[WP] While visiting a memorial for veterans, you spot a man in a stained and dirty uniform. After asking him what war he served in, he sadly laughs and responds “all of them”.

I had always seen the veterans’ memorial every time I drove into work. It was right outside one of the gates to the air force base. One day, even though I really just wanted to head home, I exited the gate and drove to the memorial. I figured I would at least stretch my legs for a few after sitting down all day.

I parked my car, locked it behind me, and started wandering the grounds. There was a rose garden with sculptures, flags, and slabs of stone, with the museum not too far away. Each conflict had a dedicated section of stone engraved with thousands of names of the soldiers who served and died. The earliest time period went all the way back to the first contact between the Pueblos and the Spanish. I followed the paths and read about every war.

My great-grandfather fought in World War II, one of my grandfathers fought in Korea, and the other in Vietnam. My dad was in the Air Force, and my uncle was in the Marines; both of them were deployed during the Gulf War and now retired.

I wasn’t in the military myself, but all my life, I held a deep respect for it.

I reached the World War I part of the memorial when I came across the one other person in the garden. I stopped, shocked by his appearance. He wore what barely resembled a uniform of one of the military branches; I couldn’t tell which one it was because the uniform was so stained, dirty, and ripped. I did recognize that the hat he wore was a cover. It hid most of his face. But he sat up straight, his hands resting on his knees, and he stared at a particular statue intently.

I wondered if he was homeless, at first.

I walked over to the bench, and he turned his head to watch me. I got a better look at his face. Surprisingly, he was younger than I thought. Yet he had sunken cheeks, dark circles under his eyes, and a pale complexion. And he smiled at me.

“Afternoon,” he said, his voice a bit raspy.

“Hello,” I said nervously.

By the smell, I realized that he had been smoking; he had a short, lit cigarette pinched between two fingers. When I glanced down at it, he coughed and threw it on the ground, stomping it out. He cleared his throat.

“‘Scuse me,” he said.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to—” I started.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I saw the signs. I shoulda followed the rules.”

I wasn’t sure what to continue the conversation with. So I distracted myself by looking at the statue he had been gazing at. It was a soldier, of course, with his helmet on, gun in his hand, and pack on his back. He was in a running pose.

“You a Joe?” the man asked.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I’m sorry?”

He chuckled. “I asked if you’re a soldier.”

“Oh, no,” I answered. I laughed a little, too. “Uh, I have family and friends who are, but I’m not.”

The guy nodded. Then, he pointed at the statue.

“That’s Ed,” he said. “He and his folks lived on a ranch here. He had two sisters. He wanted to fix up cars and sell’em when he got home.”

My eyes searched for a plaque or something that might’ve had this information on it. I assumed he was reading off of it.

“Oh,” I piped up, still trying to find it.

“He was in love with his cousin,” he resumed. “He told me if he ever made it back, he was gonna elope and move to the city with her. His parents probably woulda killed him if the war didn’t.”

This man must’ve done his research on this Ed in the museum. I knew I wouldn’t get to that part of the memorial that day, yet I was pretty fascinated by how much he knew.

Wait…

I made a concentrated effort to blink. I faced him.

“Sorry, could you say that again?” I asked. “I missed a lot of it.”

The guy grinned. “I’m sure you heard every word, kid,” he said in response.

My mouth dropped.

“You…” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t say any more.

His grin became a frown. He stood up and crossed his arms.

“Ed died right next to me,” he said. “Never thought he’d be a statue one day. That’s the thing, though, huh? We used to remember the boys that died, and we’d forget the ones that were still around. It sorta seems we’re forgetting both now. I think I’m learnin’ that the hard way.”

I had no idea what to say. I had no clue if any of it was true or not. The man reached into his pocket and dug out a chain, holding it in his open hand for me to see: a pair of dog tags. I swallowed.

Those could’ve been anyone’s.

Yet honestly, I didn’t know what to believe.

“You… served in World War I?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he told me. “And every war before… and every war since.”