“Well, that’s not a horrible thing,” Sergeant Franks says. “I think your dad’s probably just looking out for you. At least you won’t be killing anyone.”

Eli nods. “Yeah, but I’d be a great soldier. I’d go in there and take down insurgents, dodge and roll, set off some C-4.”

Sergeant Franks is listening to Eli, but he’s grimacing like everything my son is saying hurts. When Eli starts in about hijacking tanks, Franks cuts him off.

“That’s not what war’s like,” he says, his voice grim. “It’s not something you can spend fifty bucks on and turn off when you’re done. Wish I could, but I can’t. I’ll tell you something: Not everyone you end up killing deserves to die. You understand? You understand?” he barks at my son.

“Come on,” I say, and put my arm around Eli. I click the fob and our car beeps open.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Sergeant Franks says. His face goes slack, the anger gone as quickly as it appeared. “Seriously, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry.” Franks takes a soft pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, shakes one loose into his mouth, and lights it. “Look, they’d fire me if they heard me say this, but it’s not actually fun to kill people. I’ve seen real death. I had a lot of buddies who died. They’re training you to kill without remorse.” He lets out a cloud of smoke, looking just like my avatar when I smoke with Brogan. “Hey, I’ve got something for you, okay?” Franks opens the rear latch and roots around the back of his car until he locates a cigar box. “Here, soldier. Want one of these?” Inside the box are dozens of shining Medals of Honor.

“Whoa,” Eli says.

“Go ahead, take one,” Franks says. “I’m not supposed to give them away, but they give me hundreds. Funny, all I wanted was a medal like this.” He rattles the box, and Eli takes one. Sergeant Franks taps his chest with the box where his Purple Heart hangs. “Instead I got this one.”

“Thank you for the medal,” I say, taking out my wallet, “and thank you for your service.” I pull a twenty and extend it, but Franks just stands there looking at me as though I’m trying to hand him a dirty sock.

“I don’t want your money,” he says, his voice loud in the empty lot. “All I want is for the kid to understand what he’s headed for.”

Sergeant Franks spooked something in Eli, because after we get home he doesn’t want to play Purple Heart. I ask him what’s wrong, but he just says he’d rather watch funny videos on YouTube. Later, he comes out to where I’m sitting.

“Want to go biking?” he asks.