"So, I was reading this article about these two roommates who graduated from Annapolis in 2003. They're buried next to each other at Arlington."
Then you went on to tell me about two best friends, a Navy Seal and a Marine, while we were driving home during a perfect Arizona sunset. A couple years after graduating, the first room mate was killed by a sniper while he was trying to move his injured comrades to safety. Three years later, the second room mate was killed in a helicopter crash.
I fumbled some sympathy about how sad that was. And you said that it was something that you couldn't shake, something that stuck.
"I guess its different when you're in the military, than when you're looking in as a civilian. Its sad, but not in the same way. I mean even if there was some way you could tell those guys that end up dying they would be killed, most if not all of them, would still enlist and serve anyways."
And it wasn't until we were almost home that I realized in four short years you will officially be one of "those guys." And I guess, unofficially, you already are. And maybe you always have been. But for now you're here. And safe. And close. And, in my mind at least, you're still just my kid brother who makes me laugh and gets straight A's. And even though I know it can't stay like this forever, tonight "it" is this. And you're still just reading about danger instead of living it.
You closed our conversation by saying, "Yeah, I mean if its what you know you gotta do, you do it." And the thing that stuck with me, the thing that I can't shake is the overwhelming feeling of pride and fear in knowing that you meant it.
