The Huron River Review, Issue 19 (2020)

Pleasantness … laughing …. Joy. Each one profoundly struck physically or cognitively - at some point - by Agent Orange.

Close by, a contribution box with a small sign of explanation.

I was naturally drawn to donate - a large Vietnamese note Almost automatically placing it in the box.

I remember … now; time had stopped: I felt alone, no noise, almost nothing …

But feelings, indescribable feelings that I am still attempting to fully understand Appreciate a better word.

Slowly drawing my hand back from giving the bill, I was brought back to the present and the presence of others by a voice full of warmth, kindness, and grace: “Thank you.”

The man (probably mid-thirties) – all of him – in a chair.

I have travelled the world and have seen people of all shapes and sizes, But I have never seen a human being so completely twisted and crumpled ...

Yet, all that I really saw was his lovely smiling face. In response, my best attempt at a smile.

Then it just came out as I knelt down beside him to look at him directly.

“I am … sorry” is all that came out.

The man - quizzical - seemed to be asking: “What on earth do you mean?”

A brief pause, then: “I sincerely apologize for what my country did.…”

Sweeping my arm and so referring to everything around us, certainly including the man himself.

He understood immediately, saw what must have been profound sadness in my eyes, and …

Simply smiled again – even more broadly and more (was it?) forgivingly than before – and nodded.

I rose slowly and left quietly. I know he watched me leave and wished me well as I did.

I found a bench outside on that beautiful balmy day – the breeze blowing slightly.

I sat down … and wept and quietly thanked the man for what he had done and for who he was.

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