the madison review
at any of it, only her. Nell wanders across the floor. Her arms are crossed, and she takes small steps, gliding across the ground. He thinks of the past few weeks. Ever since he signed up for the competition, Nell brushed him off. He could hear her in his head asking what he was trying to prove, what he needed out of doing something like that. Something like that. What was there for her to see in a squat, a press, a pull? It isn’t that she’s asked about these things. She doesn’t have to. What does he have to prove? The thought haunts him. She sees who he really is. He cries at night. Thrashings that hit her and there are his yells, but mostly crying. She began working later into the morning. When she didn’t work, there was a night, even, that she crept into her old room. She works later because she’s safer there, away from him. She knows what he is. “This one’s kind of sexy, isn’t it?” she asks him. She tilts her head but doesn’t look back at him. The word throws him. He can’t look at the painting she’s talking about. In his head, he hears pops. “You fuck them, don’t you?” He’s turned, facing the wall, remotely feeling that Nell’s leaving him in a rush that stings his nose and eyes. In his mind, a door burns its edges with blackness. He hears a thunderous rolling. Rocks give way, and dirt is pushed aside. Has he heard this before? He recalls a staff sergeant pacing before his grunts. If you think in combat, you will die. He screamed at them, demanded of them their blood, their secrets. You will kill everything in front of you. Do not fear death for once it comes, you don’t feel it. The Corps is you, and you are the Corps. The grunts clapped and looked at each other as brothers. The redemption smolders and burns in the wake of the juggernaut. / They were left to take Fallujah, and that’s what they were going to do. Cruz and Toller merged with another fire team of the first platoon, having lost their own. The assault was a week in now, and it was supposed to have only lasted a few days. The back clearing was a blistering paranoia of already opened doors. In the cool of the night, the Marines huddled together for warmth. One phone call. Fathers and sisters, they were saying the city was liberated, that their sons and brothers could come home. Was it secure? No, the Marines replied. No, it was not. They were not done. Cruz called up his girl and Toller did not hear him say he would be coming back. When he hung up, Toller grabbed him by the vest. You’re not fucking dying. Cruz smiled. Jugg’s got me! The sun rose again, and the city still smoked. We should have dusted this place, he said, but he didn’t mean it. The Marines 30