Free The Unwanted by Kien Nguyen Page B

company. I came closer to him as my friends hesitated. “Kien,” they shouted to me, “come back.” Unlike the rest of the children, I was not in the least frightened of the foreigner in front of me. Having attended my mother's parties, I had had plenty of experience with strange people and understood some of their funny language. I took a step closer to the fence.
    “Hello, little fellow. Want some candies?” the American soldier asked in English. I noticed a tint of gray in his icy eyes.
    I nodded. He gestured for me to come closer, which I did. Through the barrier I accepted his gift. “Nice little fellow,” he asked, “do you know how to blow bubble gum?” Again I nodded.
    He ran out of the base to the other side of the barbed wire and joined me. My friends stayed away, observing every move we made. The soldier ignored my classmates' aversion as he turned and waved at them.
    “Don't you want to share some candies with your friends?” he suggested.
    I shrugged. He laughed and ruffled my head. I brought him closer to my classmates, and the candies I had in my hand overcame their fears. We spent an afternoon playing with the soldier on the sandy beach while the sea murmured at our feet.
    Before we separated at the end of that afternoon, he asked, “Can I see you and your friends again tomorrow, little fellow?”
    I nodded and ran away, catching up with my friends.
    The next day, unable to convince any of my classmates to accompany me, I returned to the beach alone. My new friend stood under the coconut tree, holding a plastic bag full of chocolate in colorful wrappers. I ran toward him. He picked me up and threw me in the air, then caught me before I fell to the ground.
    I took the soldier to my home and showed him to my grandparents. Upon meeting them at the doorstep, he took off his helmet and bowed his head to salute them, the way Vietnamese people pay respects to their elders. My grandmother made us some lemonade while we sat by the pool. For hours the soldier lay on the grass, folding up yesterday's newspapers into boats that I floated on the pool's smooth surface. At one point, I looked up to see him propped on one side staring into the air.
    “Hello, American, you okay?” I waved a hand in front of his face.
    “Okay,” he replied. His eyes squinted under the sun. “I am just homesick. You understand homesick? I miss my family.”
    “Family? Oh yes, I know. You have pictures?” I asked him.
    “Yes.” He perked up. “Do you want to see my family?” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
    “My family,” I repeated after him with my broken English, holding the worn pictures in my hands. Some of them had dark creases, as they had absorbed his perspiration.
    “No,
my
family,” he said, correcting my poor English. “Not your family.”
    One by one, he showed me his loved ones. He told me he was from Wisconsin. To me, the name Wisconsin was as strange as the color of his eyes. His parents looked amiable and soft as they squinted at the camera. He also had an older sister who had just gotten married. The wedding picture showed a beautiful woman and her husband laughing on a church's front steps. The bouquet of white roses in her hands matched her dress and the veil on her blond hair. The same picture also showed his younger brother, who was about my age.
    “You remind me of my brother, you know?” he said, touching my hair.
    “Yeah? Good,” I said.
    “Uh-huh. His name is Todd. He is a very good boy, sort of like you, very skinny. I miss him very much.” He touched his brother's face in the photograph with the tips of his fingers. “Yesterday before I met you by the beach, remember? I was on the phone with Todd. It was his birthday, but I didn't get a chance to sing a happy birthday song for him. He was leaving for summer camp. Anyhow, when I walked outside feeling depressed, I saw you running around on the sand with your bare feet. You look just like a little American boy, you know?