The Valium helped, but it still seemed to be an eternity before they arrived in Goa and the bus ride came to an end. Lor realized that the fact that she was in such psychological distress from a simple nine hours of discomfort —— not even pain, just discomfort —— was a sign of how different she was from the Indians around her, who accepted this trial as nothing more than an ordinary part of life. All of the Indians were laughing and excited as they exited the bus, stretching their limbs joyfully, ready for a day of touring in sunny Goa. Arman, even, had taken it a bit better than she had, and it made her understand more fully how much one is changed by war. Lor, of course, had never fought in a war. She had never even run an obstacle course. The most that she had done, really, was birth a child —— even that she had done with an epidural and, in the end, while unconscious.
It made her think that all of Arman’s talk about fat-fuck Americans being somehow unworthy of their status as world megapower was more justified than she had first thought.
The Girls from Corona del Mar, P147
Rufi Thorpe
ISBN 978-0-385-35196-6
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