans, bit lonely, you know the story.
They tell us girls we should share the guy's interests, so I do, read a few of the things he does.
Things go great, right up til the State of California Department of Education holds a writing contest. You can choose short story or novella length, in a number of listed genres, different age categories.
Brent opts to do a sci fi novella, encourages me to do the same. At first, I'm reluctant, but then I realize it's a golden opportunity to tell him my story.
I sit down at the computer one weekend and it all gushes forth. Later, I revise, knock out certain salient facts to keep Agency spooks away from my door.
First, he's jealous because my writing was so much faster than his. All caught up in his own, he simply never gets around to reading mine.
Well, you guessed it. His went nowhere. I came in second in the age 14 and under, sci fi novella competition and won a week-long writing workshop while staying in the university residence during summer.
And now is he royally ticked at me? Won't say a word to me, won't even look where I am.
So what is it about this male ego thing?
Tasma thinks the whole thing is a huge joke, "look at the bright side Jamila. Trait like that, far better to spot it earlier, not later."
I ponder 2 nanoseconds, realize she's perfectly right, "come on, I'll buy ice cream."
As we saunter to the store, I realize how truly wonderful it is to have a good loyal friend. The rest can all wait. One of these years, I'll get it right. Or not.

Mum drops me off at the campus. I'm greeted by the university's Writer-in-Residence, Sam Asimov, descendant of the legendary you-know-who.
He grins, "you know, of all the sci fi stories submitted, yours had the most authentic ring to it. I mean the been-there-done-that-got-the-Tshirt sort of gripping genuineness."
He catches my eye, looks into it a long moment, "I see, so it's not fiction. Still, it's good writing. Hope you enjoy the workshop."

Returning to school after vacation, I get the surprise of my life. Brent stops me in the hall, "ah look Jamila, had a lotta time to think this summer. Realize I'd been well a bit of a jerk. Do you suppose we could maybe try things again? Please."
"We-ell, we all get older, mature as we go. Sure, why not?"
Huge smile, "thank you so much Jamila. So what was it like to meet the legendary Sam Asimov in person?"
"He isn't like that at all, doesn't put on airs. Tone in class was no different than any other teacher teaching a composition class."
Sheepish grin, "yeah, guess I could learn from that. I read your story, liked it."
"Thank you."
"You won that prize honestly. Can I buy you ice cream after school? Please."
"Thank you, I'd like that."

Green Lake 14

I have a sense of forboding as I hear my sister will be away at a friend's for a sleepover, I can sense what's coming. Mum and I have just finished putting the dishes in the dishwasher, when she quietly says, "come, we'll sit a bit."
We do.
"So how is school going?"
"Fine."
"And your friend Tasma?"
"Fine."
"Phys Ed class?"
"Fine."
"Jamila honey, be honest now. Something happened when you had that fever. Very bad for awhile, then faded. So, tell me, you ah see anything unusual?"
"No Mum."
"But it affected you in some way, just not the same person after. What do you suppose was my first clue?"
"I don't know Mum."
"You used to be so-oooo rebellious, just never wanted to behave. Ever since, why you've been a good girl, like you just plain don't have the energy to play bad."
I laugh, she joins in.
"I've heard of such things happening before. My real child died and you ended up in her place, right?"
I blush fiercely.
She hugs me tight, "matters not Jamila honey, far rather have you here and alive. So, tell me the truth."
"Well you see Mum, long story, starts 1,000 years ago...."
Cheerfully she says, "ok, let's see what we can actually trace."
She calls up Maps of Antiquity, a super-obscure website. Sure enough, Green Lake is exactly where I said it would be. Same as other nearby towns.
The ethnic faultline in Northern Saskatchewan is easily traceable. In fact, the roads I describe are the only viable ones for such a venture.
She calls up what is then known of the ruins of the Chernobyl 2 site, curiously it matches my drawings.
The first base where I was matches up; as does the base of 318th Para.
She stares out the window uneasily, "with your computer skills, Jamila honey, no way on earth you'd have dredged up info like that, to concoct a story. I can only conclude, that yes, you were there, in the past, in the future. One more angle, what rank do you suppose General Strasser would be now?"
"Lt or Capt, Mum."
Half minute later, she grins, "picture look familiar?"
"It's her Mum, all except the wrinkles."
"Time Corps, exact lot you were mentioning. Well nuff of that, you're still my baby. Play checkers or computer games, your choice."
"Checkers Mum, had enough computers for the week."
"You're on, you move first."
I win one, she wins the next, we leave it a tie.
"Jamila honey," she says, "I'll make tea. We really must talk. See I hafta explain certain things in life. It's now gonna be lots harder than I thought before. But please, be patient."
"Yes Mum."
My eyes glaze over. Oy! I would happily choke to death that smart-ass Capt Williams and her 1 in 850 million odds. Same goes for Uncle Billy Bob and his drinking and never fixing that truck.
But when it's over, I feel better, some anyhow. The path ain't easy, but at least now it has more light shone on it.

"So lemme guess," Tasma says, "you told your Mum?"
"How'd you know?"
"Is that a silly question or what? Aren't we friends? Don't we read each other's expressions?"
"Not what you think, she pried it outa me. Still, better off now for having been honest."
"So what did she tell you to do about boys?"
I blush, "she suggested your brother, best behaved on the street."
"That toad? I'd poison him, he has no right to a girlfriend like you. That geeky nerd should be dropped in the ocean. Fed to the fishes," laugh, "still, he does kinda like you. Might be ok."
I laugh, "and of course, from the parent's side, easier to check up on, side-by-side."
"Don't do it," she laughs, "he'll bore you to death."
"Didn't you say a while back how everyone is bored to death these days?"
"Yeah, but him more than the rest. So, here's what you do, ask him computer advice."
"Just like that?"
"Why not? But I'll be there too."
"Why? Protect me from him?"
"Actually not, to protect him from you."
We both laugh.

As it turns out, Rahim is way too deathly shy to try any moves. He teaches me fast computer tricks, leaves it at that. Suits me fine, I'm learning and yes, we are sort of becoming friends. You never know, might happen. He asks my advice on subjects like book reports. He just absolutely cannot fathom my grasp of history of Antiquity. "Sounds so very real, almost like you were there. Maybe you should be a history teacher, you have a real talent."
Plan B if the mils don't want me for whatever reason.

I don't like Tasma's expression as she falls into step on the way to school, "we gotta problem. Translation, you gotta problem."
"How so?"
"Rahim has been asking me about you. Says he thinks you're just way too wierd to be his real girlfriend. Asked me to explain, what I thought, why you were so wierd."
I gasp, "you didn't tell him?"
"No, your call to make. As I see it, you lose either way. Don't be honest, things kinda fade away. Be honest and he goes freaky-deaky thinking about all that gay stuff."
"What would you do if you were me?"
"Oh no friend, just doesn't work that way. If I give you advice and it misfires, our friendship could be oh so gonzo. Your call to make."
"Right, let's try a middle path. Half the truth. Not the first switch, only the second. So you can tell him of the electronic jump that went sour, but not the accident with Uncle Billy Bob."
"Sounds reasonable," she asserts, "only one thing, partial disclosure might be ok with a boyfriend. If you ever do marry him, better be the whole truth, before, or it could be serious problems."
"Yeah, guess you are right. So, tell him the second half of the story."

