It was the beginning of rush hour, and the Green Line train was almost full, forcing us to stand. As soon as we boarded I grabbed the bar on the back of the seat nearest me and adjusted my stance to absorb the jerk which I knew would follow as soon as we started.
I noticed a man sitting in the aisle seat a few rows back, and two things about him immediately grabbed my attention. One, he was sitting with his back ramrod straight, and two, he was obviously ex-military, wearing a black corduroy baseball cap embroidered in red and yellow letters that said “Marine Veteran” and a badge that read “Vietnam Veteran” above the pocket of his denim jacket.
His self-assurance was fascinating, yet I also found his eyes-front posture intimidating because the aviator sunglasses hid half of his handsome face. I aimed my gaze over his head and out the window and wondered what he’d experienced in that war that was more humiliating to those who fought in it than any other in America’s history, and how it had shaped him.