[APPLAUSE]
Thanks, Manuel, for that lovely introduction.
And I think I'm only taller than Manuel.
The other stuff I think is a little far-fetched.
And of course I am indebted to Alison and Buzz and Aurelie.
Is it too low?
I'm slightly taller than.
Establish this side.
Is that better?
OK.
So as Manuel said, I'm super indebted to the U of A,
the U of A community, and especially Alison
and Aurelie and Buzz, who [AUDIO OUT] thesis advisor
[AUDIO OUT] kind of helped [AUDIO OUT] through the MFA
[AUDIO OUT] wouldn't be twitching hard.
So thank you, Buzz, and it's an honor
to be reading with you tonight.
So without further ado, the story is called "Airman."
Dear Linda, I thought about you on the flight.
The plane shook like crazy, making Pandullo puke himself.
I remembered you telling me how your baby brother always got
sick and smelled up the car on summer trips to California.
I imagined you rolling down the window
and sticking your head out for air.
I pressed my head against the airplane window
and watched the ocean.
That was as close as I'd ever been to it.
Maybe one day, you can take me to the beach
if we ever see each other again.
We landed in the middle of the night.
The whole camp is razor wire and watchtowers.
We got briefed.
No going off base.
No booze.
No phone calls home for at least a month.
You should send me your phone number.
They set us up in tent city, a group of flaps lined in rows.
We each got a cot, a pillow, and a blanket, then an A bag,
a C bag, and a flak vest.
I watched the older guys and did what they did.
Unpacked my duffel and marked the back of my Kevlar helmet
with masking tape.
No one expects to need the cam gear.
They say the enemy has nerve gas and blood
agent, and who knows what else?
I checked my mask over just in case.
I slipped pictures into the Velcro seals above my cot.
There's one with my mom and pop standing
next to each other and my cousin Lana's quinceañera.
Those two don't smile for shit.
There's another with Beto and Manny, my older brothers,
all drunk before the night I left boot camp.
Those two have the opposite problem.
I hung one with me and Ana.
I put it up because everyone had more pictures than I did,
and I didn't want them knowing I have no one waiting for me back
home.
If I had your picture, I'd put it up and take hers down
like nothing.
Pandullo felt better after landing.
He's 19 like me, except he's already
hooked up with a wife and kid.
Pretty nuts, right?
He's my three man.
We talked about Country, our ate up loading crew chief.
On the plane, Country had told Pandullo to keep an eye on me,
make sure I didn't crack up.
He doesn't like Mexicans.
Do you get that from people in college?
Country didn't want me on his crew when I first got to base.
But I showed that motherfucker what
was up in the load barn, loading GBU tens, 12s, 27s, and 87s
real quick.
I've won Load Animal three times already.
Being a two man is about hustle.
I walk bombs from the trailer, line them up to the rack
and sway them down.
I do this faster than anyone.
I check out seeker-heads, fuse, and wire, and cart.
I've always been good at turning wrenches, always.
I bought The Motorcycle Diaries by Ernesto "Che" Guevara,
the same one you were reading, the one with the coffee
ring on the back cover.
I hope you don't mind me writing this,
but you were looking good at that bookstore.
If I had known girls as fine as you were inside,
I'd have gone in sooner.
I only went because I promised my Ma
I'd buy a Bible before I left.
Maybe us meeting is fate, you only in town to see your cousin
and me deploying with him.
I didn't even get the Bible.
Can you believe that?
I'll keep an eye out for your primo, Joel Guzmán, right?
I'm getting tired.
The cot is rough.
Scratchy green cloth on wobbly aluminum legs.
I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to write again.
No one knows what our schedule will be,
or when or if the war will start.
Country said nothing is going to happen,
all this just a waste of damn time.
I hope he's right.
Sincerely, Tomás.
Dear Linda, I'm not sure how long the mail is taking
and I hope I got your address right.
My folks already sent me a letter.
I've read it twice.
I know I'll probably read it again after writing this.
They're not doing too good.
My Tata had a stroke.
I'm not sure what that is, exactly.
But they found him passed out on the porch, a rosario balled
in his hands.
He's in a coma.
Pops wrote that he started acting funny, roaming
around the house and talking about ghosts.
Said their faces were gray and peeling, like burnt paper.
Ma told me to pray to San Judas and sleep with a Bible
under my pillow, like somehow that will help.
Still, I feel not bad for getting one.
You had my head wrapped up that day.
Have you started back at school?
Maybe one day you could write a story about me, your friend,
Tomás in the Air Force.
You would get an A for that one, for sure.
I haven't found your cousin.
He's not a flight line guy.
I checked.
No one seems to know Joel Guzmán.
Where does he work?
Does he have a nickname?
Country's real name is Barry and we sometimes
call Pandullo Pandy-ass.
He doesn't like it.
I'll keep a lookout for your primo.
So far, all we've done is unpack our tool boxes
and wipe down jets.
We toured the bomb dump.
I've never seen so many munitions.
The bombs were stacked, one on top of the other,
and could take up a football field.
I can't imagine having to load all of these.
I watch the news every day, I bet
you know all about this political shit.
I've never really paid attention to all that.
To keep talking about weapons, and war,
and show groups of pissed off Hajjis.
People are getting spooked.
The Hajjis that work on base don't look us in the eye,
and Country says it's because they know what's coming.
Some of them work in the chow tent,
and I've had to guard them, make sure they don't poison the food
or put a bomb somewhere.
I remember you called TV a propaganda machine
and I'd wondered what you'd meant.
You have perfect teeth.
You're not like the girls I know,
only caring about landing a man and being worry free.
After high school, all Ana wanted
was to get married, move to an apartment
and put up curtains while I work construction with pops.
Ana was like that because I took her cherry,
but also because she really wanted to be someone's wife,
and of course, a mother.
I could tell she didn't love me all like she said,
and her eyes got big and stupid when I told her
I was leaving for the Air Force with no plans of taking her
along.
I didn't want to stay in El Paso forever.
And I don't want a woman who wants a family more
than she wants me.
Have you ever been with a vato like me?
What would your college buddies think if they saw us together?
They'd probably wonder why you were killing time
with a cholo or a grease monkey.
Tata once told me, if you want to be a man,
you got to get things done on your own.
That's what Che did.
That's what I'm doing, Tomás.