I Pledge Allegiance by Chris Lynch Page A

like the simplest answer. Doesn’t it seem like the simplest answer? I give him the simplest answer.
    Because I’m his friend.
    “Yes,” I say. “Of course.”
    But maybe if I was a better friend, I would have listened more closely, and I would have
heard.
    He’s too quick for my mind to even contemplate his mind.
    With the strength and speed and skill of a gymnast, and still with that angel’s smile on his face, he is off.
    He grabs the rail, flips over, and dismounts, throwing himself out and into the white and wild churning water below.
    My new friend flies.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Home Again Home
    I n basic training they told us we could expect to learn something new every day in the Navy. Here is something I learned: In the military, in war, you make friends just like that. And you lose them again, just like that.
    I raised the alarm. We tried to find him.
    But we never did.
    It’s kind of funny that we receive our next shipment of mail just before we’re due to arrive in Boston. In no time we’re going to be face-to-face with most of the people who wrote us the letters, and so maybe we should save them and have them read to us by the authors.
    Pretty funny, huh?
    All the guys from The House are sitting in mess, our food in front of us, our mail in hand.
    Here’s another funny thing: We lost our quietest guy, and somehow The House got quieter.
    The plan was to take the mail to dinner, read out loud, mock each other, throw food and be stupid,without thinking any of the thoughts that are likely to make our trip ashore less fun than it should be.
    Instead, we read to ourselves. We eat like birds, and I don’t mean seagulls. Seven Hands plucks away at something that haunts, that I have never heard but that feels like I have known it all my life.
    I have a letter from Beck.
    Hello Lucky,
    You are welcome. Even though I am so jealous I could puke, you are welcome anyway. Everyone is talking about what happened to you boys and how your reward was a trip back to Boston. A little coincidental, didn’t you think? That’s because it was me, my plane up there shooting at your little toy boat. Didn’t you see me? I had the pilot tip the wing to wave at you and everything. Oh right, you wouldn’t have seen me because you were too busy on the deck, cowering. Anyway, I thought you could use a break from all that floating and tanning.
    Say hi to Boston for me, Morris. Never thought I would miss the dump like I am missing it. I wonder, if I were at Wisconsin-Madison right now, if I’d be missing home as much.
    Nah.
    You heard from the guys? I heard that Ivan invaded Laos.
    I’m worried about Rudi. I haven’t heard from him, but that’s not shocking. He told me he wouldn’t write to me because I would correct his letters. I don’t correct, I just offer friendly advice. I hope he’s all right. He’s still got you watching over him, right?
    Try to look up once in a while, too. You might just see me.
    And don’t forget to watch over Morris, right? Right?
    See you soon, pal.
Beck
    How did he know I was cowering? Maybe it
was
him up there. The jerk.
    I’m more homesick than ever now. I’m going home, will be there in a matter of hours, and I’m almost literally sick to my stomach with homesick. I’ll see people, I’ll see my mom, I’ll eat well and sleep in my own bed and the world will not constantly undulate beneath my feet, and all this is good — no, great — stuff.
    But I’ll be home to a home that doesn’t have Rudi and Beck and Ivan in it. I’ve never really known a homelike that, at least not since I reached the age of really
knowing
things.
    So, is that really home?
     
    The most loving and strangulating hug in human history answers my question as soon as I walk through the door.
    Of course this is home. I am home.
    “Ma, please,” I gurgle, the breath squeezed right out of me. She has her head on my chest, her strong arms pythoning my rib cage, and she’s quietly crying. I have seen this phenomenon