Mum accompanies me to the Doctor. Everything is routine until she takes my arm, stares at it a long moment. Sharp tone to Mum, "why didn't you tell me bout this injection?"
"Which one is that? Think I've lost track, it's you has all the records."
"Don't give me that, you might fool 99% of Doctors but not me, I'm retired mil. Your baby here has something only one in every 10,000 or so mils ever sees. Makes you temporarily totally immune to radiation sickness. Now where do you suppose she would have got that?"
Mum raises an eyebrow, "positive you're not mistaken?"
"Unique shape of needle. Once you see it, never forget. So?"
Mum looks at me.
"Doctor, ever hear of time travel?"
"In its infancy now."
"There really are things you're a whole lot better off not knowing. Maybe you could just forget that scar, or think it was something else."
Doctor looks at me a long moment, chuckles, "so, cover it up. Put a bigger scar on top of it. Catch your arm doing some job around the house. See, it fades, perfectly safe to have another when you grow up, if you grow up."
"If it's any comfort to you Doc, happened on our side of the fence, not theirs."
Wicked smile, "that much, I do know. Their injection looks different."

Tasma falls into step with me, "your halfway plan, even that, too daring. He's afraid of you, I mean, afraid of the whole older woman thing."
I groan.
"Well cheer up, we're still friends. One day, someone else comes along maybe."
"Or doesn't. Either way, still friends."
"So," she grins, "what you gonna say on that historical essay? The one on Chernobyl 2."
"Certainly ain't gonna admit I was there."
She laughs, punches my arm in fun, "strange world. You've changed me."
"How so?"
"Before all this, I was gonna grow up, be a bore like everyone else. Now, I wanna do the mil scene. Maybe we'll even end up together."
"That sure would be nice."
She laughs, "so, whaddya think of the new kid in class, the token white boy? He reads sci fi. Might be interesting."
"I ah well"
"Go for it, far more likely to be understanding. You were white, should know how to deal with it."

Green Lake 13

Morosely I lie in bed 3 days, don't feel like eating, just get up to use the bathroom. Odd time, I look out the window. So this is Freakmont, sorry, should use the proper name Fremont, California. Yep I'm back to being ten. Even with the dream warning me, it's still crushing. One moment you are a respected, decorated para colonel, next moment a little kid.
Eventually I return to school. Teacher starts, "ok class, now we start looking at the children's literature of Antiquity. About 1,000 years ago, was a golden age, lot of good children's books."
Lemme guess, she's building up to assigning book reports.
"So, class, come forward when I call your name. You each get 2 books, no swapping, I have a list here."
Two books, is that inflation or what?
"Jamila."
I step forward.
"Kids nowadays have it cushy. Here's 2 books to tell you what the bad old days were like."
I groan inwardly, but break into a cheerful smile, when I see "Parvana's Journey" and "The Breadwinner." I can recall, almost word-for-word what I wrote on each.

At home, I stare out the window, not seeing the streets of Freakmont. My older sister has zero time or energy for me, caught up in all those boyfriend issues.
Mum sits next to me, "honey you gotta get back into things. Ever since that fever, you've been walking around as if you lost your last friend. So, what's bothering you?"
"Just feel tired."
"How can you possibly be tired? Teacher giving you trouble?"
"Mum she gave 2 book reports."
"You have it easy honey. In my day, you got 3 at a time."
"Oh."
"Look honey, you have $5,000 worth of computer games in your room; 1,500 channels on your TV. So why just mope?"
I can't help it, now I'm crying. She holds me tight throughout.
After, she asks, "now, feel better?"
Surprisingly, I do.
Gradually it all falls into place, sort of. Lot better off than many kids. For one, I know what I want to be when I grow up. With all my experience, it should be easy to pass the officer exam. For another, don't hafta kill myself on those book reports. California weather is lots nicer than Green Lake, with its mosquito-infested summers and savage winters. Mother who cares, puts time and effort into me.
As I set out for school, I have a jaunty step. The neighbor girl Tasma says, "wait up."
I do.
"Look lots better today. Had a rough patch for awhile."
"Yeah, guess I did."
"How bout the nerve of that bossy pig?" she asserts, "two book reports. What a rip!"
"Tasma, gotta play the game by their rules or you grow up, end up dishwasher in a diner."
We both laugh.
"So Jamila, what you wannabe when you grow up?"
"Mil officer, set my heart on paras."
She theatrically feels my arm, "gotta work harder in phys ed."
"And you?"
"Me, ain't gonna get myself killed in paras, do say library admin."
"Doesn't that sound boring?"
"Hel-lo Jamila, are you awake in there? Not still in that fever? Ever listen to grownups? Every job is boring."
"Yeah, maybe you're right."
"Even paras," she asserts, "paperwork'll kill you. Bushel baskets, silverfish eating it."
We both laugh.
She grins, "mountains of supply reports, budget figures, company punishment reports, court martial papers, training schedules, maintenance reports, duty schedules, memos, gobbledygook, and a partridge in a pear tree. So there!!"
Suddenly I fell cheerful, glad to be alive, as opposed to halfway so.
"You know," I say, "it's nice to have friends."
"Feeling is mutual. Study together after school?"
"Sure, love to. How's your book reports going?"
"Thought I'd ask your advice, seem to have ripped through yours."

We arrive back at Tasma's house. I phone, leave Mum a message where I am. We adjourn to her room, spread out books all over.
"Now the truth," she grins, "how come you zipped through those silly book reports so easy?"
Now there is one loaded question. How much of the truth?
"You see, I admire Parvana, the heroine of both books, lotta courage."
"Sad isn't it? How everyone's life is so boring."
I think back to Chernobyl 2, the Canada tour. More than ever, I'm determined to make para.
"Ever done anything brave?" she asks.
I think of the Silver Star, the unit citation, the electronic jump. But those haven't happened yet, they're off in the future.
"Who am I? Just another little kid who plays too many computer games."
She looks into my eyes, "no way. Ever since that fever, noticed a change in you. Your eyes, older, tougher, more knowing, been to Hades and back. Me, I'm your best friend, have been for years. Gotta tell me the truth."
I sigh, "hopelessly long story. Maybe leave it to Saturday."
"You promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Ok, let's get going on this stuff."

She laughs at the rich irony of the whole thing. "What are the odds of that happening? Getting the same two books again? Millions of books to choose from."
I laugh, "probably same odds as the electronic jump."
"But now, you gotta help me out."
"How so?"
"You understand boys, you were one. Now let me tell you about ...."
I smile, "tell the jerk to get lost, running you in circles. Find someone better, more deserving of a good person like you."
"Thanks, need any advice, just ask."
"Be a bit yet. Still feel too mixed up to start all that. Tasma, can you tell me something? See I'm afraid to ask Mum what happened with my Dad? If I ask, she'll think I'm nuts, should know already."
"Electrician, tours of duty with the undersea mining rigs off Hawaii. R&R in Hawaii, hot babes there, just never came back."
"Would you know, does he pay any support?"
"Jamila, you are really nuts. Your Mum's infotech job pays five times what he would get. What court would order any support?"

