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times.
    LE: Yes, we do. Yes, we do.
    Me: So, perhaps you could, uh, tell me something about my grandfather.
    LE: I can tell you how he died.
    Me: Really?
    LE: Yeah, it was on Okinawa, and we hit the beach, and, well, it’s hard to talk about it—it was the worst thing—it was Hell—no, that’s not even a good way to describe it. I’m not a writer like you—I’m not a poet—so I don’t have the words—but just think of it this way—that beach, that island—was filled with sons and fathers—men who loved and were loved—American and Japanese and Okinawan—and all of us were dying—were being killed by other sons and fathers who also loved and were loved.
    Me: That sounds like poetry—tragic poetry—to me.
    LE: Well, anyway, it was like that. Fire everywhere. And two of our boys—Jonesy and O’Neal—went down—were wounded in the open on the sand. And your grandfather—who was just this little man—barely five feet tall and maybe one hundred and thirty pounds—he just ran out there and picked up those two guys—one on each shoulder—and carried them to cover. Hey, are you okay, son?
    Me: Yes, I’m sorry. But, well, the thing is, I knew my grandfather was a war hero—he won twelve medals—but I could never find out what he did to win the medals.
    LE: I didn’t know about any medals. I just know what I saw. Your grandfather saved those two boys, but he got shot in the back doing it. And he laid there in the sand—I was lying right beside him—and he died.
    Me: Did he say anything before he died?
    LE: Hold on. I need to—
    Me: Are you okay?
    LE: It’s just—I can’t—
    Me: I’m sorry. Is there something wrong?
    LE: No, it’s just—with your book and everything—I know you want something big here. I know you want something big from your grandfather. I knew you hoped he’d said something huge and poetic, like maybe something you could have written, and, honestly, I was thinking about lying to you. I was thinking about making up something as beautiful as I could. Something about love and forgiveness and courage and all that. But I couldn’t think of anything good enough. And I didn’t want to lie to you. So I have to be honest and say that your grandfather didn’t say anything. He just died there in the sand. In silence.
11. Orphans
    I was worried that I had a brain tumor. Or that my hydrocephalus had returned. I was scared that I was going to die and orphan my sons. But, no, their mother was coming home from Italy. No matter what happened to me, their mother would rescue them.
    “I’ll be home in sixteen hours,” my wife said over the phone.
    “I’ll be here,” I said. “I’m just waiting on news from my doctor.”
12. Coffee Shop News
    While I waited, I asked my brother-in-law to watch the boys again because I didn’t want to get bad news with them in the room.
    Alone and haunted, I wandered the mall, tried on new clothes, and waited for my cell phone to ring.
    Two hours later, I was uncomposed and wanted to murder everything, so I drove south to a coffee joint, a spotless place called Dirty Joe’s.
    Yes, I was silly enough to think that I’d be calmer with a caffeinated drink.
    As I sat outside on a wooden chair and sipped my coffee, I cursed the vague, rumbling, ringing noise in my ear. And yet, when my cell phone rang, I held it to my deaf ear.
    “Hello, hello,” I said and wondered if it was a prank call, then remembered and switched the phone to my left ear.
    “Hello,” my doctor said. “Are you there?”
    “Yes,” I said. “So, what’s going on?”
    “There are irregularities in your head.”
    “My head’s always been wrong.”
    “It’s good to have a sense of humor,” my doctor said. “You have a small tumor that is called a meningioma. They grow in the meninges membranes that lie between your brain and your skull.”
    “Shit,” I said. “I have cancer.”
    “Well,” my doctor said. “These kinds of tumors are usually noncancerous. And they grow