Alternate realities

I have felt reminded several times in our time in Saigon how much something has been missing in my life. When I lived in Costa Rica, Dallas and Chicago, I was reminded almost daily about how difficult life really can be and how hard it can be to find a few dollars for dinner. In Costa Rica, I lived among and loved people that many times literally served me their last handful of rice as their guest of honor, as I reluctantly accepted. In Dallas, I had friends who were working nearly around the clock to scrape together enough money to support a family in Mexico or Peru while maintaining just enough to pay their fair share of the rent for the two bedroom flat they shared with several other men. In Chicago, I was befriended by women who were so hopelessly dependent on others to feed them and their fatherless children that they could not see a way out. How distant this reality of life can feel in a neighborhood like Holladay or Hobble Creek.

A few months ago Katie and I attended a photographic exhibit by Sabastiao Salgado. He has spent years taking pictures of refugees around the globe. It was raw, honest, stark. A fair response to such an exhibit is to feel grateful for what one has. One of the last photos in the gallery was of a deadpan child of perhaps five. His eyes bored through my soul. They did not say, "Be grateful for what you have." They said, "What are you doing about it?"

Last night we stopped at a small grocery store on the way home to buy a few sodas. Katie was excited to see she could have a treat - an American candy bar. We had walked quietly through the din of Saigon, me and Mason holding hands and Katie cuddling Lucy in her little carrier. As we passed out of the door of the shop, there appeared a woman. She stood there holding a young girl, though not so young as to hide the sag and the backpain of lugging her around. As Katie passed her it looked as though she was a reflection of Katie, but there was no mirror. Katie was clean, bright and happy; the woman was dirty, tired and solemn. Both women looked at each other, with each one's beloved leaning from her hip, as if recognizing one another from somewhere - another time, another lifetime. Without missing a beat Katie handed her the candy bar and walked on. How wonderful to know the woman I loves so instinctively reaches outward.

I suspect that in the weeks to come I will be on my bike out for a ride somewhere in the foothills of the Wasatch. Despite my outward appearance, I may pass by the reflective glass of an office building and out of the corner of my eye I wonder if I won't see staring back at me the image of a Saigon cyclo-driver, waving for a tourist, hoping for the chance to earn a few dong to buy dinner for his kids. There but for the grace of God go I.