I Went To Cancel An Old Bank Card After A Funeral—The Teller Asked Me Not To Leave

I was stationed between deployments.

I cried later, alone in a room that smelled like disinfectant and other people’s cigarette smoke, bending that card just enough to leave a permanent white crease down the middle.

“This isn’t mine,” I told it. “This isn’t mine and I’ll never use it.”

I shoved it to the bottom of my duffel, behind the uniforms and the continue reading …