As I arrive home, I ask Mum, "see I'm not really doing well in computer stuff in school. Suppose you could help me out?"
Her face lights up, "busy cooking now Jamila honey. After supper."
As we sift through, she finds the two book reports, "very good honey, writing better now. Did you learn a lot from those books?"
"I guess those were crazy times Mum."
"I can't help but think you've come to some sort of decision honey. You have that air."
"I do?"
"Sure, I can always tell."
"Mum, when I grow up, I want to be a military officer. Prefer paras."
"Isn't that a bit dangerous?"
"Don't they do a lot of good for people Mum?"
"Yes honey they do." Feels my arm, "gotta work harder in phys ed."
"Lotta years yet Mum."
"Bad attitude, start now." As I hear the rest, I have a sense of deja vu, sounds remarkably like Uncle Billy Bob.

Teacher says, "Jamila front and centre. Now read these two book reports to the class."
I do.
"So class, what were your impressions?"
"She writes better now."
"Even stands different."
"Different tone of voice."
Teacher nods, "huge improvement. Now I'm guessing, when you get a really bad fever, causes you to change things a bit."
I nod.
"Keep up the good work."
As I sit, I hope people don't beat me up for being a suck. Then I realize, they do that to boys only. I'm safe.

Yeah, whole lotta things have changed. Not on a farm by myself anymore, best friend is next door. Tasma is a far more loyal friend than any back in Canada. Marks have gone up, Mum is pleased. Computer skills, better than when I was a Col.
But still nothing feels right. As other girls yap on, I kind of back off. Tasma is the only one who knows the true story.
We become inseparable. She is my key to surviving this strange world. Still, sometimes I can pay her back and I do.

Green Lake 12

Capt Williams enters my office with a cheeky grin, "few minutes of your time Col?"
"My ear is yours."
"Col, you ah read the manuals on training?"
"Capt, on that rack are over 4,000 CD's, all manuals. Most I'm afraid are gathering dust. Perhaps if you would be a little more specific."
"Reason we got you, sheer desperation, plus the Canada trip wasn't a jump. But now, you gotta make amends. Minimum of 2 electronic and 2 silk jumps. That's just to keep the wolf away from the door, until you get into a proper course."
"Please explain the difference."
"Imagine a peacekeeping tour, upland jungles of New Guinea. Electronic descent, lot safer, fewer casualties. But in real war, with a modern enemy, electronic descent is pure suicide, they can turn on jammers that'll scatter your force through time and space. The slang term is silk, because ancient parachutes were made of it, but it's really a variant of nylon."
"Oh."
"Col, let's not beat around the bush. Really does work best if you face the one you fear most first. So, which one?"
"Ordinary para silk jump, seems romantic, historical, exciting, I'd love to do that. But beaming down? Oy!"
"Ok, let me explain risk factors. Now bear in mind Col, your odds of winning a lotto are 1 in 14 million. So, if you bought 3 tickets a day, it'd take 14,000 years to buy 14 million."
I nod.
"I'll stay outa the physics, have a Masters myself. Odds are 1 in 21 million you simply vanish into time and space, could end up anywhere in history."
I grin, "we don't ah lose lotta people?"
"Heavens no Col, the entire history of electronic jumps, we've lost one. Far safer than a silk jump, where wind can drift you into injuries. Now the 1 in 21 million implies you'll be you, same age, same body, just somewhere else. Another risk, only 1 in 850 million, never happened before, you age vary. Could end up back being a baby, same you; or nursing home, same you."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Col, the odds of a pedestrian being run over are .... So you see, electronic jumps, safer than crossing a downtown street."
"Oh."
"Relax Col, every safety precaution is taken. The technician has 15 years experience. Your own RSM and I will watch every second. So, just do it twice. First one, really emotionally devastating, do it, then 2 weeks later."

The actual process is a joke. The tech flips a switch and you go from helicopter to field below. No physical exhaustion, but I spent 3 days in bed, hiding under the covers, a normal reaction to first jump. After all, how many of you gentle readers have broken yourself down into particles, lived to tell the tale?

Two days before my second jump, I have a very vivid dream. I simply know what will happen. The age variant, I'll end up a kid again. The dream says, don't bother delaying the jump, it is inevitable.
I spend time cleaning out office and BOQ apartment, to make it easier for whoever has to sort.
As I climb aboard, I realize I don't care. Truth is, I am a little outa my depth dealing with all these grownups.
As we lift off, I quietly say to Zohra, "just in case I don't make it back, thank you for all you've done for me. Been a good loyal RSM, good friend, helped me a lot."
She must guess I know something. Wiping a tear, "nothing compared to all you did for us. We're rich, pardoned, decorated."
This time I black out.

When I awake, it's to see a deathly worried looking woman, presumably Jamila's mother.
"Jamila honey, had a really bad fever. Seems you're ok now. Better get lots of rest."

Green Lake 11

My hand shakes as I read the email, Dear John letter from Ariel. While he likes me, had sort of hoped we might click, other issues take precedence. He feels like a traitor for abandoning Israel. Now, if he were living in reduced circumstances, the guilt might be less. But here he is, making ten times as much on the New York exchange. The level of guilt is driving him insane.
I cry for a couple days, then shrug. Any country which can inspire that level of motivation will last over time. Sad to say, neither Canadians nor Americans have even a fraction of the sense of duty.
A few days later, email from Rachel. Thanks me profusely for keeping my word. Had I not, things would have been far more difficult for him.

The young Lieutenant who'd questioned me at the mike, falls into step, "so Col, how are things today?"
"Just fine, and yourself?"
She takes out a man's photo, "you see Col, it wasn't just me talking, everyone felt that way. Like we'd hafta shoot our way in from Day One. Night and day, shooting in the pinetrees. But you opened our eyes, showed us it could be done without even firing a shot. Everyone was more relaxed, not surprisingly, lot of us met new guys. Going there on my next leave."
"I wish you well."
"But if you've been to Chernobyl 2, everything looks easy after."
I laugh, "go on, my Sgt did most of it, deserved the Silver Star."
"Maybe so, but this trip to Canada, was you, not her. You've paid your debt."

Tasmina smiles sheepishly, "you in a good mood or should I come back?"
"My ear is yours, any hour, night or day, proceed."
"Well uh it's goodbye. Got enough time for the 20 year pension. Buying Rachel's coffee house."
"She going to Israel?"
"Yeah, well it was a reasonable price, makes tons of money, HQ customers."
"Que sera sera, who is up next as RSM? Should I think of retiring?"
She laughs, "not just yet, give her a chance, it's Zohra."
"She just plain doesn't like me."
"Reading her wrong. Soon as we heard it was you, she was telling all her people of your achievements. Loosen up, give her a chance, just quieter than me."
"Ok, enjoy, send the odd email."
"Oh go on, you'll end up back in HQ. I tell the waitresses, you get a 2% discount."
This sets us both laughing.

I opt for an informal setting, see Zohra exit the PX, "got a minute to spare please?"
"Sure Col."
"I hear lotsa griping. Maneuvers too boring. So, take your time, when you're ready, I want 3 creative, off-the-wall ideas. I'll choose the best one."
She grins, "thank you so much for your confidence, Col."

