Marine
K ATIE S CHINNELL 1. Promise Me The dock is shaking. Splinters needle their way into my shoulders, but if I sit up I won’t be able to see the lightning. Not that it’s visible anyway with you dancing over me like that. You with that goofy smile, crooked as it may be. Distant thunder plays the bass drum for your midnight dance, announcing the end of training for camp. Only June, but time needs to slow down already. Soon you’ll be at another training, the one where they cut your hair, hand you guns, and name you “Recruit.” That is who you’ll be in two months, but I like you now, even if you are blocking the summer storm. Back and forth, back and forth, your hands are upside-down pendulums. “This is my windshield wiper dance!” You goof. The Marine Corps necklace bounces off your chest with every step, in rhythm with my head resonating against the dock. It’s jumping with you. Ka-plu-clunk. Ka-plu-clunk. Promise me something. Promise me that when you come back, you will still do the windshield wiper dance.
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