I knew his family had money, but I had no idea they had money. It makes me think he was crazier than I first gave him credit for.
The ceremony ends with a Catholic priest blessing the sleek black casket covered by a blanket of flowers. I stand to the side, the only one in uniform. Khav's father is someone I know better than my own from the stories the spirited twin used to tell. He's a burly, former Russian KGB officer with white hair and bright blue eyes who defected to the States when he fell in love with an American heiress, a ballerina training with the Bolshoi Ballet group in Moscow.
Everyone in our unit knew their story. Fairy tales have a place, especially in war, and this was a nice, rosy one that was real enough for us to touch. A man leading a life of war and violence meets a beautiful ballerina and finds peace and happily ever after? Who doesn't want that someday? Avid storytellers, the twins kept the morale of their respective units up with the sheer power of their upbeat personalities. I can't imagine going back without them.
The Khavs' sister, whose name I can't remember, is standing beside her father, a veil covering her face. She's small, like I expect of the daughter of a ballerina, and dressed in black. She leans into her father in a stance I've seen too often lately, one that makes me hurt for those like her. The only thing I recall Khav-One saying about her was never to eat the cookies she sent the unit, but not to tell her the cookies got tossed, because she has a temper.
The twins were known to exaggerate, though, and I didn't believe it until I tried one. I've never met a cookie I didn't like, especially in a war zone. The taste was nothing compared to the bellyache hers gave me after I choked a few down.
I wish I knew something else about her. I try to say something more personal to everyone I meet at funerals. It seems like an oversight right now not to have something more thoughtful to express than please don't send more cookies.
"Thank you for your service, Captain," one man says, approaching me. I recognize him from television. He's a senator. I haven't been stateside in four years, so I'm not sure from which state.
"It's an honor, sir," I reply.
"Force Recon Marine at a Green Beret funeral? Things have changed since my day." He smiles.
"We recruited the best of the best from all services for our special team, sir. It was an honor to serve with him."