I'm close to the end of my life now, and as you reach your twilight years mostly all you have left is memories. Especially since I lost my wife of more than 50 years, Katie, I spend most of my time looking back.: my youth in Nebraska; my brief spell as a college football star; the first time I ever saw Katie, and fell in love with her; and, of course, the War.
It had been a long night. What started out as a welcome home get together had quickly turned into a full-blown party. Not that she minded spending time with his friends. They had all been deployed for quite a long time. But looking at Chris from across the room, she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to keep her composure. She had been celibate his entire deployment but now that he was home, her panties were feeling a bit like a chastity belt that's time had come to be removed.
I thought at the time I had the worst luck in the world.
There I was, standing on the shoulder of an interstate somewhere in Western Pennsylvania, eighteen wheelers rumbling by as I stared at my 1982 Toyota Celica. I'd opened the hood to see if I could figure out what was wrong, but had no clue. A few minutes earlier it started making a worrisome thumping sound and then stalled out. I was barely able to maneuver my way onto the shoulder safely.
Les, my closest friend now that Mike has been killed in Iraq, sits quietly on the couch listening intently as I tell him about my explorations with Mike in that scout tent so many years before. How our relationship had grown beyond experimentation. How our experiences had left me shaken, doubtful about my sexuality, but oh so excited. About how I believed that I had "loved" Mike in a way that was very close to the love I had felt for women.
You see, it's like this, and that's all.
Dusk and twilight are cousins who touch fingers over evening.
The time between them is voluptuous and welcoming like a cradle, the hammock between two poles of illumination. We can do anything in that time, without analyzing the why of it- for the world feels like a warm pearl in our palm.
The anger and determination of Qin Shih Huang was almost palpable as he unleashed his cavalry, war chariots, and bronze and iron weapons—all battlefield levelers that his enemies had never before encountered—on the rebel town of Anyi. Within hours of receiving the message that the Lord of Anyi would not send tribute and yield in the season of homage, Qin Shih Huang, his loyal servant and chamberlain, Li Yuan, riding three strides to his rear, galloped out of Xian at the head of his cavalry and war chariots.
The word was whispered quietly beside her and Ellen quickly looked at her friend and co-worker. Sonia was staring down the aisle of the plane, her cheeks slightly flushed. Ellen followed Sonia's gaze and understood her friend's dismay immediately. Four soldiers were walking toward seats in Sonia's section of the plane. Their white shirts were crisp, glistening with various insignia that Ellen knew Sonia would understand.