And while I didn’t know him, I knew who Elyse’s uncle Jim was. He died in Vietnam. I was an altar boy at his funeral.”“Did you meet Elyse then...”“No. You know, I never asked. I honestly don’t remember much from that day other than Father Buschmiller and Jennie. Elyse, were you there?”“I was. We were ten. I don’t even remember seeing you. I vaguely remember two altar boys, but my memory of that day is Jennie crying. And the American flag. Just like at Nick’s interment.”“That was your second one!”. Or maybe I had never felt like this with anybody else. Not that I had ever been with anybody else that mattered. Our breaths grew shallower by the second, as he was not giving either of us time to breathe. His hands played at the hemline of my shirt, while mine traveled up his neck and knotted themselves in his hair. His surprisingly soft fingertips traced the outline of my body under my shirt. In the blink of an eye, he pulled back and had it off and thrown somewhere on the ground beside our. More

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