Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

said, wrinkling my nose at him.
    He grinned, and said, “All right, fair enough. You go first.”
    “What?”
    “I won’t say whether I remember it. But you get to ask the first question.”
    I laughed and shook my head. “All right. I guess I let myself in for that one. Why exactly did you pick Columbia University of all places?”
    He shrugged. “Believe it or not, Columbia has really active outreach to vets. One of the recruitment guys found me in a hospital room at Walter Reed back in March. The rest is history.”
    At this point he was leaning back in his chair, one arm resting on the empty seat next to him. I leaned back in mine as well, stretching my feet across underneath the table and letting them sit on the empty chair.
    “Your turn,” I said.
    He looked at me, and I blushed a little, looked down at the table.
    “So, last winter you were trying to decide what to write for your final paper. What did you end up settling on?”
    I took a deep breath, and looked up at him. “I can’t believe you remember that. I mean… you were in the middle of a war, and getting shot at and blown up and hospitalized, and you remember me agonizing over my paper?”
    A sideways smile, and he replied, “I’m the one asking the question right now.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Okay. I ended up doing a paper on the legal defenses for rape in the nineteenth century in the United States.”
    “Wow,” he said. “That’s fantastic. I’d love to read it sometime. I probably wouldn’t understand word one of the legal stuff, but I’m interested anyway.”
    “Don’t knock yourself, Dylan. You may come from a different background than me, but you’re a smart guy.”
    “Not anymore,” he said, grimacing and tapping on his forehead.
    I grimaced, thinking with regret that I wished he’d stop beating up on himself, and said, “My turn?”
    He nodded.
    I thought. There was so much I wanted to know. And most of it skirted too close to the topics we avoided, too much of it broke the rules, too much of it simply led to heartache. Finally, I said, “What was the best thing you saw in Afghanistan? I know there was horror, and war. But were there moments of … I don’t know… grace?”
    He swallowed, and nodded once. I was astonished to see his eyes start to water.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —“
    He held up a hand, saying stop. “It’s okay.” He took a deep breath, then said, “Okay. So, we’re out there in the boonies. And I mean… way out there. Little village in the middle of nowhere called Dega Payan. It’s way up in the mountains, and until a couple years ago, there wasn’t even much of a road to connect them to anything. It was like a five hour drive to get anywhere.”
    “So, one day we’re there. Helping distribute food, there’s UN workers, and we’re trying to make a nice impression and all that. And there’s this little girl, standing there watching us. I guess she was… about twelve, maybe? I could picture her in middle school, if they allowed her to go to school, which they probably don’t. Anyway, she was smiling, and joking around. Kowalski… he was from Nevada. Also from the middle of nowhere, go figure. Kowalski gives her a candy bar, and she hugs him. And then he turns to come back to us, and we hear a clink sound. Everybody panics, and I look down, and see the grenade. Someone threw it from the crowd, and it landed right at the little girl’s feet.”
    Oh, my God. All I could think was, this was his moment of grace? His good thing that happened?
    His eyes were really red now, and his face twisted a little as he said, “So, anyway, Kowalski… he threw himself on the grenade. He hugged it, with his back to the little girl. And it went off, and … he was just… shredded. Killed instantly. And you know… that little girl… she didn’t get touched. Not even a drop of blood. He saw that little girl, and just… threw his life away to save her.”
    I shook my head, and even though he couldn’t cry, I started to. I couldn’t help myself. Because when he was telling that story, it was like I could see into his soul, and oh, God, did that hurt.
    “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I asked. I’m so sorry that happened.”
    “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Don’t you get it? Can you imagine the… the heroism? That’s what grace is all about. He didn’t even think for one second about himself. All he thought about was that little girl, and saving