Lunch before War

Her voice cracks, as she speaks. I look up over the monitor of my laptop and catch her in mid sentence, "... so young, it's not fair."

She peers over her shoulder, and back at me again. I follow her line of sight, and see a young man in military fatigues. He's sitting alone, finishing off a burger. He sits at a table with a drink in one hand. There's a wrapper and paper bag from Chick-fil-A, in a lunch tray, in front of him. He's wolfing down the burger, and seems in a hurry. He can't be any more than eighteen, twenty years old at the most. He's scrawny, and looks like he should be hanging around the hallways of a high school, his uniform seems too big for him, it seems out of place.

She turns back to me, and she's holding back tears, her voice trembles, "It's just not fair". She's waiting for me to respond. I fold my screen and nod, "Ya, it ain't.., maybe you should go over and say something". My wife gets up from our table, with baby Zak in her arms, grabs her purse, and walks across the shopping center food court, to the young man in the uniform.

From a distance, I see them start a conversation. I can't hear what they are saying, but see Sonia say something, he puts down the drink in his hand, stands up, and shakes her hand. Then I see Sonia take some bills from her purse, and place them in his hand. They exchange a few more words, I see him turn and look over at me. I wave at him, I'm not expecting him to come over but he does. His hand outstretched, he says "Thank you", I shake his hand, and say, "No, thank you". He smiles, and heads back to his table. I realize he's even younger than I thought. Is he going to Iraq? What does the future hold for him? How much of the future, if there is a future?

On the way back, a lady at a nearby table, grabs Sonia and tells her she's done a beautiful thing. The woman wipes a tear from her face. Sonia comes back to our table. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't need to. Outside of politics, and outside of partisanship, humanity beckons, and when we hear it, we try to answer in whatever way we can. A Muslim shakes the hand of a Christian, a mother exchanges a few words with someone's son. A boy wears a uniform, and a war carries on.

He walks off, and we pack up, and go outside to our car. We put Zak in his car seat, and head out of the shopping parking lot, thinking about the future.