For a second I think he’s going to
lean over and hug me, but then the moment stretches out too long
and it’s gone. There’s no way we could touch each other without
feeling awkward. Years from now I’ll regret this, I know I will. I
step back and close the door. “Goodbye.”
I don’t know if he hears me or not,
but he raises one hand in a half-hearted gesture and sort of waves
before he puts the Jeep into gear and drives away.
Goodbye.
If he didn’t hear it, does it mean I
didn’t really say it? I wonder if he said it, too.
I shift my bag into a more comfortable
position and watch his taillights until they disappear into the
camp. Then I turn and begin to pick my way down the rugged slope,
that one word neither of us really said still echoing in my
mind.
Goodbye.
* * * *
There’s bombing throughout the night,
distant shells that shake the ground as they erupt around me.
Sometimes the rocks tumble away from under my feet and once or