“I’m sorry they sent you to war. Nobody should go to war. Boys should be owls running in snow fields. I’m sorry you had to find me.” She touched his arm, her grip warm and stern. “So you’re a liggabit then,” she said, sniffling. He looked at her hand on his sleeve. “What?” “You’re—” she gestured at him, “a liggabit. Boy and boy, girl and girl. I see them in newspapers. Liggabit community.” “Oh—oh, you mean LGBT?” He wiped his eyes and let out a single disbelieving laugh. She shrugged. “Yeah, I’m a liggabit.”
