Lunch With A Classmate Who: Garron and Adnan When: lunchtime Where: cafeteria
Adnan hadn't been to very much structured school. His parents and the other Kurdish refugees had taught him and his sisters at home for the most part, unable to afford to send them anywhere. So it was an interesting pattern to try and get into, with the books and sitting still for so long and listening. His teachers seemed to know that, too; he'd been offered private tutoring in a different setting by more than one of them. While he appreciated the offers, he wanted to see how well he adapted to the classroom setting first. It was only the first week, after all.
Coop had other lunch plans -- which didn't bother him, really, they saw each other for dinner and beyond every night -- so he walked into the cafeteria and got into line alone. As he walked out of the other side of the line with a tray in his hands, he started scanning around for an empty spot to sit, eyes skimming over all of the married-couples faces.
Garron didn't mind the presence of all of the happy couples. He was one half of a pretty cute unit himself. However, his other half had a much more important job than he himself did. She was gratefully back at work in the security tower, making life safe for all of them. He had to admit, though, he'd had a hard time being sympathetic when she'd complained about being taken off external duties. He was a little uneasy at the thought of Avery flying out toward the chaotic mainland in a chopper, protesters and anarchists firing weapons at her. He liked that she was essentially pushing paper and breaking up school yard fights.
School was a trip as well. He'd barely showed up for anything other than auto shop during his short high school career. Everything he'd needed to learn about life, Garron had picked up in the driver's seat and on the street corners. And later, in the prison exercise yard.
Eating in the cafeteria brought back a few unpleasant memories about that less than shiny part of his past. Out of habit, he moved for the wall close to the door. There was a small table there that seemed to be empty. He set his tray down and set his book bag down next to it. He'd done the theoretical exercises in the text for his Farm Management class, and he planned to overlook his notes over lunch. Garron didn't notice that the place was filling up fast as he popped the tab on his orange juice.
Off toward the wall, Adnan spotted what seemed to be a familiar face. He'd spent some time studying his fellow students, when the instructors got ahead of him or they had a lulled moment. He was good with faces, and wanted to know who else was learning the same stuff in case he needed some help. And one of those people was sitting by himself too, pulling out a book. Adnan headed in that direction. If the guy didn't want company, there were probably other options, but he'd rather try to be social first. "Hello," he said once he got close enough. His English was getting better and better by increments, but there was nothing like attempting to hold down a conversation for practice. "Is this seat taken?"
Garron looked up quickly in surprise. In his focus, he'd momentarily forgotten where he was, lulled by the busy sounds of a mess hall. "Hey," he said, recognizing the face. Adnan was in his class and Garron was also astute enough to be curious and considerate of his fellow adventurers. He pulled his books closer to tray and gestured around him. "Take your pick of chairs," he said with friendly smile. As Adnan situated himself, Garron recalled that the Middle Eastern man had a tough time with English sometimes, but he also had a Canadian wife who shared some of their classes. He glanced around to see if she would be joining them as well, but there was no sign of her. Garron gestured to the simple gold band on Adnan's left ring finger. "Flying solo today?"
It wasn't a phrase that Adnan knew right off the bat, but the gesture to his ring helped, and he knew what 'solo' meant. "Yes," he answered with a nod. He made a vague hand-motion toward the busy space around them. "She is other things to do today. Your's?" He arched an eyebrow at the other man. He'd seen him in class, of course, but never with anyone else. He had to assume that his wife was in another string of classes. But he would've thought they would share lunch together at least.
"Ah," Garron said, setting down his can of orange juice. How to explain what Avery did? He decided to give Adnan a little more language credit. "Avery's at work. She's in security." Garron nodded to a couple of burly men in black uniforms. Their weapons weren't visible but Garron knew they were armed. They were also wearing lightweight armor under their uniforms. Even though it was perfectly safe at the Hotel (or so they were all told), the security staff had to be prepared for anything, any time. He'd watched Avery strap all that gear on every day this week, since she'd been given a day shift to roughly match up with his school hours. "We get breakfast and dinner together, but don't usually see each other during the day."
