Day 1- New home, Old world

I stared out the window of the plane. I missed home already, weird huh? There weren't as much people on the plane as I had imagined. They all were doing the same as I was. Looking out the window, avoiding each other. Mom's journals were a huge help. I just luved to write, not to mention the several journals I had when I was younger. I just wished there was someone to talk to, but I was sure that no one would talk to me, especially since I could be considered to be a terrorist trying to blow up Fort Drum.

A lady tripped on the carpeted walk-way, and her coffee came sloshing onto me. She looked at me with shear horror.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry!" she said, repeatedly.

"Its' fine, really." I accepted the tissue she offered me, and dabbed at the coffee stain. She sat down next to me, and sipped at whatever was left of her coffee. She looked over my shoulder at my journal.

"What's that?" she asked.

"My diary. Ya know, so like, I don't go insane." She smiled at that.

"You're young," she finally said. I looked at her. "How old are you?"

"18," She looked at me as if I had just said 250. "What?"

"You're wasting your life, kid. 18 and you wanna join the army; you've got to be kidding me!" Some of the guys sitting on the other rows looked at us. "You're life is in front of you, achieve it!"

"But I want to be here," I protested. "I'm here for my own reasons," she looked at me, one of her eyebrows arched. But I shook my head. "And how old might you be?" She laughed.

"23, kid."

"Not too old to me," I mumbled.

"When you're my age, you'd wish to be 18 again."

We talked for a whole hour straight. She told me her name was Lisa and she was from a little town in Mississippi. I told her my name was Mariah, and I was from New York City, or "the center of the world" as Lisa had said.

The plane landed and we all filed out. My stomach twisted as I walked down. The commander was standing stiffly at the bottom of the steps, looking at us with cold eyes. He looked at the diary in my hands (I didn't have time to put it away), and stared at me as if saying, "Girl, you in the wrong place if you've got a diary".

We followed him out of the airport, and headed to Fort Drum. We had to take a taxi, and the commander motioned for me to get into the taxi with him. I hesitated, but Lisa whispered, "Be brave, kid." It was all I needed to get the strength to walk up to him.

We got in, and the taxi began to move. My stomach lurched, and I felt queasy. I had a bad experience with cars when I was little.

"What's your name?" the commander asked, in a rough but even tone.

"Mariah." I said.

"Why are you here?" he was definitely wondering why a person like me (a Muslim girl) was doing in the army. I had to think. I really did. I didn't want to say why. This guy was becoming to be very annoying.

"I wanted to do this for my home country." I finally said.

"The U.S.?"

"Yeah." He looked at my diary again.

"Why do you have that?" he asked. I was in no mood to talk. I just wanted to get out. And fast.

"My mom gave it to me. Happy now?" the last part slipped out. I felt my face flush. He looked at me, and then smiled.

"Yes, I am." He laid back in his seat, and watched me. What did he think I was going to do? Turn into a monkey? Take out a gun and shoot him and the driver? So all I did for the half hour was look out the window, and try not to look at the commander.