imagine that

He was 18 and barely shaved. Once a week, maybe. Usually less. He’d dropped out of high school, earned his GED and enlisted in the Marines. They’d made a man out of him. Taught him how to shoot his piece, piss in public and only shake in private. Back home, he was “Tubby.” Here, he was Private Tuberville. Back home. It seemed like such a long time ago. It wasn’t. Maybe a year. Less. But it felt that way, way back, in the past. “Let’s go, we’re moving out,” his sergeant said, and he did. They needed to make Kesektan by nightfall. They would. He would. He didn’t know, of course, but it would be his last night as a Marine, his last night on earth. He’d spend it shivering in his sleeping bag, thinking of those days when his friends would say, “C’mon Tubby, let’s move it.” Before he fell off, he said the “Now, I lay me down to sleep” prayer. Imagine that. Imagine that.