Armed with my Starbucks latte in one hand and my camera/video camera in the other, I fluttered to one painting, then to another sketch, then noticed a name of a friend, click, click, click. They would appreciate that I came down here and took photos of their work. While I took photos, I took time to admire the pieces for the last time, in this particularly good grouping of art.
This year's crop of artists and their wares was something to behold. As I sauntered up and down the corridor, suddenly a dark figure starts towards me yelling "HEY!" I hear fast footsteps coming towards me on the freshly waxed bright white tile floor.
I casually finish taking my photo of Mary's photos of a serene landscape in Sonoma County and turn towards the figure. As the person gets towards me I turn off my camera, tuck it back into my purse and sip on my coffee. "Can I help you?" I casually say in his direction.
The figure, as it gets closer to me, turns into a security guard. A very young security guard. A boy?
"Hey! You cannot take photos in here! It's a hospital policy!" He finally reaches me where I'm standing and it is a very young man, hazel eyes, light brown hair with a spray of freckles over the bridge of his nose. As he speaks about policy and photos in the hospital, I notice that his hair is very, very short.
Not really hearing what he is explaining to me, I notice his build and his less developed legs. A runner's body, a soldier's body. "Are you in the military?" I ask, interrupting him in the midst of his policy run-down.
He stops talking, blinks a few times and says "Yes, yes I am."
"Oh, and I know of the policy. It's no taking photos of PATIENTS in the hospital without their written consent. I don't see any patients, just my co worker's art on the walls." My arm sweeps over towards the wall with the beautiful charcoal sketches, photos and paintings.
"Patients? Um, yeah, I guess you're right. So, what are you taking photos of?"
"The art. Some of it's mine and most of it was done by my co workers. They do this once a year. What do you think?"
His eyes move thoughtfully from one photo to a print in a colorful frame. "Um, I'm not really into art, but it's nice." He focuses back on me. "Who are you anyways?"
Pulling my badge with my name and my photo printed in color from my collar, I show him. "I work here, off site, and here on campus. Don't worry, I'm not from the newspaper or something."
A soft smile dances across his face. "Okay, okay, sorry about that. How did you know I was military?"
"I can tell. My husband is military and a lot of his friends are. Some are about your age." The boy softened his stance a bit and his face lightened up. Immediately, we were of the same larger military family, laughing and exchanging information about what units our families were with, who we knew, how long each of us had been associated with the Army.
He spoke of his plans to finish medical school, buy his first house in a few years possibly and save up for a new car. As he talked of his future and his plans, I thought of his age and my age. He could be my son quite easily - and I have a 9 year old son who he reminded me of a lot.
"Yeah, but you know, I'm looking forward to going to Iraq again - it will be my third trip out to the Sandbox." He said this as if he was talking about going to the grocery store for bread and milk - as if it was a normal thing for him. My heart sunk a little bit knowing that this young kid was heading out there - again!
"Again? Wow. How do you feel about going again?" I asked with a hint of concern in my voice.
"Oh, it's cool. I'm a medic and it's not that bad, really. This is probably the last time we'll have the opportunity to go out there." He shuffled his feet a bit and looked down at the ground.
In a split second I wondered what he had seen. What he had done over there and if he was alright. I tried to think of what to ask him without getting into his life too much in the hospital hallway, but didn't know if it was any of my business to begin with. He must have sensed my concern.
"Don't worry, it's cool, really. We didn't lose anyone in our unit and it was really cool." Offering a smile to console me a bit, his hazel eyes sparkled and I could see the older, more mature man within. He was a good soldier, a strong boy, and I knew his brothers in the unit depended on him.
"Keep in touch with us here at the hospital or something, okay? We'd like to see you back again you know."
"No problem, Ma'am. I'll be back."
And I pray he will keep his word. Thanks to boys like this, America is what it is today. Proud of them and their service. To me, they are all my 'boys'.
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