I’ve never told anyone that reads this blog where I live (unless you are on my FB page or we’ve chatted for a while and it came up) but you’re about to find out where we’ll be living.
Sam found out where we’ll be stationed in July. I was ready – he had picked Ft. Bragg in North Carolina, Ft. Stewart in Georgia, and Ft. Carson in Colorado. All of them seemed wonderful. I was rooting for the South. In fact, I was happy for anywhere but Texas. Which was a running joke between us. “Just not Texas.”
I don’t do Texas. No offense Texas people, but it’s just not my deal.
So when he called, I wanted to ask him if we got one he’d picked, but then I couldn’t wait.
Me in breathless anticipation: “Ok, wait, don’t say anything yet. Just, tell me, wait, is it, oh nevermind! Just tell me!”
Sam: “Um. Ft. Bliss.”
I felt a rush of sadness it wasn’t one he picked, but then a sense of adventure. Bliss eh? Must be somewhere amazing. AMAZING. Like Virginia. Or Maine. (Have no idea if there is a base in either of those.) It must be a base where it’s so gorgeous and divine they had to name it Bliss because The Garden of Eden was already taken.
Me: “Ooooh, sounds nice. Where is that?”
Dead silence. I wait patiently for him to crack up laughing. Smart ass.
Sam: “Are you there?”
Me: “Yep. So where is Bliss?”
Sam: “I just told you…” his voice fades out.
I stand in my bedroom in shock as it begins to sink in.
Me: “Wait. What?”
Sam: “We got stationed in Texas. El Paso.”
Something inside me dies a little.
Me: “Um. No. I can’t live in Texas. Ever. I hate Texas. Wait – did you say EL PASO? As in El Paso like on the freakin border of Mexico El Paso? The craphole of the earth? With snakes and cockroaches?”
Sam: “How’s it look?”
Me in a small voice: “Omg. The website pictures look like some sort of a rattlesnake awareness poster.”
He chuckles. I muster up a tad of “Army Wife Cheerfulness” and tell him the housing looks nice on base. And we aren’t very far from our families. I end on a positive note knowing that he isn’t thrilled about it either, but that at least we get to be together.
In Wikipedia, it says that “74% of El Paso’s populations speaks Spanish.”
You.guys. I lived in Southern California for 3 years. Up until right before we left, I called La Jolla (Hoya) La Jolla – with the J and ll’s right there in it.
So if you are near El Paso or the so smartly named Ft. Bliss, shoot me an email. Because I’m going to need friends down there. Preferably friends who can teach me Spanish. And how to shoot rattlesnakes. Or something.