Yes,' he said, 'a list. That way, I figure, we'll have a written record of what we've agreed upon as our goals for our relationship. So if problems arise, we'll be able to consult the lists, see which issue it corresponds to, and work out a solution from there.'
I could still hear my sister talking, but her voice was fading as she led her group around the house. I said, 'But what if that doesn't work?'
Jason blinked at me. Then he said, 'Why wouldn't it?'
'Because,' I said.
He just looked at me. 'Because...'
'Because,' I repeated, as a breeze blew over us,' sometimes things just happen. That aren't expected. Or on the list.'
'Such as?' he asked.
'I don't know,' I said, frustrated. 'That's the point. It would be out of the blue, taking us by surprise. Something we might not be prepared for.'
'But we will be prepared,' he said, confused. 'We'll have the list.'
I rolled my eyes. 'Jason,' I said.
'Macy, I'm sorry.' He stepped back, looking at me. 'I just don't understand what you're trying to say.'
And then it hit me: he didn't. He had no idea. And this thought was so ludicrous, so completely unreal, that I knew it just had to be true. For Jason, there was no unexpected, no surprises. His whole life was outlined carefully, in lists and sublists, just like the ones I'd helped him go through all those weeks ago.
'It's just...' I said and stopped, shaking my head.
'It's just what?' He was waiting, genuinely wanting to know. 'Explain it to me.'
But I couldn't. I'd had to learn it my own way, and so had my mother. Jason would eventually, as well. No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth a war, is much worse. When a people are used as mere human instruments for firing cannon or thrusting bayonets, in the service and for the selfish purposes of a master, such war degrades a people. A war to protect other human beings against tyrannical injustice; a war to give victory to their own ideas of right and good, and which is their own war, carried on for an honest purpose by their free choice, — is often the means of their regeneration. A man who has nothing which he is willing to fight for, nothing which he cares more about than he does about his personal safety, is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself. As long as justice and injustice have not terminated their ever-renewing fight for ascendancy in the affairs of mankind, human beings must be willing, when need is, to do battle for the one against the other.