Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. (Gandhi)

“This is the motherload,” Vincent informed them in a dirty back alley. A collective cloud of cigarette smoke hovered overhead from their five burning cigarettes. Ricky leaned against a brick building.

“Can we go home after this?” Rider asked.

“You can go wherever the hell you want after this one. You can buy yourself a castle or an island; we’ll be kings after this one.”

“More than one coffin?” asked Tony.

“More than ten coffins,” Vincent informed.

“Shit, I don’t know. How will we manage that?” Tommy asked.

“There’s a raid coming and there are going to be a lot of our men going down and going home.”

“If you know that why don’t you stop it?” Rider asked. “Are you killing soldiers just to get this shit back to the US now?”

“Men have to die. It’s in the job description,” Ricky defended lightly.

“Just because men are dying doesn’t mean I’m killing them. It’s a raid. People die. Are you suggesting I’m the kind of general who compromises his troops?”

“Yes,” said Rider, “that is exactly what I’m suggesting. You’re killing innocent men.”

Vincent took out his gun. He pointed it toward Rider.

“If I shot this right now I would be a killer. If I’m not pulling the trigger, I’m not killing anyone. There are casualties of war.”

“There are murderous greedy bastards killing innocent men.”

“Only if I pull the trigger right now.”

“No, because I’m not innocent.”

Vincent cocked the gun but no one flinched. Vincent wouldn’t actually shoot Rider. Vincent was always doing crazy shit to prove that he was the top dog. 

In confrontations, and where there is too much testosterone there are always confrontations, it’s the crazy person who always comes out on top. Strength becomes irrelevant. The crazy person dominates because no one knows what he will do.

Vincent shot Rider.

If you can't get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you best teach it to dance. (George Bernard Shaw)

Penny cried herself to sleep that night and prayed for the first time since Tommy told her he would never get to Heaven. She cried and prayed every night. Keep him safe, Lord, she pleaded night after night. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, all she could do was read and pray. She found solace in these activities because maybe, just maybe, Tommy was reading the same book on the other side of the world. She would sit by the fence and read to him and sometimes she convinced herself he was there. She would close her eyes at night and pray because maybe, just maybe, God would be merciful and keep Tommy safe.

Tommy was not having a conventional tour. Tommy and his brothers went to lavish bars and restaurants and hotels, lots of hotels, and they would drink to excess, actually they did most everything to excess.

Vincent became the youngest General in American history. 

After not too long Ricky, Tommy, and Tony slept in a quarters fit for a king. Rider didn’t opt for the special treatment. 

Tommy and Tony would lay awake at night and talk. Tommy was warming up to Tony, though he was too much like Ricky. While they talked, Ricky slept. He slept as sound as if he were at home in his warm safe bed. They were safe, more or less, but at night they could still hear the shots ringing out. There were a million reminders like that telling them they were at war. Ricky slept.

They sent coffins home.

We know what we are, but know not what we may be. (Shakespeare)

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Why not?”

“Can I pray with you?”

“Sir, I’m going to Vietnam in the morning, if that won’t make a noble man out of me I don’t know what will.”

“Can I pray with you?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Dear Lord, Tommy is a boy who has lost his way. His life hasn’t been easy, Lord, and perhaps you are testing him or perhaps you are preparing him. Only you know your Will. I pray that you will keep him. Give him the strength to overcome the obstacles he faces every day because Lord you never give him a challenge bigger than his soul can take. Give him the courage to make the right choices. Prepare him Lord for your holy service. Take his damaged heart in your powerful hand. Take his burden and shame. Take his mistakes. Take his needs. Cast all his shortcomings and remind him that he can be forgiven, he can be good, and he can be a soldier of Your name. As he goes to war, Lord be with him and keep him safe from harm’s way. Protect him and show him the power of Your love for him. Amen.”

Neither of them spoke for a long while.

“I figured you would just pray that God would keep me away from your daughter.”

“He doesn’t seem to hear those. He works in mysterious ways.”

Some thing tie your life together. Slender threads and things to treasure. Days like this should last and last. (Dashboard Confessional)

He mentioned something about school and I encouraged him to chatter on about his class and the funny things they would do.

“What do you do?”

What did I do?

“I fly.”

“You’re a pilot?”

“Yes.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Like commercial flights?”

He was impressed. I hated to defer that. “No, I just fly my own plane.”

He laughed. “You just fly around for fun?”

I shrugged. “I guess. I love flying.”

“But isn’t that expensive? Where do you get the money? Oh, are you a spoiled rich kid?”

How could I answer this? My family was rich but I made my own money.

“I have some investments.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Investments? You’re like twenty-four years old.”

“Twenty,” I corrected. He laughed. I loved when he laughed.

“Seriously?”