Farewell

When it's my turn, I stride slowly, execute a right face, and bring my hand slowly to my brow. As I bring my hand back to my side I'm aware of the moisture in my eyes, which turn down as I execute a left face and leave the platform. I see for the first time how full the room really is, as there are many soldiers standing along the back wall. It's all I can do not to run outside, into daylight, away from that monument that means that my friend will never see his dreams of becoming a drill sergeant, an underwater welder, a husband or a father come to life. Run away from the fear that one day my own picture will be in front of that monument, that I'll never see my fiancée or my parents or my brothers and sisters again. Run away from the fear that I'll never become a teacher and raise a family. But I don't run. I walk as quickly as discipline allows outside, where my friends wait and share my grief.

A fallen soldier is remembered by another in Iraq, at Blue Crab Boulevard.