Battleground States

You are back there, driving a Humvee along some invisible border in Afghanistan. It feels and smells like you are sweating diesel. Again, you turn your head and see two squadmates sitting with the same flat, nervous expression. Every time, one of them looks at you. The flash always comes first. Then the roar. Then the complete loss of gravity. When you come to, it’s outside. You feel the heat on the right side of your body, but it’s not pain yet. Three yards away your squadmate is bent at an impossible angle, looking back at you but not seeing anything anymore.

You ask if that can be enough for today. And so the world goes black. You take off the headset. You are in a room, in a clinic, in Los Angeles. You are safe.