"Riiiiiiiiiiiinnng"

"Honolulu, Hawaii", according to the caller i.d.
Wtf?
"Hello".
No immediate response.
"Hello?"
"Helllllooooooo, Momma M.I.L.F.!!! This is your Louis!!!"
I "adopt" deployed military members. LOTS of them. (Click tha link damnet!). I send em "goodie boxes", lettas of encouragement, nekked pictures (not really...well, there was that ONE time.), "yahoo" with 'em between missions, and generally anything I can do to help with morale.
I send stuff...well, because I CAN. (Thank you, asshole, scum- sucking, self-centered, adulterous, piece-of-shit, X-husband, for that more than ample, court-appointed alimony check!)
I send because I'm a dyed-in-the-wool, red, white and blue AMERICAN. I fly my flag (illuminated at night, tyvm), cry EACH and EVERY time I hear the Star Spangled Banner, and regardless of my political stance, believe in whole-hearted support of our military. And I send because, if my humble offering keeps a young man from walking away from "mail call" empty-handed, I've done my part.
I tend to stick with Army infantrymen, and Marine "grunts". I'm biased in my selection of "adoptees" for a number of reasons, but mostly 'cause they're not "Fobbits"(those that live in "relative" safety, and never leave their F.O.B.).
Sometimes , they send ME things. I've gotten sand, unit patches, and enough Saddam money to open a bank. I'm here to tell ya, that last part musta been hard. In the beginning of the conflict, that money made for prime ass-wipe in the field.
Louis is one of "my babies"; 23, handsome, and a Navy Corpsman that finds himself once again attached to a Marine unit, and once again, IN FALLUJAH!
This young man RUNS into battles, rounds zinging' over and around him, shit exploding, people screaming, armed with nothing but a 9 MM, to 'dok-tor" fallen Marines. (I got that from an "inside source", NOT from Louis.) He is, in my opinion, an un-sung hero.
I could hear the deep, distinct, "whump- whump" resonance of the duel-rotored Chinooks. and the "pith-pith" of the smaller "Little Birds", in the background, but I also heard something else...in Louis's voice....weariness. Not to be confused with fatigue, mind you. Fuck, they're tired all the time! As a mom, and an "adopted" one to him, I ponder just how much their young minds, and collective consciousness can stand.
Those are Louis's lapel pins, sent to me after THE battle in Fallujah of' '04. They are dented and warped. They've been bled on, cried on, and "seen" things that I can only imagine.
After 3 deployments, this "momma" thinks he's had enough.
One more "freedom bird ride" home, Louis. Keep your head down baby. "Momma" luvs you.