Cruz took the hill. He made it to the top. And that’s where he died. I removed his dog tag and the contents of his vest, and I put them in a plastic bag that I taped to his wrist. For who? I don’t know. I helped put him in a body bag and I whispered, “I hope you’re home, at a party, that you eat until you puke, and you dance until the sun comes up. And I hope you do it again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that.”
