Jason's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 4
The University of Washington’s graduate admissions office was housed in a brick building reminiscent of Ivy League schools; however, the view through the windows of the blossoming cherry trees in the Quad was distinctly Pacific Northwest
He sat across from Dr. Patricia Jennings, the History Department’s graduate advisor, with his transcripts and GI Bill paperwork spread between them.
“Your undergraduate work is solid,” Dr. Jennings said, reviewing his files. “Political Science with a minor in Middle Eastern Studies from the University of Kentucky. Good grades, especially considering you completed most of this through distance learning while deployed.”
“Yes, ma’am. Took me six years, but I made it work around operational schedules.”
She looked up from the paperwork. “You say your Army background was heavily invested in conflict resolution and cultural mediation. That’s not typical of our program. Can you elaborate?”
“I was Special Forces. I was trying to explain what we did. I’ve had extensive experience working with indigenous forces in Afghanistan and Iraq. What struck me was how often conflicts that seemed intractable from the outside made perfect sense when you understood the historical and sociological context. That’s what got me interested in history. I wanted to study how historical grievances shape contemporary political situations.”
“Interesting. Your language skills would certainly be valuable for research.” Dr. Jennings made notes on her file. “We can offer you admission for the spring semester. I’m hoping your experiences can add something unique to our program.”
That was encouraging. He’d been half afraid his military experience would scare them away.
His apartment in Wallingford was slowly becoming home. Jason had bought basic furniture, nothing fancy, but functional and comfortable. His one splurge was a massive roll-top desk he’d found at an antique store in Snohomish. The kitchen was a lot nicer than in his other apartments, and he found himself having fun learning to cook and bake.
The neighborhood itself was slowly becoming home as well. The Starbucks on “45th, where he could work on his laptop. He had a good place to run at Green Lake. A bookstore that stayed open late. The Thai restaurant that made food as good as anything he’d eaten in Asia. The people who worked at these places began to recognize him, offering the kind of casual friendliness that made him feel welcome.
The daily routine that had sustained him through twelve years of military service, he now adapted for civilian life. Up at 0500, coffee, then an hour and a half of exercise. He’d found a well-equipped gym close by called Iron Works. The owner, an ex-Marine named Tony Pellegrini, took one look when he first walked in and said,
“How long you been out?”
“Three months.”
“Army?”
“Yup.”
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