I had to make a Walmart run for some hotdog buns, mustard, pickles, and a few other common items as I wanted to finish my leftovers from Memorial Day weekend. I found my items easily, spoke with the friendly girl at the cash register, and was exiting through the doors when a man in a wheelchair had a box in front of him that he must’ve dropped, or it had tumbled to the floor by accident. I’m not sure what had happened, but there he was, an elderly black man in a wheelchair, and a box of items he’d purchased, but the contents of the box were scattered all over the exit.

I only had a couple of light plastic bags in one hand, so I set my bags down by the bubblegum machines, picked up the styrofoam cups, plates, napkins, and other items that had fallen from the man’s box. I repackaged them and handed the box to the man. He was so gentle and thankful.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said. We had never met before, but he had the look of a veteran. Then I noticed his cap: Vietnam vet.

“You’re welcome, brother,” I said.

I felt someone looking at us. I looked over my shoulder in the direction of where I felt the stare coming. It was another black man, but he was clearly a civilian and seemed rather miffed at this conversation and at the interaction occurring between me and my new buddy in the wheelchair.

I cannot read another’s heart, of course, but I almost wish we could have spoken longer. I think all three of us learned something that, I believe, we could use more of.