For One of the Wars I Lost
That night, almost fifty years ago, I remember something wet hitting my cheek, so I reached up and wiped it off, noticing it was a bloody piece of flesh. It was then that I turned to see that the man sitting next to me in the ditch had just had his face blown off. This thought came to me often decades ago, and I strained to remember who the man was, but my memories always went dark at that point. I would push my memories day after day, but nothing came. I finally gave up, developing a theory that one’s mind creates “memory scars” to cover up events that would drive one mad if one could