Kind of bugged by an odd memory I have.
Back in Iran, I was sitting in the back seat of my bother-law’s car with my sister-in-law and their kids while driving the wending roada through the foot-hills of the Alboraz mountains south of Teheran. I understood Farci at that time but wasn’t speaking it very much so people tended to talk around me as though I couldn’t understand them.
Something about… communication that you probably don’t remember from your babyhood, is that it’s psychic in the beginning. Don’t know if this applies in language courses later, but you sure rely on it heavily when first realize you need to learn the language spoken around you in order for THEM to understand YOU. Being in such a situation then at 19, my psychic abilities were alive and well. Had been since high school for different reasons, but still… So I not only understood many of the things they said because I’d quietly learned the words as stated above, but I could also read a fair share of what went between them.
We’re driving up to my in-law’s cabin to spend a few days and the guys are just chit-chatting about mundane stuff up front, a bit about the war front and about the village the cabin was in. Then it was about U.S. space program of all things. There was a touch of bad-natured envy about it and my brother in laws suddenly said to me in English, “Omrika wastes its efforts sending rockets to the moon. Iran with rockets would have MUCH better use for them.” Something like that.
I agreed with him that sending rockets to the moon was a waste and gamely suggested that using gravity rapels would achieve a more efficient form of space travel. That was just me acting properly oblivious. I mean, yeah, I do think that, but I was ignoring the fact that I knew he was talking about missiles.
They laughed at that, went around another long curve between two tall hills, and fell abruptly silent. Hurricane fencing topped with constatina wire came into sight. The car had stopped, a soldier was walking toward us, and I just couldn’t resist a little jibe at the men: “So this is where you keep your missles?”
“Peeshee!” Reza snapped at me, “Be quiet!”
The soldier had stopped at our car. He peered in at us all and then waved us on.
I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was indeed a missile base we were passing and that the men desperately wanted to brag about it to me, the only American present, but didn’t dare.
Okay, so here’s what’s bugging me about this memory:
After we got back to Teheran a few days later, I wrote a letter to my paternal grandmother to tell her about the trip and the missile base we’d passed… and I wrote her the longetude and lattitude of it.
How the hell did I even know that? This was pre-Army for me. I hadn’t gone through any compass course yet, though I’d done some map plotting previously having to do with paranormal event patterns. But for the life of me, I can’t remember how I got the coordinates of that base, only that I definitely had them and wrote them, begging my grandmother to tell the right people because even then – maybe especially so – I was alarmed at the prospect of an Iran with long range missiles.
Anyway, my grandmother got the letter, but not the coordinates. She complained to me in her reply that 2 or 3 pages of my letter had been redacted with black permanent marker.
I told Reza about it, not mentioning what might have been covered up, and he said, “Oh, they must have done it at Kennedy Airport. Iran doesn’t censor mail.”
Of course Iran censors mail. I know that now. At the time, though, I still believed in Reza. And he was SUCH a liar extraordinaire.
I just want to know how I learned those coordinately though. I can’t recall that one important detail no matter how hard I wrack my brain. Gah. I need some regressive hypnosis or something. It bugs me not knowing.