working lighthouse on the Chesapeake Bay.

 

Rogers remembered it well. As part of his training he had been required to climb

the sheer walls of the lighthouse all the way up to the top railing. In the dead

of night no less.

 

He had succeeded. He could remember standing on top of the lighthouse looking

out at the vastness of the bay and the ocean beyond and thinking that his future

was truly limitless. That he was special, when he never had been before.

 

On his walk Rogers saw the old arsenal that had made bullets and bombs for the

Union. He passed the stone and arch-windowed St. Mary’s Church where he had

worshipped as a young man. A far different young man.

 

Afterward, he had not wanted to worship anything or anyone. It was all changed.

He was all changed.

 

He clambered up on top of a wall to see the Chesapeake Bay better. He had spent

days out there treading water, swimming, surviving in all possible weather. They

had pushed him. Broken him.

 

Rebuilt him.

 

And broken him again.