When the sun gets low and the daily activities wind down, we meander back to camp to make dinner plans and sink into our camp chairs. At this point, we’re covered in sunscreen, dust, and sweat. Our conversations join us in the dirt.

As we sit there, we parry with our singular accounts of deconstruction. Some of us were raised in the South, some the West Coast. Some grapple with the ideals we were raised with. All meet in the middle to expand our perspectives. We discuss current events. We consider the consequences to come. We mourn the illusions we once held. We sit amongst our elders, whom we revere, but do not relate to. We deal with generational differences in real time. We reflect on the irony of it all. We fleetingly feel exhausted bearing the weight of the world’s truths.

We share these moments and dig in, rather than lean away. They keep us rooted together, year after year.

—-

“Airplane cool! War bad.”

Jordan says as he points at one of our favorite airshow demonstrators, “BEO”. She rips through the sky in her F-35, defying the laws of physics with burning exhaust trails in her wake.

She’s good shit, as we say in the service. I’ve watched her perform plenty of times, and the poor jet is practically limping back to its static display by the time she’s done with it. She secures the engine, hops out, and takes off her helmet. Her crewman gives her a wide grin and a salute before they step off together.

— — —

“Ma’am, do you want to drive the boat?”

“Sure.”

I say, as I’m snapped out of my thoughts and into the present.

The Coxswain moves over and removes the breakaway lanyard from his body armor. It’s got built in buoyancy and is meant to stop some serious rounds. These new plates aren’t as heavy, but they’re still bulky. Not ideal for maneuvering around in the narrow cabin of a small boat. I set the M4 into a secured position and shimmy into the driver’s side while he gets himself unstuck from the armrests. I check the group chat one more time before backing the boat off of the reeds and into the river.

I can’t help but think of my friends, now on site, setting up their tents without me.