War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

Locstat

every few hours I txted. Locstat pls. knowing you were driving right through from the coast with your army buddy.

and I said to you over the phone when you called ahead, “listen, drive safe. you didn’t go to war to come home and be killed in a freaking car”

you replied, “for sure. I’ll be safe. I’ve seen too much already.”

you crossed the green Fraser Valley into the foggy Coastal mountains, dry Shushwap, the Interior, the climb. into the granite. Castle Mountain. the high Rockies. driving driving. the heroic cuts. blasted faults. the long road.

the foothills onto the plain. of this unbelievable continent. the deep breath of the prairie.

16 hours. after an all-nighter with the boys somewhere down on the green, green coast.

Locstat Pls I punch into my iPhone

Hope – txt #1 (the first pit stop on the long, long road)

Locstat Pls

Kamloops – (coffee. burger. pit stop #2)

then nothing for hours. I started to fret.

Jasper – #3

then at midnight. a voice message on my cell. “made a wrong turn. getting in around 0100 hrs. we’re getting a hotel”

and that was good enough for me. just to know you were safe.

and you had to come back. need to be with the brothers when you say goodbye. a long drive is the least you can do. for the ones who never made it back home alive. in particular, the boy with the smile on his face. the good natured kid who even when he got jacked up had a smile and a joke. the one you asked for when you needed another guy for a patrol because he was always checked out. always good to go. the kid you think of every single day. your last words to him come back to you over and over again. as he headed out on patrol. “have a good time”.


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled Locstat. It was posted here on June 20, 2010.

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