Travel Reference
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ments. In the process he had actually done me an enormous favor
—though I certainly
didn't know that then.
I could barely hear the official talking as he made apologies, prom-
ises, and tried desperately not to dress down his hapless underling, who was now only be-
ginning to realize his error. Or should I say, the magnitude of his error.
I left the embassy in a fog of desperation, shock clinging to me. All week Hao had been
saying, “Don't worry, Leon. Everything is going to be okay.”
But Hao was wrong. Everything was not going to be okay.
I went back to the apartment where I had found shelter the last two nights and called
Lina. I was going to have to start coming up with other ways out of Vietnam. I was going to
have to prepare myself for leaving behind Kindness One, and returning home . . . by plane.
“Leon, there could be far worse fates,” Lina tried to comfort me.
“Name one,” I tersely replied.
“You could be not coming home at all. You could have gotten hurt on the road. Or
worse.”
I knew she was right, but still, I had begun to create a new dream in my head: an image
of me riding back into Los Angeles on Kindness One. The prodigal boyfriend returning
home.
“You'll come home however you're supposed to,” Lina continued. “Remember some-
times the universe sends a rainstorm so we don't drive into the tornado.”
Who knew my girlfriend was a direct descendant of Mother Teresa?
I went to bed and prepared myself for another day of stormy weather.
The next day, I got another call from the consulate: Calls were being made, papers were
being drawn, I should plan to head back to the border the next day to try to claim Kindness
One. If I could have run to the consulate and kissed that assistant myself, I would have.
Because here is the other side of kindness—though happiness cannot be bartered, to a cer-
tain extent, kindness can. Because of the documents mishap, the official likely felt he, how
shall I put it, “owed me one.” And that tradeoff might just have been Kindness One's only
way out of Vietnam.
I returned to the guard who had denied me only days before.
The guard looked down at my paperwork and nodded: “Hold on.”
Hold on. Okay, that I could do. I had been doing it for five days, so what were a few
more moments? He went and spoke with the chief, who had been telling me no for days on
end—via email, via telephone, and in person. The men nodded and looked gruffly in my
direction.
