Georgetown Preparatory School - Bethesda, Maryland – August 1975
This is the first time you've been on U.S. soil with no imminent plans to leave since you were four and living in San Diego. You're a true-blue military brat, have spent almost every birthday in a different country. Your sixth and seventh birthdays were in Germany, eighth and ninth in Egypt. You left Egypt for Honolulu on your tenth birthday, so that one was spent in tens of thousands of feet over China. Japan saw the most birthdays: twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen. Almost as many as San Diego. Now it's the 23rd of August in the year 1975, you're sixteen years old, and you're in Bethesda, Maryland.
You're unpacking your two suitcases, organizing your records, and trying to figure out your new roommate. You think about lying when he asks you where you're from. You could tell him Lexington, Kentucky, which is where your parents live now. You're not sure you want people knowing that you've spent more time abroad than you have in the US, or that you know seven languages, or that you don't have a single friend who doesn't live over a thousand miles away. You're afraid of giving them reason to alienate you more than you're going to alienate yourself.
But you don't lie; it would take far too much effort to maintain a façade around the person with whom you're sharing a 150 square foot room. You tell him the truth. You rattle off names of countries and watch as his eyes widen. He asks if you're pulling his leg. You tell him no and ask where he's from. He tells you Alexandria (Virginia, not Egypt, though it takes a moment for you to realize that). The two of you end up having an actual conversation: he's been here since he was a freshman, is on the lacrosse team (like you), hates Nixon, and loves The Stones. He offers you a joint and you're glad you decided not to lie.
He – his name is Sam – introduces you to some of his friends, next. Most of them are on the lacrosse team. Every one of them has tanned skin, huge shoulders, and perfectly cropped hair. You first think that they must all be the same, and that bores you. But then you talk to some of them, one named Bob and one named Mikey and another named Jon, and you realize you're wrong. They're not too bad. Very few of them actually want to be here, none of them admit to supporting Nixon (though who would, these days? Besides your father, of course), and they all reek of pot. One's even an army brat. So you stay in the tiny, smoky room, get high, and make a conscious effort not to piss anyone off. You must do a good a job, because a few hours later you're sitting at a table in the dining hall with the same guys you just toked up with and you feel more comfortable than you have in a long time. You won't call these guys your friends yet (at least not to anyone but your mother when she calls you tonight or tomorrow morning to make sure you've settled in), but you're not ruling it out completely.
It's the 23rd of August in the year 1975 and you are sixteen years old. You are at a boarding school in Bethesda, Maryland and, for the first time in your life, you feel like you're where you belong.