I can see them: the 82 dead bodies, their limbs against the ground, their insides splitting open. Their bodies are diagramed in my head: Liver, spleen, intestines, skull fragment, brain, heart.

There is a diagram of the bomb in the paper, and each part of the bomb’s body is labelled: Tale plate, base plate, end plate, explosive cavity, suspension lug.

The words explosive cavity echo in my head.

The whole walk to work, a chorus of the phrase explosive cavity repeats in my head.

“YOU SEE THE NEWS?” ASKS THE BOSS.

“Yes,” I say.

“We bombed the shit out of those fuckers, we sure did!” he crows.

“Yes... yes, I guess we did.”

“You look sick.”

“Ah, just not feeling well today. Still working hard though!”

“Well, let’s get back to it!”

At my desk, I stare down into my coffee mug. There is a hard crack in my chest, near my heart, near the breastbone.

IN THE DIM LIGHT OF THE BAR, I SIP THE sharp liquid like my father.

“Long day today?” asks the bartender.

“Very long, how about you?”

“Just getting started! Crazy about this bomb, huh?”

“I hate the bomb. It’s terrible what we’ve done to those people.”

“Well, get them before they get us, right?”

A silence begins between us and it doesn’t end.

◆The word bomb comes from the Latin bombus, which comes from the Greek βόμβος, meaning “booming,” “buzzing”

◆Explosive bombs were used in China in 1221, and bamboobased bombs were used as early as the 11th century

◆The Ming Dynasty built fragmentation bombs using iron pellets and pieces of broken porcelain, which served as shrapnel upon explosion

◆The Grand Slam is an earthquake bomb that is the most powerful non-atomic bomb used in combat; when it hits, it penetrates deep underground before detonating in order to destroy the foundation of its target

AFTER THE SILENCE, I MEET A MAN WITH blond hair, blue eyes, steel cheeks. He feels silver, cool, metal to the touch. I let his fingers wrap around my leg. I let my hand curl around the back of his neck as if he is mine.

Everything in the world seems to speed up once you learn how it works. Once I caress his neck, there is a quick cut to the apartment.

WE STAND IN THE DIM LIGHT OF MY kitchen.

“Want to hear a joke?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Knock knock,” he says.

Before I can respond, a laugh escapes my throat and then our mouths are together. He presses his body against mine, but I hold the knot away from him, an expert now, keep his hands to my shoulders and upper back.

“Want to go to your room?” he asks.

“Sure, but we’re taking it slow, OK?”

“Your rules.”

“I’m not ready yet,” I say.

“That’s OK,” he says.