Heidi and Gretchen vanish next, early pension plus partners in a famous bar.
This leaves just Zohra and me from the now-epic raid on Chernobyl 2.
"Right Zohra, like the middle one best. I announce it, not claim it's my idea, just imply. If it flops, stays that way, my idea. If it works, I tell the rumor mill it came from you."
"Very kind of you Col."
"Not so much kind, as just give you a chance to build credibility in that new job."
She laughs, "yeah, guess you already earned yours in the pinetrees."

"Testing, hands up all who hear clearly. Good, now a very thorough review of past training exercises has been done. During the last 15 years, 318th Para has done every group-bonding exercise known to mankind."
Proud looks.
"Maybe even went too far. See, we aren't infantry, who roll up in neat or sort of neat columns. We're paras, wind, fog, cloud, navigation error can scatter us. End up in pickup groups or even alone. So the overall purpose of this is to promote group formation under combat conditions. We got loads of river space in the back 40. The ostensible job will be guarding the river against invaders across the way. But not in your neat little groups. We string you out according to a lottery draw."
I see looks of outrage.
"Look at the bright side. Come back, you've got new coffee friends, heard of different jobs and hometowns. Just give it an honest chance."
The outrage turns to resignation.

By the end of Day 3, I can clearly see, except for the odd anti-social, it's a mega-hit. Lotta new friendships forming up well. So, I casually feed the news into the grapevine that it was really Zohra's idea.
It's a magnificent time, out and about in the fresh air. Every evening, attend a different group campfire. Sure beats office work.
After our return, it's maintenance of vehicles and equipment and lotsa PT.
Once maintenance is up to date, I start to see the problem. See with my office staff, only disciplinary problems were excessive coffee breaks and cutting too much corners on paperwork.
These people, endless drunken incidents. True, most are company punishment, not for me to sort out. Still, the number of reports is staggering, pardon the pun.
Zohra sums up best, "imagine you own a cart horse, deliver milk. That's equivalent to Finance and Admin. Now imagine owning a whole stable of racehorses, more temperamental, less real things to do any given day, that's paras."
"So what do I do? Pray for another peacekeeping mission?"
We both laugh.

Green Lake 9

Portia comes into my office, closes the door, "so, read the two-star book?"
"Yep."
"Care to be a little more specific?"
"If another girl-girl fling comes along, why not? Long-term relationship, not on your life. A guy or nobody."
She laughs easily, "how it works, if it were easy, everyone would do it, human race die out. Which leaves you in the same boat as everyone else, lot more girls than guys available. Should get a Black man, say age 45, dignified, religious."
"Any suggestions?"
"All gone, quick, but if any come available, I'll let you know."
"Portia, tonight's menu is boring, I'll buy at Rachel's."
"Sure."

We order, I pay at the counter, our orders will be brought to us. Once we're seated, she grins, "noticed on the way over, now you look at gay couples real resentful."
I blush, "they get alla breaks, none of the jealousy and complications. And look what we hafta put up with."
She starts to laugh.
This offends me, "what was that for?"
"A first, you actually used the pronoun 'we' for women."
I pause, "yeah, guess I did."
"My brother told me how AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) works. Take the body enough times, the mind follows. So, what you gonna do if you turn around and see Prince Charming?"
I laugh.
"Think fast, you got maybe 5 seconds."
It's Rachel, "hello Jamila, Portia, so glad you could come. Good loyal customers like you. Meet my brother Ariel, just returned from several years in the Middle East."
He takes my hand suavely, kisses it, "I'm so glad to meet you. Rachel told me so much about the mission."
I blush hotly, "I'm not quite the hero it seems. Had a very capable Sgt, deserved more than that Bronze Star."
"But I mean the heroism in just plain going, even if you didn't slay dragons. Without you, they'd all still be in prison. You made all the girls rich, free, decorated by taking that step."
I blush hotter.
Rachel smiles, "Ari, quit drooling. Some things are not to be. You know what Afghans think of us."
He protests, "but I haven't seen one iota of it in her eyes. Nor did you say such of her about the training or mission."
I like him, "took a look at my family tree. Lotta the ancestors been Afghan-American 15 generations now. Laid that stuff to rest. Ariel, I'd be delighted if you'd join us."
"Why thank you so much."
We have a pleasant chat, without getting over-serious.
As Portia and I leave, she says, "it was bugging me for a while, now I know where I've seen that face. News story, suicide bombing, lost his family. Don't rush anything."
"Thanks for the warning."

Alas it is not to be. Next morning I'm called to the CO's office, "take an hour to get packed, you're on your way to 318th Para."
My ears prick up, that's Tasmina's.
"Seems their CO is deathly ill, they're about one day away from climbing aboard. Peacekeeping mission, Canada, place called Saskatchewan. Seems the tribes are shooting at each other."
I phone the coffee house, tell Rachel of the news, ask her to pass it on, including my email address.
"I'll give it only on one condition. Promise to be gentle, take your time. He's recently a widower."
"I swear it, much time as he wants."
"All right, I'll give it."

I exit the train, spot Tasmina, my RSM (Regimental Sgt-Major), waiting by a jeep. I chuck in my two bags, cheerfully remark, "so lemme guess, Cree and Saulteaux playing up."
She gasps, then laughs, "I was gonna ask how you knew. But then, you saw it up close and personal a thousand years before my butt saw diapers."
We laugh.
"So," I ask, "Canadian Prime Minister is authorizing this little adventure?"
"Of course, you don't think we'd insult our little brothers. Jamila, you got maybe 30 minutes to think, better have one pi**cutter of a speech. Why? Girls are right freaky. Of course they've never deployed in the good ole USA before, it's peacable. But this is their first trip for real to Canada, other than joint training maneuvers there. They don't mind when idiots 10,000 miles away play bad. Bugs em when their own friends do."
"So, you got figures, such as high murder rate?"
She nods.
"Take those figures and forget em. Native concept of murder is totally different than white. Almost no real murders in there. Two main classes, two friends or spouses stinking drunk, quarrel, it gets violent. Crime of passion yes, premeditated murder no. Rest of it, executions."
She gasps, "you ah mean ah"
"You got it. Don't trust the white man's justice system, got their own. Half of all those deaths are killing the malefactor, what we won't do."
She grins, "well, looks like your speech is ready. Last time, you needed me big time. Now it's reversed, that's what friends are for."

