Something happened some time ago. No one quite remembers what it was, but we think that it happened. I remember that we huddled together. I remember that we prayed. I remember that it was just a mistake, no one's fault. What was?"Something happened," I have said to others many times since.
"Something happened," each one replies, and we nod in agreement over this shared knowledge. (You laugh to discover that only this vaguest of bonds connects us. Are yours less so?)
I remember that we were told by the Old Boy to work, that work is life.
Only work eats the days. So we do the gray work.
Others gather around the Old Boy and say, "Well done." He has set the proper tone for us to go on.
You've really been through it, they say to the Old Boy. He sends the letter to say that we have all been through it.
"I've really been through it," I have said to others many times since.
"I've really been through it, too," each one replies, and we nod.
One nods and says, "He really put us through it."
I stop, turn, and look.
He? "You mean the Old Boy?" I ask, frightened.
"No, I mean the one who put us through it. The one that it happened to."
"Something did happen," I say."Yes, something happened," he replies, and we nod.
And while we do the gray work, words collect. Something happened. Well done or not? He really put us through it. I've really been through it, too. Yes, something did happen.
At roll call, there is one less of us, and we know that something happened.
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