During William’s patrols the doctor wanted him to call walks he saw no overt neighborliness.

People passed on the street without as much as a nod. Too many people still went without masks, walking shoulder-to-shoulder, even people he knew who should know better, smart people, college-educated people, people he no longer wanted to protect.

Like that nurse in his apartment building.

With his tours of duty over, William only wanted to take care of himself. At least that’s what he told himself. If he truly didn’t care about others, though, why did he confront the nurse, Mr. On-The-Front-Lines who cared for the sick and dying at work only to come home and infect his neighbors?

William cared.

In his weekly Zoom video conference he told the doctor his anger sometimes blinded him.

Everything we thought we were we’re not anymore, he said.

That’s prolific, William.

Aren’t we supposed to be the greatest country in the world?

That depends on your perspective, the doctor said.

Go to the store and look at the cereal aisle. More cereal than any country should have. I couldn’t name the brands if I tried. Mostly sugared poison for kids, too, he said.

See, you are concerned about others, she said.

And the rap music from next door. People might have babies trying to sleep. Old people alone and lonesome. People might be sick and isolated. But they got to listen to that so-called Dope Dog music with his blunts and fizzles and snizzles.

Do you listen to Snoop Dog, William?

Some of the team played him in Afghanistan. I didn’t complain or make a scene.

Was that before or after the mountain?

I don’t want to talk about the mountain.

OK, what do you want to talk about?

Nobody cheered me when I did my job. I didn’t expect them to. I didn’t want them to. I took pride in doing my job.

Judging from your medals and commendations, you succeeded.

Tell it to the mountain.

I thought you didn’t want to talk about the mountain.

It’s always there.

Even on your walks?

This morning I heard the weights on the elementary school flag pole clang. When I looked, the flag was at half-staff. The kids were all gone even though it was a school day. The building was empty. Two Orthodox Jews across the street were working on a van with the hood up, head to head with nothing even close to six feet between them. The mailman wasn’t wearing a mask. On Easter Sunday a convertible sped past with an adult wearing a full bunny suit waving and laughing in the back seat.

This afternoon the cops rolled up with seven squad cars in a line with sirens going lights flashing. I crawled to the window on my belly. The 8-year-old next door was out front jumping up and down. His birthday, I heard one of the cops say. Maybe his’s mother’s a nurse. Or his father’s a firefighter. Or the kid’s autistic. Whatever the reason, it was a total waste of time and money in a national emergency when crack discipline is required.

You’re opening up, William. What do these observations have in common?

Unpreparedness.

The flag pole, too?

Any good maintenance man would have attached the weights so they didn’t bang against the pole.

We’re back with the men on the mountain in Afghanistan, aren’t we, William?

I warned them. They didn’t listen. They were careless.

The doctor probed.

They didn’t take the threat seriously.

Thought they had it licked.

The doctor supported William’s observations.

They were wrong.

I told them how dangerous the mountain could be. They said you could only scale its face from the front, that nobody could scale the back cliffs. Not even wild mountain goats could climb the ragged rear precipice due to rock, ice, snow and avalanches.

Did anybody listen?

Everybody laughed.

You tried, William.

When the flares and rockets and mortars fired in the middle of the night I thought the guys were celebrating the New Year. I heard explosions and saw red smoke, lights and tracer trails, but I really thought they were celebrating.

They were being overrun.

The Taliban got up the mountain nobody could climb and came down behind them. None of our people survived.

Is that why you yelled at the nurse?

Maybe.

And maybe the next time you see him you can apologize for scaring him. Tell him you’re concerned about your safety and the safety of others. Offer some of that neighborliness you would like to see in others. Do you think you might do that, William?

No.