Nonfiction by Lisbeth Prifogle
I get it and I don’t. I think about staying in and volunteering to go to Afghanistan. It’s a right of passage for Marines. It’s a badge of courage. It’s who we are. I can’t explain it, but I understand it. What I don’t understand is that Trevor is dead. He was just a lieutenant. He had his whole life ahead of him. He had a career to jump into, a wife to meet and marry, and children to raise in the suburbs. He had all of that and more, but now it’s over.