Green Lake 10

I take the microphone, "testing, hands up all who hear me. Good, let's talk statistics. Now if I told you I had one watermelon and three apricots, therefore I have four fruits, you'd say I was nuts. While it is the literal truth, it doesn't give any accurate picture of anything. Government stats are notorious for that sort of gaffe, usually by accident, sometimes to wilfully mislead. And yes we here in the good ole USA are just as bad as the rest."
Laughter.
"OK, y'all have seen some shocking murder stats. Let's consider different sorts of murder. Two friends or brothers or spouses are stinko, violent argument, one reaches for something. It may be gruesome, but it ain't ethnic violence. In 99% of such cases, it is between two members of the same tribe. Sad, regrettable, but not a peacekeeping matter, it's for the local police to sort.
"For a variety of reasons, tribal elders will order the execution of a malefactor. Sad, regrettable, but not ethnic violence, a matter for the Canadian justice system to sort out.
"Ethnic violence is our forte, so far, we've seen little of that. But we will stomp on it and now. As of the point Tribe A and B aren't shooting at each other, we've done our job. So, while there is a problem, it's nowhere near as big as we may imagine. Any questions, please speak through the mike so all can hear."
A Lt rises, "Col, would you hazard an opinion how the Canadian government got into this mess?"
"No, it's not up to us to criticize our loyal friends and allies. That's the sort of thing the Canadian voter will have to ask."
She persists, "ah sorry Col, came out wrong. I meant, see if it happened in Yemen or Congo, it would be oh so believable. But Canada, it just seems surreal, your comments please."
"Lt, before we throw stones at another, let's take a look at ourselves. I recently read a story on the New York Times site. Now imagine a glittering office tower, 100 stories, a zillion dollars worth of stock traded daily. Now imagine 50 yards away in an alley, two homeless men in a knife fight over an inch of liquor left in a bottle. One dies. You see, faraway violence does not shock. What shocks is when it hits close to home, geographically or emotionally."
I see looks of comprehension all around.
Lt replies, "I see your point Col. Lotta us got relatives across the line, hits close to home.
Tasmina takes the mike, "listen up y'all, you can take confidence in the Col's leadership. Recently awarded the Silver Star. Checked the record, last one was awarded 17 years ago. So we're talking exceptional bravery, not just garden-variety decoration."
Loud cheer.
I thumb the mike, "roll em, a zillion pine trees are awaiting."
Laughter.

And so, we find ourselves rumbling around the back roads north and east of Prince Albert. The predictable happens, our presence cools the temperature.
The Tribal Elders handle the whole thing beautifully. On each side, one man is banished from tribal lands for life and several for periods of years.
We chow down on bannock and buffalo in a public feast put on by both sides.
Everyone returns home happy, some even with email addresses of lovers. One injury, a broken arm in a vehicle accident. How's that for peacekeeping?
Two days after our return, the Canadian Parliament unanimously votes a unit citation to 318th Para.
But for me, it's not home, the CO remains ill.
Still I exchange a number of emails with Ariel. I like him, funny, intelligent.
When it turns out the CO is medically pensioned off, all of 318th signs a petition, asking me to remain. Well the Command structure ignores such petitions at their peril, so this is my new job. It's great being with my good friend Tasmina.

Green Lake 8

Martina asks, "are you ah Jamila?"
"Yes."
"Sorry, TV changes appearance so much. With all that body armor, the Silver Star and blaster, you looked so much bigger."
"If you don't find me attractive, just say so."
"Honey I don't give a da** about appearance. I'm a celebrity groupy. Like to see how many I can bag. So what was Chernobyl 2 like?"
"Exhilirating, never felt more alive, sights so ugly they were beautiful."
"Still, despite the meds, wouldn't like your odds of a child being even halfway normal?"
"No plans for that."
"First time swinging this way?"
I nod.
"So what perversions you prefer?"
"None, was thinking of plain."
"Vanilla? Have you lost your mind? Nobody does vanilla anymore, hasn't for centuries. Tell you what, paddle my butt, I'm your eager willing slave for the weekend."
Well, when in Rome. I ain't going into detail, this ain't porn, just my story.
Monday morning, I give Portia a gift certificate at the bookstore to show my appreciation.
She just grins, "don't go back, she just bags a celeb once. Gotta find a real girlfriend."
I grin proudly, "yep, on my way."
"Dig out the list Sylvie gave you."
Reluctantly I do.
"Right, now the one I mark with 2 stars, you must read, life or death. Any I mark with one star, interesting but not essential. No star, means forget it, too theoretical."
"There's something you aren't telling me Portia."
"Sugar, I don't know you well enough. You might be into shooting the messenger when you don't like the message."
Curious, I call up the 2 library sites here. One is an ordinary base library, geared to recreation and family use; other HQ one, more like a university library.
There's only one book which the base library has, the two-star one. They have 25 copies. Now that is a clue that it is useful, readable, popular. HQ library has all the rest, but one or two copies only.
After supper I go to the base library. Nobody bats an eye when I check it out.
Next 3 evenings are one mega-shocker. What started as a weekend of fun has become a quagmire. Oh yes, I know all the usual stuff, how difference in education, race and religion can cause problems in a straight marriage.
But hobbies? Come on, what guy doesn't watch football when his wife goes to bowl? The lesbian couple must have compatible hobbies. Why? Level of jealousy is so intense, they just don't trust concepts like Ladies Night Out or him going stag to the ballgame.
Throw in the perception I'm already too old, damaged goods, nuts.
There's thrice the level of emotional intensity in a lesbian relationship as a straight one. Why? What man doesn't shrug, say "all women are so." What woman doesn't shrug, say "all men are like that." Lesbian relationships don't give that breathing room. A chapter full of examples shows the point.
Don't forget about those perversions. Martina was right, vanilla went the way of the dodo bird. Now there is a list of over 150 perversions. Not too surprisingly, each is holier-than-thou, viewing themselves as superior to the rest.
Don't forget about the complications of who has what addiction.
My head hurts, my eyes glaze over. It's enough to make you wanna dash out, join a Catholic order. You can't, they disappeared centuries ago.
Sunday afternoon, I go for a walk, drop the book in the return slot.

Green Lake 7

One of my new colleagues, Portia, a Black woman from Jamaica, takes it upon herself to sort out my social life or lack thereof. She sets me up for coffee with 3 different male friends. All 3 times, they just cannot dump me fast enough. After the third, she storms into my office, closes the door, something I never do, "time to talk, my little friend. First guy, give you benefit of the doubt, he might be a bit racial, be down on Afghans. Other 2, not on your life, not a racial bone in their bodies. I asked each how it went. In all 3 cases, they did everything but cross themselves. Problem ain't them, it's you sugar."
I ponder my escape, how much of the truth? I open the desk drawer, take out my Silver Star, lay it on the desk, "this says I spent 7 days and nights inside Chernobyl 2, wondering if the Spetznaz boyos had the jam to show up and blow us away, wondering if we'd get a ride back. Suppose that spooks your friends, just a bit?"
"Could be, you ran into more radiation in one minute than they will in a lifetime. Whoa, don't feed me BS. You've explained life since that raid, care to comment on before?"
I blush.
"You da** well tell me the truth before I freak any more friends, looked like they'd seen ghosts."
"You swear, not a word to another living soul?"
"On my honor."
"Story starts a thousand years ago. I was a little boy, ten years old, backwoods farm in Canada. Riding in my uncle's halfton, lotsa snow and him drunk. Went through the windshield at 140 kph."
"I see, so the NDE was a tad messy? One going out, not wanting to come back. Other coming in, perhaps not too willingly?"
I nod.
"Fair enough, won't set you up again. But who knows - passage of time - maybe you become what your body says you are."
"I wouldn't hold my breath."
"Yeah, I've read of such things. Tricky enough when both are same race, same gender, still personality difference to paper over. Same gender, different race, you've squared the problem. Change of race and gender, right out there in scientific notation, your odds. Chances are you die of old age before you sort it."
I blush hotly.
"I see, so let's throw in one more complication. You were already rather unimpressed with life, completely unwilling to go through with it."
I nod.
"So have a girl-girl fling, lot easier to wrap your head around."
I blush ferociously.
"I see, to all of this, add old-fashioned upbringing."
"Yeah."
"Well kid, world won't change for you; you change for it or it's a long lonely life. Lemme suggest a lesbian friend of mine, not for a fling just advice."
"Ah would you be so kind as to come along?"
She hugs me fiercely, "that's the spirit sugar, I'll be there."

