...back again

"Get drunk and sleep 'til it's over," he says. "That's my advice." I nod, a faint smile, but experience tells me that fourteen hours being airborne in this shaky tube will guarantee a hangover free of charge.
We depart Atlanta for South Korea, then onto Bangkok. The flight attendant instructs on seat belt procedure. Her face is hollow, cured by years of jetlag. I adjust my pillow. We're airborne. My hand slides over a fresh book. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Another pillow adjustment. Flick on the reading light.
Ten more hours to Korea. Mr. Advice sits next to Ben, folded in half, face in crotch. Compliments of Jack Daniel's. Earlier, he told me he's stationed on an army base in South Korea. Launching tomahawk missiles. If the stubby dictator up north ever tires of games, this guy launches the counterstrike.
More plane flights. Now a double-decker bus through the mountains. Can they find scarier drivers?
We spend the night at Singh castle. We're in Mae Sot. Minutes from the school. Moments from seeing the faces we treasure. As last year, Pray Reh "Timothy" greets us at the door, Way Nay Lynn "Mark" a close second. The indomitable Khu Wah Paw "Ruth" comes in third. Slowly the others sneak in.
The transition is surreal. Old ties quickly fuse, but much has changed. New, younger students scamper and grate everyone's nerves. Many faces are missing; some have returned to the camps, a few now resettled in the U.S.
Ruth wants Thai ID but worries to find the money. She will ride to a nearby village seeking that illusive ID card. Two boys that I don't know will drive her. I worry. Decide to talk straight with her. She's as self-reliant and capable as anyone I know. I still worry.
At night, Mark tells me the Karen cause is nearly lost. He thinks he should join the KNU, make a final stand against the Burmese military. Still, little squirells echo the halls.