Do you remember me? I was the young marine at the back of the patrol as we walked slowly, carefully down the road in that sad, sad place. We were careful, so careful. Watching our arcs, looking for that sniper in a window of one of those miserable houses. He would not know me either, but we might meet in that second it took for the bullet to pass up and across the street and send me crumbling, bloodied, to the pavement. His heart would be racing now, while he waits. 

So careful, so afraid, but prepared - trained to react, to inflict shocking violence in a flash if that’s what’s called for. We could put a hundred rounds through a window in seconds, destroying any life in the room, keeping ourselves safe. Weapons were cocked, needing only the flick of the safety catch and two pressures on the trigger. But pointed upwards – so as not to be intimidating we were told.

There was no sniper that day. It was sunny, and warm, and we were walking. 

Do you remember how you were feeling? Was your heart racing? Were you fantasizing about how it all might be real one day? Was it going to be the funniest thing? What were you thinking when you waited behind that low wall, waiting to ambush a soldier with your black plastic rifle?

You waited for me to pass before you jumped up, full of life and fun, banging away with your toy rifle.

But mine was no toy. I saw you in my peripheral vision, a shape, a movement, a noise, a threat! My rifle moved fast, so fast. Down it came, reaching out to arm’s length, safety coming off during that movement, first pressure coming up on the trigger, even as my head was turning until we met, finally, and suddenly I guess it was not so funny any more as you looked down the barrel of a rifle that was just this much away from ending the fun forever in a blinding flash!

What if I had been faster? Slower? More tired? More afraid? Would I have been able to stop that extra ounce of pressure on the trigger? Perhaps not.

Do you remember the day you nearly died? Do you little guy?

How would it have been then? How could I have explained that? To myself? To others? Your mother would have been destroyed; your father would never have forgiven me!

I expect I would have spent some time in a lonely place, full of stamping feet and loud voices. Perhaps a lot of time, perhaps rightly so. I would never have had the rewarding life I have. I have seen wondrous things and loved wondrous women. I have great kids.

You are probably about forty five now, not such a little guy. I think about you often. Did you survive? Are you building a better world for your kids than your folks did for you?

I hope so. 

Stay well – little guy.