Sylvie lights a Gauloise, puffs expansively, "you're joking? Absolute basics? Come on, every penny ante backwoods school has a sex-ed program."
"I was home-schooled."
"Gonna seem right wierd. Ain't had a conversation like that in 20 years. Still, you're Portia's friend, I'll do it. Start with boys, by age 13, he knows. Unmistakable, doesn't change, hard-wired in him. Only difference is where he happens to be. In a tolerant society, viewed as no different than being left-handed. He simply accepts it as a fact of life. Only problem, say he's Hutterite, Mennonite, Amish or such. Tries to suppress, goes through the whole gay angst thing. With me so far?"
I nod.
"Girls, whole lot more complicated. Not hard-wired, can go either way, or even switch back and forth."
"Why?"
"Researchers discovered, centuries ago, the nerve wiring in the man's brain that controls gaydom. Simply is no such circuit in women, leaves them open to choice, experience, influence. Ok, start with your father, your relationship with him?"
"Never there. Worked off in bush camps. Drank way too much. Number of times in jail for boot-legging."
"And with your mother, I mean except for the home-schooling?"
"Acted like she didn't notice I was alive."
"Be honest Jamila, you walk down the street, notice men? Women? Both?"
"Women."
"Well then, the only problem is your old-fashioned upbringing. I brought a list of a half-dozen books. You see, nothing wrong with it, according to 99% of the population. Just a few holdouts who give their kids all kindsa angst."
As Portia and I leave, I quietly ask, "so that's how it is nowadays?"
"Exactly."
"I don't need to read up. You ah know someone who ah well"
"I know exactly who."

Green Lake 6

And then we climb on board a Dragon Mark IV. No human pilot on this gig, too much radiation, send a droid. As we dismount, I look around. Surely this is the very edge of Hades. Dark, bare, craggy, almost Satanic. It draws me magnetically with its sheer stunning Dantesque majesty.
Rachel taps my shoulder, "do up that f***ing body armor proper. Ain't losing my bonus money over a moron like you."
I fasten the one snap which came loose, "sor-ry."
"No prob Cap. All watch each other, all get back alive."
Tasmina digs out map and GPS. After very careful looking, she twists a smile, "wrong place. Still, let's get these photos of Hell. I'm betting our friendly droid has been programmed to come back to point of drop, even if it's wrong. So, we still gotta ride back, maybe. And just maybe, our photos have market value. Sure looks post-Apocalypse to me."
Rachel starts humming, "cruising on a soggy boat, loaded down with crazy people."
I know the words, from the radio, start in singing.
I see looks of sheer catatonic shock all around.
Zohra breaks the awkward silence, "you ah where did you learn that? No one but no one knows."
"I ah well ah"
Rachel grins, "our little friend here is a good bit older than she led us to believe. We're talking pre-World Wide Nuclear War, right?"
"Yep."
Rachel lights a cigarette, grins, "well now, if she's stayed alive, maybe just maybe she's smarter than she looks."
"Thanks, I think."
"Well," Tasmina asserts, "nuff lollygag. We're here to take pictures of Hell. This surely is Hell. We got lotsa radiation-proof film, so let's get those asses in gear."
Tasmina falls into step with me, "so what year were you born?"
"1994."
"But not as a girl." Statement of fact, not a question.
"How'd you know?"
"Come on, no woman on God's Green Earth would sign up for a gig like this, just for money and promotion, that's a very man thing. For a pardon, oh yeah, but not for that. But I truly do not give a sweet go**am if you're a tranny from the Planet Xar, you're coming back alive. So, how'd it happen?"
"I was dead. Sliced into a million pieces. Went through a windshield at 140 kph."
"So I guess after that, anything looks good?"
"Not afraid of dying. Been there."
"My friend, when you retire, try your hand at writing sci fi."
We both laugh.

Seven days and tens of thousands of photos later, we take up station where we arrived. Sure enough, set your watch by it, the droid shows.
We're heroes, well sort of. See we didn't get exactly what they wanted, wrong location, but we came very close, everything but the proverbial kitchen sink. The researchers drooled over it all, were able to surmise the rest.
The girls all got pardons, me the promotion. We only got half the bonus money. But hey, how many 32 year old Colonels do you know with 5 million in the bank?
With the pardon came offers of reinstatement for all who chose. All except Rachel accepted.
She opened a trendy coffee house near HQ. I go there a fair bit, gourmet quality.
Tasmina and I stay in touch by email, we're sort of friends. To the rest, I guess I was just another first op type. All end up in the same para unit.
As for me, French have a saying, more things change, more they stay the same. I'm now in HQ, in Library Admin of all things. On way too many committees, but not because the CO dislikes me, just cuz I is new kid on da block.
So what did I get out of the derring-do mission, other than money? Respect, a decoration. No residue of hardcore haters of me. Committes are boring now, just garden variety boredom, not stress tension boredom.

Green Lake 5

By the end of 30 days, they decide I'll be ok, clear to move back to my own BOQ apartment. It's then I start to see how collossally lonely it all is. You see, my staff came round with ice cream and jokes. They simply forgave and forgot, decided the NDE had changed me.
Everywhere else, all these committees, ufff. I could be years walking through the minefield.
Realizing I have only one option left, I request transfer to operational duties.
Oh silly me, forgot to mention, it's now the year 3004, Time Corps section of the Air Force.

Meena makes no secret of her views, "f***ing insane, that's you. Go get yourself f***ing well killed. Only a man would be that f***ing stupid. What's wrong with committee meetings?"
"You wouldn't know; you don't hafta do any."
As I stare out the window a crazy thought hits. Never did give Nate the book report. What on earth will Ma say when she finds not one, but two, book reports?

General Strasser leans back in her chair. Amused look, "forgive me if I seem overly curious Captain. Aren't you a tad old for death-or-glory?"
"General, I'm not death-or-glory as you put it. View myself as a midrange adventurer."
She guffaws, "but in Finance and Admin?"
"Has its moments. Been in lotsa meetings where my presence prevented fisticuffs. Voice of financial reason and all that."
"Ok, Captain, let's be frank. Midrange stuff is all taken, by people with a lot more operational experience. One thing left only, we're talking mega-spectacular. Want to hear?"
"Sure."
"Think back to 2315, the World Wide Nuclear War. Photos. Medically not a thing to worry about. You get an injection which will last long enough, then fade. Makes you totally immune to radiation sickness. Rough crew, lifers in the stockade. Commuted if they get back. Come back with the photos we want, you're the youngest Colonel in the whole Air Force. Care to roll the dice?"
"Why not?"

Later that afternoon, I meet Tasmina, who'll be my Sgt. Serial killer, knocked off 23 MP's. She laughs, "gotta be f***ing insane Cap. You wanna go on a trip like that?"
"Always did like photos."
She guffaws, "well, you gonna get lotsa that."
"So, your advice on blasters please."
"Go with H&K. Hochler and Koch, German engineering, ultra-reliable. Small, handy around tight corners. 500 round mag."
I ask, "ever used the Uzi blaster?"
"Hell yes, just as good. Matter of principle, I hate Hebes, so go with H&K's."

