But there was no need. Modesty and shame had become only words to me. Achingly small, and weak, and meaningless words. Laughter and guttural jests in...the other rooms of my home were punctuated by the crash of breaking furniture and glass. But here it was quiet. My eyes still fixed on the wall, I waited. Moments passed and the quiet endured. When finally I turned, the soldier was still on his knees by my bed, his face buried in his hands as he silently wept. For a flittering moment I felt the. Justdon't lose the argument.I had an uneventful drive home, aside from the fact that one of the widerecievers on my favorite football team was hurt and would miss half theseason. It was the hot topic of the sports radio station."Well, that's just perfect. Last year the quarterback was hurt, and oncehe's healthy, the reciever gets hurt. Of course." I mumbled, moresurprised then upset. I then laughed as the host of the show called theperson who was calling in a "nitwit". Couldn't go even an hour. More

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