Adnan knew security. From the camps, mostly. He looked around to the men Garron pointed to, and nodded slightly. So his wife already worked. She must've been there longer than the rest of them. Or so he assumed, as he'd heard that the classes eventually ran their course. And not everyone got matched up right away. He looked back at the other man and nodded again at his last statement. Though he hadn't been one to break too many rules in the refugee camps, he'd done what he had to do to survive, and had a latent wariness of anybody in a uniform. But he couldn't fairly assume badly of this guy's wife. Introductions were a better topic, so he stuck his hand out. "Adnan Dosky," he announced.
Garron recognized the slight hint of discomfort and that was cool with him. Who was he to judge? He clasped Adnan's hand in a firm handshake. "Garron Ostler," he said before letting go. "Looks like we're both going to be farmers in the new world." He nodded to his books, suspecting that Adnan had the same ones slung over his shoulder. Garron was specializing even further in his farming classes, since he intended to own an orchard. He had a very heavy book on trees and their various issues. Not everyone in their classes had chosen their farming specialty though. "Any idea what you want to farm yet?"
Garron. Adnan made a mental note of how the other man said his own name and hoped he would remember it. Westerners had such strange names sometimes, though he knew that his was probably strange to them. In any case, he nodded his confirmation about farming, giving the other guy a bit of a half-grin. "Animals," he said, though he was aware they weren't exactly a crop. "Probably will grow plants as well, but ... my interest is animals." He wasn't sure exactly which ones he'd get to be responsible for -- he suspected that was an assigned thing instead of a preference thing -- but there weren't any that he didn't like. "My people ... mostly goats," he added with a 'grouping together' sort of hand gesture, since he wasn't sure if 'herding' was the right word.
Garron eyed the hand motion and leaned forward a little bit. "Like a herd?" It was a simple thing, but he got that the guy was doing his best. "And where are they? Your people?" Adnan was swarthy, but that didn't mean much of anything. Hell, he could be American, third generation, for all Garron knew. Still, the language barrier was there. "From the Middle East somewhere?" He supposed Adnan's accent could be Arabic. He was curious about how the guy felt about marrying a Canadian girl. Then again, Garron had to suppose that if nationality and religion were huge hang-ups for the guy, he'd have a woman wandering around in a hijab. There were a few of those in the cafeteria. Quite a few families in those oil countries had the money to send their kids away from the radio active clouds and into outer space.
Herd, yes. That was it. Adnan gave Garron a half-apologetic smile and a nod. The 'where are you from' question had come often enough by that point that he understood it. "Iraq," he said, aware that it was still sort of a loaded word for the West. "I'm Kurdish. My people ..." Adnan shook his head a bit and made a gesture with his fingers that indicated they'd kind of been blown to the winds. He wasn't sure how to phrase it properly, and it wasn't his favorite topic anyway. He knew there were quite a few devout Muslims on the compound; he'd seen them praying and he knew there were services somewhere that he could attend. But his religious footing wasn't the most sturdy and hadn't been for years. He had no desire to make Coop cover up, or to assimilate himself with the other Arabs in the program. As a Kurd, he was still somewhat displaced. He'd gotten used to it. "You?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at Garron.
Iraq? Garron wasn't the judgemental type, but he was the son of a Marine. There was a tiny twitch in the corner of his eye at the mention of the region that started the mess they were in. Ok, maybe they didn't start it, so much as provided an excuse for really stupid, hateful people. He shook his head, sweeping those thoughts aside. He didn't know anything at all about the Kurds, so he didn't comment. "I'm American," he told his lunch date, a wry smile stating that he knew he was sharing the obvious. "From New Orleans, Lousiana. I don't think I'm going to farm animals on Haven," he said. "Fruit trees, I think. Apples, maybe."
Though Garron's expression was subtle, Adnan had seen it enough times to recognize what it was. He'd come to accept it as a given and not take it personally. After all, the same look crawled onto many of his countrymen's faces when you mentioned America. Not here, necessarily, but before, in other camps. It wasn't as though the United States had come riding to the Kurds' rescue, after all. But that was supposed to be ancient history. They all had the same goal here: to travel to new ground and set up shop. As one society, not many fragmented ones. He nodded at what the man actually said, starting to arrange the food on his tray to actually eat it. "Apples are good," he put in. Fruit would be necessary, and Allah knew he'd gotten spoiled on by it on the compound already. "Do you know ..." he paused, trying to find the word. "Weather on Haven? Temperature?"