Tasmina and I join Rachel, Gretchen, Heidi and Zohra. Happy little crew, all convicted multi-murderers. Tasmina lays down the law, "read the agreement girls. Pardon doesn't count if we don't bring shortstuff here back alive. So keep that in mind."
Rachel guffaws, "Cap be honest. First op mission?"
"Yes."
"Take my advice. Get in a tight spot, let Tasmina call the shots."
"I certainly can live with that."
"Good, then I can live with you, I'm in."
Gretchen smiles indulgently, "you really think I'd climb into a time machine with someone who ain't been laid in a donkey's age? How do I know but you won't attack me?"
"You got 50 pounds on me. Even if I swung that way, which I don't, I still wouldn't attack you."
"So, think this trip's gonna land you a cool new boyfriend?"
I reply, "sure. And a BMW. And enough booze to refloat the Titanic."
Zohra grins, "with us, pardon and 5 million, that's dollars, not rupees. How much they offer you?"
"Ten million, and the promotion."
Zohra smiles, "fair enough, we all got the same incentive. And since you're sensible enough to follow Tasmina's advice, I'm in."
Gretchen, "me too."
Heidi smiles, "wouldn't wanna be left out. Why they want the photos? Voyeurs?"
"Military implications, blast pattern, radiation pattern and such."
"F***ing morons, but rich f***ing morons."
For the next 3 months, we train relentlessly, up to the physical conditioning of paras. We fire H&K's from every conceivable position, 1000's of rounds. Practise photography.

Green Lake 4

I show for my first day (back) at work. I see the tension hanging in the air.
Deadpan, I start, "done heard there was a pool. You Corporal, how much was in it?"
"Two thousand rupees Capn."
"Is that all? A joke! An insult! Thought you people wanted rid of me."
"Begging your pardon Capn. Was the day before payday, everyone broke. Payday, we'd have bet real money."
Everyone roars with laughter, including me.
I enter the office marked Capt J Khan, start practising my signature.
The paper storm starts up.
Lunchtime I'm with Meena in the mess.
"So how'd it go?"
"Lot better than I expected."
"Yeah, hang in there. What you really need - go out this weekend - get laid - smoke lotsa dope."
I raise an eyebrow, "this from our goody-goody MP?"
"Stow the MP bit, your friend. When was the last time you got laid?"
"Never, I think."
"Close enough to never, gotta be at least 5 years. No wonder you're such a b****, people dislike you so much."
"And just who are you to talk?"
"Friend, clean the wax outa them ears and listen up. MPs are supposed to be hated, goes with the territory. Good, bad; religious, secular; male, female; matters not, the job is hated. You, they hate you the person, not you the office job."
"Oh."
I stop in the PX (Post Exchange) on the way back to buy a little bag of candy. Hmm, look at that, ice cream, yeah I got plenty of money.
Just before afternoon break, I rise, "listen up y'all, let's all go to the PX. Ice cream for everyone, I'm buying."
Everyone files out, laughing and joking.
A Cpl falls into step with me, "changes everything, don't it?"
"Yeah, it does."
She asks, "so what was it like?"
"Scary. You come back, you know you been on a rough trip."
As we saunter back, everyone joking, I realize things will be ok. I make a decision to do that every week.

As Meena and I sit in her BOQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters) apartment after supper, she starts, "you're looking remarkably cheerful. Way better than at lunchtime. So what happened?"
I explain about the ice cream.
She hugs me, "sometimes, the children's answer is best. Who'd have ever thought of ice cream?"

Next day, I'm not so cheerful. Whole morning tied up in a meeting of the Library Committee. Endless longwinded debate on which books to buy. Compared to this, even Mrs Sanderson seemed interesting.
Afternoon is Recycling Committee. Oy! Oy vay! And those office staff think a Captain's pay comes easy.
Suppertime I ask Meena, "why am I on so many committees? Counted 18."
She chokes back a laugh, "you really don't know? You're asking?"
"Yeah."
"You is da Grinch. Say No to anything taking any real money."
"And this state of affairs comes about because our illustrious CO views me as a less than wonderful person?"
She gives a wicked grin, "amazing how quick you catch on."

Green Lake 3

After I drink the water, nurse asks, "now, feel more like talking?"
"Nope."
"Well then, try listening for a change, new experience for you."
What a rude pig!
"Look, I could sit here and name just about every illness you care to discuss, predict what things will happen after. NDE, Near Death Experience, as in clinically dead, is the wild card. Anything can and does happen. You could rush forth, kiss every whale, hug every tree or you could become a closet serial killer. See we come face-to-face with a lot of stuff we really don't want to see. So, when you check out, your friend Meena has agreed to watch out for you. You room with her, until she and I are satisfied you're ok."
I don't like the cut of her jib. Nother of them bossy women, like teachers. I see only a single silver bar (Lieutenant?) and recall I'm a Captain or sort of.
"Is that an order?"
With that she hugs me, starts to cry a little. You've just proven you're a da** sight closer to being you again. Most obnoxious pain-in-the-ass on the whole base. Only reason Meena can put up with you, she's hated too, our infamous MP (Military Police) Captain. And yes, it's an order, if you choose to push the issue. Come morning, you haven't let me talk sensible with you, doctor in charge is a Major and will clue you in."
I know when to back down, "right, tell me more about this Meena. She a serial killer? A tree hugger? Both?"
Nurse bursts into laughter, "if you lightened up just one iota in that Finance and Admin area, people might actually like you. Nice sense of humor."
Meena arrives as I start breakfast, "well now, word is God refused you, so did the devil. Stuck here in the Land of the Undead, with us."
"Nurse tells me I'm quote the most obnoxious pain-in-the-ass on the whole base. Second only to you of course. Care to give me pointers?"
She laughs, hugs me, "I'll visit you regular. Nother day or two, they let you out. But you seem ok, back to yourself. What was it really like?"
"Strangest dream. I was a little boy in Canada. Backwoods poor farm. Doing lousy in school. Dream seems a lot more real than here."
She leans closer, "I hear you. Now keep that mouth shut. Very Freudian you see. Nurse hears you talking so, it'll be way too many sessions with the Counsellor. But you can talk with me."
"Thanks Meena, you're a pal."
"You should know Jamila, all those Finance and Admin people, had a pool, when do you die. Ain't gonna be happy to see you back."
"Good, matched set, I ain't happy either. Should I keelhaul someone?"
"Don't be absurd, that's Navy. We're Air Force."
"Oh."

I lie back down, feeling wiped. What awful luck! Why not someplace else? Why not just dead?
But then, I recall Uncle Terry talk of his Drill Instructor experience, "you start out a real total jerk. Loosen up bit by bit. Soon they like you, decide the Army is ok after all. But wouldn't like your odds if you started out normal."
I think back to school. A D- scholar can rise to D faster and easier than a straight A student to A+. Yeah, bring it on. After this toad Jamila, I might seem like a nice person.

