The old man and Nam

"You know, I was supposed to be here during the war."
I was sitting in the "No Noodle" restaurant. Chowing away on a breakfast baguette. There were only two tables in the place. An American named Tom sat on the other. We started talking about our plans and our lives. And he told me about his.
"I am from nowhere. My dad was a regular army. So we moved a lot. Iran, Afghanistan, US. All over the place. My dad was a military advicer to the Shah of Iran. We used to live on the outskirts of Teheran. I had a BB gun that I used to shoot at the animals in the caravans that used to come into the city with goods to the shah."
He laughed. His eyes went dreamy. He took a sip from his coke. Looked at it and continued.
"My dad would be smiling in his grave if he knew I was here now. He had gotten me into West Point. But I turned it down. West Point would mean straight to Nam afterwards. I didn't want to. My dad was a colonel here during the war. He was so insulted by me not wanting to 'do my duty to my country' that he didn't speak to me for many years afterwards."
He laughed again. But it was a hollow laugh. He looked at me with a serious face.
"I just didn't see what business the US had, fighting other peoples war. Fight the commies? Well. We didn't exactly do that, did we?"
He took another sip. Looked out into the street.
"I became a teacher to pay for some of my dad's crimes. Me and my sister we became teachers. And became the poor ones."
His laughter roared.
"My younger brother saw that we were poor, and went into finance. He is now a millionaire. While I teach English to kindergarden kids in Shanghai. But I don't complain. I love my life. I live well."
He paid his bill. Thanked the waiter.
"It took me almost 40 years to get to Nam, but now I am here. Now I am here."
We said our goodbyes and he disappeared into the streets of communist Vietnam. Nam was no more.

Ragnar
Aka "collector of stories"