Since I’m already packed, I roam
through the rooms of my tiny housing unit, touching the things I
can’t take. I know I’ll never see them again; Alden is right, I’m
going AWOL, and once I walk out that door, I can never come back.
When I find Tomas we’ll have to go away, somewhere far from the
military and the war and anyone who may know me. I’m giving up the
service to find my boy. I’d give up my life, if
necessary.
In the bedroom I sort through albums
of photographs, each one a memory snapped onto film, a moment
captured into the forever emulsions of the picture. Tomas and me in
Wildwood, on the Flyer before they tore the old roller coaster
down. The two of us at his mom’s place in Philly, hugging each
other tight for the camera. The first Christmas tree we put up,
that year he bought me the thin gold chain I wear around my neck
beneath my uniform. Even now the metal shifts along my collarbone
when I breathe, reminding me that although I don’t know where he