Counsellor pulls up a chair, "right, no time to waste on BS. You were clinically dead 23 minutes. Doesn't sound like much, but it's all of eternity. Sort of like trying to ride a bull in a rodeo for 23 minutes. So, what happened during it?"
"Don't remember a thing."
"Ye-ah, odds are 9/10 you're a bare-faced liar; 1/10 it's so shocking you can't put it in words."
My blush gives it away.
"I see. Well get used to me. I keep an eye on you til you're ok again."
"From what I hear, I wasn't ok to start with."
Grin, "I stand corrected. Until you're back to being you. You were someone else during it."
I ponder a moment, realize I'm trapped. Far better a little boy than say Stalin.
"Yeah, Canada, winter time, 10 year old boy, poor backwoods farm, doing lousy in school."
She looks in my eyes a long moment, "you're telling the truth."
I nod.
"About as harmless as it gets. Just means you're tired of being you. Now if that boy were a few years older, whole different ball-of-wax, lotta unresolved problems."
I nod.
"Look at the bring side, chance to start over. Be just a little more friendly and people will be quick to accept you."
I nod.
"You're confined to your friend's custody for 30 days."
"Why?"
"Easy to sound sensible by the cold light of day. When it's 3:00 am and the strange mood strikes, anything could happen."
"As in?"
"Yeah, delayed reaction. See people face a whole lifetime wortha nonsense in a short time. Almost all don't like what they see. Often just decide to end it. Thirty days minimum, then we see."
I nod, relieved. Coulda been worse, a whole lot worse.

Green Lake 2

I have a pounding headache, open my eyes, see one of them foreign nurses. Maybe Arabic, makes sense, all the Canadian ones went Stateside for more money. She speaks in a strange language, yet I somehow understand.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Two."
"Now?"
"Three."
"Good, now what is your name?"
"I'm Jimmy Kane."
She laughs, "wrong but close. Pretty good for someone who has been clinically dead for 23 minutes. It's Jamila Khan, Captain Jamila Khan. Now sleep."
As I drift off, I ponder, Captain of what? Since when was I promoted from nuisance little kid to captain of anything?

I awake in desperation - gotta find the can now. As I switch on the light, see the mirror I freak. Yeah, gotta wait, deal with it later. I'm mystified how to proceed, then it hits me, gotta sit, relax whatever muscles before I burst. It works.
The crisis over, I examine the mirror. She'd be say 30, 32, not fat, solid. A competent tough sort of look. Hair as short as a woman can, practical anyhow. Not white, sort of Arabic. I don't like her, but can think of lots worse back in Green Lake.
So what happened? My guess, Jimmy is no more. After going through the windshield, no blood left in the body. And this Jamila, would be departed of fever or such.
I feel a wild insane desire to slice myself open. Nothing in the bathroom to use, the urge fades. Now, the tiredness hits me, just saunter back to bed. Any luck, die in my sleep, not hafta face all this nonsense tomorrow.
The nurse shows, "how do you feel Jamila?"
In a voice I know belongs to this strange person and not me, "lousy."
"Care to be a little more specific?"
"Head hurts, throat feels like the Gobi desert, stomach upset, gonna have the runs soon."
"I'll get you some water."

Green Lake 1

I sense trouble, Mrs Sanderson has that smug look, "ok class, the book reports, due on the 31st." Mentally I make a note to talk with cousin Danny, 2 years older. Why not? Everyone else does. "This time, a little different, you don't choose the book. I do. No swapping, you WILL do the book I give you."
I groan inwardly, sense 30 others do the same.
There is no time for other than a glance, cover seems harmless enough, vaguely Arabic drawing. As the bell rings, I slide it into my bag. Gotta move fast, quick bathroom break, then school bus.
Nate sits next to me, "what a swine she is. But then Da says all women are swine."
"Whaddya mean?"
"Jimmy, open that bag, look at the book." Turns out I drew "The Breadwinner"; Nate "Parvana's Journey." Both by the same author. Both - yuck - double yuck - girl books.
In the bench behind I heard Tammy and Cindy also moaning. Tammy got a war story, Cindy one on football.
Bubbling with outrage, Nate growls, "Da says crap like this will make you cross-eyed. Give you pimples. Hairy palms. Yuck."
I stare out the window, don't reply.
He takes his gloves out of his parka pocket. "Now them of yours, shot, try these on."
I do, feel nice and warm, I'll never see stuff like this.
"Tell you what," wicked grin, "you do my book report, I'll copy in my own handwriting. C minus or better, gloves are yours. B, your bonus is a whole Saturday playing with my computer. A, two whole Saturdays."
I know it's wrong, still I don't hesitate, "deal."
"Shake on it pardner."
We do.
Behind us, I hear Tammy start to bribe Cindy with a scarf.

I may be lazy when it comes to school work, but hey I need those gloves. Besides, gotta tonna free time, TV on the fritz. I zip through Nate's book that evening. "Parvana's Journey" is a story of a refugee Afghan girl in wartime. I ain't gonna admit it to Nate, but I cried once, at the end where her 8 year old friend dies.
Still, don't make it look easy, wait 3 days, give him the book report.
Next evening, I do my book. "The Breadwinner" is a story of same Parvana disguising herself as a boy, writing letters in the market to support her family.
Despite myself, despite feeling all girls are total swine, I still admire Parvana's courage in both books.

Sunday morning Uncle Billy Bob comes around. This time Ma ain't going to church, bit of flu, but he'll drive me to Sunday School.
As we hop in his half-ton, the snow is starting to get heavy. "Jimmy, I never get a chance to talk man-to-man, yer Ma's always around. What you gonna be when you grow up?"
"Could take over the farm from Pa."
"Ain't gonna happen. He's 5 years behind in his land tax, same as mosta them. One of these years, rural municipality just up and take it all away. If it don't, all that machinery on its last legs. What happens when the combine-harvester or grain-truck gives out?"
"All is kaput, Uncle Billy Bob."
"Besides, pieca land like that, ain't enough to support one man, let alone two. Finish school, he's gonna boot you."
"I could always try the Army, Uncle Terry did ok. Tour of duty in Germany, BMW."
"Ancient history, nowadays all technician jobs. Need good high school math and science to even apply."
"Could try oil rigs, you did ok."
"You just forget that, little man. I defied the odds. For every one of me, there's four career-ending injuries. And don't be like Fred in the gas station, ten hours of work to collect eight hours of minimum wage. All these little scumbag employers here in Green Lake do that. Don't think them eight dollar an hour jobs in Edmonton'll get you rich. First, govamint steals tonna money in deductions. Then, landlord gouges you. Ain't nothing left. So, what you deciding to do?"
"Uncle Billy Bob, guess you's telling me to study a little harder."
"Jimmy, I ain't saying go blind, get straight A's, get beat up as a suck. But C+, B-, sound reasonable?"
"Yes Uncle Billy Bob."
"Good, don't wanna preach and get you mad. Now go listen to what that old fart says today."
We both laugh.
I don't remember one word old Mr Thompson said. My mind is spinning. Tricky to grow up. Besides all that stuff, gotta marry a white woman, get nagged to death; shack up with an Injun squaw; or get beat up alla time cuz they think you're one of them homosexyoualls."
Seeing the snow worsen outside, I have visions of It happening. Yeah bring It on. Then I feel shame. Supposedly Uncle Billy Bob likes his life, don't want him killed too.
Snow is a lot worse, there's vodka on his breath when he picks me up. On the way down Connors Hill, I sense his brakes have failed.
We're up to 140 kilometers an hour on wet snow by the time we hit that hairpin turn at the bottom. No contest, we're headed for the power pole.
I find the idea exciting. Yep, this is It.