Old true stories

A couple of months ago an old Israeli army buddy of mine dropped by unexpectedly from halfway across the world. We drank together, laughed, ate and drank some more, and reminisced about those strange strange days when we were both in uniform playing along with a game neither of us thought very much of. In honor of that week I’m posting two memories, translated with accuracy and love from little crumpled notes in Hebrew. Ever since we first met on an Air Force base years ago he's kept popping in and out of my life in a manner that I can only describe as dependably surprising.

The first memory is of him showing up unexpectedly at my home back in Israel at three thirty in the morning. He'd wanted me to join him for a drive to a nearby city, he was extremely tired and the drive would have been life-threatening without me but never took place anyhow since he passed out on the rigid couch in our living room, slept for half an hour, awoke to have some coffee with me and then went back to sleep. During his second nap I sat on a chair by him as if tending to a sick man and strummed my guitar until I thought he'd fallen asleep. He spoke without opening his eyes and asked me to continue playing so I did, I played to him for ten minutes and he slept. He got up and left with the sun. I think I hadn't seen him for five months before that night, and another year would pass before I saw him again.

The second memory is a short phone conversation scribbled down in January of 2003:
"You've disappeared from my life!" I cried to him jokingly.
He answered "I haven't disappeared from your life; I've just disappeared. I'm in the witness relocation program."
"Where are you?"
"I'm at school."
Ever since the tensions in Iraq had started rising my army buddy, who was an officer and had gone on to serve years after I'd been discharged, was forced to spend the majority of his time on his base, which he called 'school'. It sounded less harrowing that way, I suppose.
"Well, I wanted to tell you the news." I said.
"You've got a girlfriend."
"No. But I appreciate that. No, I'm leaving for LA."
"Cool. I'm leaving school next week, but I'm sticking around the country 'till June."
"Why stick around till June?"
"I don't want to miss the war."
"What?! Why wouldn't you want to miss the war?"
"I don't want there to be a war. But if one happens I don't want to miss it."
"Missing a war is a good thing!"
"Listen, in two weeks I'll be able to explain why I don't want to miss this war."
"Oh, come on, please, explain it now, I want to understand how your brain works."
He started another sentence and our conversation was disconnected. I tried calling him back, but he had no reception.

I never did ask him why he didn't want to miss the war. I'd tried to remember to ask him when he showed up at my Brooklyn apartment, but we never got around to it. Asking him in an email just doesn’t seem right. I’m sure I’ll see him again in a year or two.