Shadows of inhumanity, points of light

I have just finished watching the National Memorial Day Concert on PBS. The show airs live from the Mall in DC every year. By now I am quite familiar with the format of the program. Each year, actors dramatize a few first-person accounts from veterans in the audience. This year, actor Charles Durning (a regular at the event) presented his own story instead, recounting his experience at Normandy. A few popular entertainers also come on stage each year to perform patriotic and nostalgic music. A bugler performs "Taps" on the steps of the Capitol. The program ends with all of the performers and the entire crowd singing "God Bless America."

One image in particular caught my attention. A young Marine sat in the crowd. He was perfectly rigid, motionless, and expressionless. His eyes were concealed by the brim of his white cap. Seated beside him, leaning on his arm, was a pretty young woman. She watched the show intently. Her dark eyes gleamed in the dim light. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she frightened? Was she proud? I wondered whether her man had recently returned from a theater of war, or whether he might soon go to one. And what was the Marine thinking, as his love rested her head on his shoulder? What does this night in Washington mean to him?