Garron nodded to Adnan's question. He flipped to the front of the text he had been preparing to read. "Yeah, it says here that it's...two seasons. A warm growing season and a cooler, wet season. I don't think there will be snow," he said. He was sure to speak clearly and to force his lazy down-home accent into clarity for the other man. "I guess it might be like the west coast here used to be, before the climate got all messed up."
Adnan leaned a bit to see the page, though most of it was Greek to him. Or English. Same thing. Speaking and reading were two very different things, and he was glad that the program was providing extra time and attention for that. He hadn't the first clue what the west coast had been like, but he nodded anyway. Most people assumed the whole middle east was nothing but a broiling desert, but he knew he would miss the snow, if only a little. He started to eat a bit, mulling over what kind of animals they might give him to tend to in that sort of weather.
Garron busied himself peeling the orange that was sitting on his tray. They only had a limited amount of time, after all. His next class started in less than an hour. Still, he was curious and so he had to bring up a question he hadn't had the time to ask anyone else yet. "How's married life?"
He sectioned his orange as he glanced up at Adnan. Garron had seen the man's wife repeatedly over the week and she had seemed nothing if not...well, happy. She seemed to give it off, actually, which Garron found pretty attractive about the woman. He wondered if Adnan appreciated that about her as well. It had to be a culture clash, right?
That was a phrase that the Kurd knew, for sure. Since he wasn't thinking too hard about schooling his face, and his eyes were down on his food, Adnan's expression brightened up considerably. How was married life? Unspeakably fantastic, in all honesty. He had the most intelligent, kind, patient, gorgeous wife in the whole world, how could he not be happy with that? His dark eyes ticked up to Garron's face, the broad smile staying where it was. "Wonderful," he said. There were probably more descriptive words, he just wasn't where what they were. But his face said quite a bit on it's own. Life had improved drastically for him. "The Program ... very smart. Your's? Good wife?"
Garron couldn't help but smile. Most people did. Looking around the room, there were any number of sappy couples reading each other. PDA's all over the place. Garron sent up a silent thank you to the gods on high that Avery had some place else to be. It wasn't that he didn't get the greatest kicks out of his wife, he surely did. He just thought that all of this mushiness might melt her tough-broad brain. Sure, she was girly, flirty even. He just hadn't seen her be anything but all business outside of the walls of their suite. He couldn't imagine them holding hands and making out over slices of key lime pie in the hotel cafeteria. "Really good," he agreed. "I was a little worried at first, but that didn't last." The cop and the crook. Who knew?
Adnan looked pleased for him as well. He'd had his own doubts, but then he'd seen her. Not that everything was based on looks, far from it, but something had just clicked into place then. He'd rarely thought about having his own family, while he was out trying to survive. Despite the unlikelihood of impregnating anyone -- as far as he'd known then, anyway -- there was the fact that trying to have a relationship in that sort of environment was nigh on impossible. Much less to raise a child. But everything was different now, and he couldn't be happier. "Good," he said, nodding to Garron. He felt like he should be able to add more, push the conversation along, but between his not-great English and the process of eating, he lapsed into amiable silence.
Garron, as well, had started to eat with purpose. Time was ticking down and he wanted to get to class ahead of pack so that he could finish his reading. He brushed the crumbs off of his hands and started to pack up his belongings. "I'm goin' to go finish my readin'," he nodded to the text on the table. "If you ever need a hand with anythin', I'll be glad to help, alright?" He stood up, gathering all of his leftover packaging and plates, preparing to deposit them on the tray racks against the wall.
The Kurd nodded and offered his hand once more to shake. "Thank you, you also," he said with a smile. He paused, then added in a small phrase that Coop had taught him for casual conversations. "Catch you later." It didn't make immediate sense, but he had to trust his wife. He picked up his own eating pace, aware that he had classes to get to as well. Adnan couldn't help but feel optimistic as the other man moved away to go on with his day. He was getting better at understanding and speaking all the time, and though he was sure he was still mildly frustrating to talk to, he was making progress.