He walks into the office, arms puffed out from his torso
neck erect and stiff, scalp pinking through his nearly shaved head
Handing in an application for a security guard position he tells me he just came
home from the war
He is angry because someone tore the support our troops sticker off his car, not surprising in a college town
His eyes are angry
His jaw is angry
He wants me to agree with his anger, to tell him so
I want to tell him I can see his pain, traumatized eyes welded into a hard stare, but that would be embarrassing for him
I want to tell him that, though I don’t agree with the politics behind the war, his sacrifice, his willingness to endure a constructed hell is admirable
There is a disconnection between us though we share a generation
I sense he knows I know nothing about what he’s been through, what he’s seen and
cannot forget
I pretend that this is a normal situation, just someone applying for a job but
his last job was war
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