While I'm there, one of my newer co-workers comes in to put her lunch in the refrigerator. She's Chinese and obviously has some difficulty with English. We smile at each other and say mutual good mornings. I've met her a few times in the hall. She tells me she's heard I'm interested in politics and figured she should ask me where she can find information online about the presidential primaries. "I'm trying to learn more about American politics," she says. So I recommend a couple of comprehensive sites I think are informative and worthwhile. I feel pretty good to have passed along some knowledge.
"Thanks so much! You know," she adds,"I was at Tiananmen Square."
"Really?" I say.
"Yes, I was there. The tanks were all around us."
"Tanks," I say, shamed to know vicariously everything she's talking about and suddenly feeling about as small as, say, a lone figure in front of a snarling phalanx of military might.
An awed and awkward silence filled the kitchen. Still smiling at me, she wordlessly watched me sip my big NPR mug sheepishly.
More co-workers came in and we all talked about whatever despite my best efforts to stand slack jawed in admiration and horror. Of course, in these pleasantries, I didn't mention what I had just recently hung on the wall in my condo next to the cats' scratch post.
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