Chapter 6

“You go, Jeff!”

Boyish games and picking buttercups dotting the greens, like little rays of sunshine yellow, became something altogether different that summer, when the chicory that touched bare flesh as we tumbled over the knoll wrapped together was not the only stiff probe I felt at my back. I could dream of Thomas forever, now, as we’re separated and forced apart before we even came to be together. This war, I know what is right and what must be defended, but I damn it, too, and wish I didn’t have to go. If I return to him, to Thomas, will he be bearded and round at the belly, or will his youthful firmness and smooth face remain? Will I have changed? War, they say, can affect a man as nothing else can. Who will I be? What will the world be? My small part of it, a mere speck in what is out there beyond my imagination, let alone my access, what will I leave when I’m gone?