And his wife.
They were ahead of me in the checkout. I wanted so much to talk to them, but I didn't know what to say. There wasn't enough time for me to collect my thoughts and accost them.
He was so young. Christ, I'm not sure he is even old enough to legally drink. Slender in that barely past the teens way, and nearly bald with one of those military haircuts. And then there was the stump of his left arm, hidden under the sleeve of the t-shirt. I hope he wasn't left-handed. The stump wasn't totally useless, he could tuck his checkbook under it.
They didn't look too happy, this very, very young couple. Strained, distracted or depressed, it was hard to say. Maybe they'd argued. Maybe it was just difficult living this new life. I don't know, and probably never will.
I'm so sorry I let them out of my life. I wanted to ask him if he lost his arm in Iraq (or Afghanistan). "Army or Marines?... Will you be getting a nice prosthesis?... Are you being well taken care of by the military?... Are you out now? ... Are you okay?... Thank you for serving, but that doesn't work very well in this situation, does it? Sorry isn't quite enough. ... Do you think it was worth it?....I'm so sorry. Please know that I and many others did everything we could think of to prevent exactly this, and so very much more because we knew in our hearts there weren't any WMD and it would be another Vietnam...."
No, I wouldn't have said all that, but some of it, you bet, yes I would have. I dont' intend to let any other opportunities get away from me in he future.
So I cried all the way home, as if that helps anyone. (Seems like I do a lot of crying these days -- more and more all the time.)
Edit -- This seems appropriate
dulce et decorem est. Please read this poem if you haven't read it lately
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=show_topic&forum=104&topic_id=2996146#2996878