Would You Like a Bracelet?

by Stephanie Hubka (United States of America)

Making a local connection Cambodia

The sun had set but the air was still hot and thick as I sipped cold beer on a Cambodian beach. Surrounded by a handful of fellow travelers from far-reaching corners of the globe, conversation flowed as effortlessly as the Angkors we ordered and consumed. My soul felt light against the support of new friends and carefree vacation days. I didn’t notice the air change as he approached our group. I barely heard his timid voice when he spoke. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. “Do you want a bracelet?” he asked. I grimaced; it was a sales pitch. “How much are they?” I asked him. He’s a child, I thought. Be nice. “1,000 riels,” he said, “but you can pick any colors you like. I can make it right here.” It was the beer that made me say yes. Paying kids for souvenirs felt like exploitation; after all, they should be in school or playing with friends, not selling things to strangers on the beach. His eyes lit up—his sales pitch had worked!—and he presented me with a rainbow of colored string yanked from a cheap plastic case. I picked cranberry, white, and navy before turning back to my conversation. Crouching on the ground next to me he got to work, once and a while grabbing my arm without warning and measuring the bracelet’s length against my wrist. After a few minutes, satisfied with his efforts, he trimmed the loose ends and tied the bracelet on my wrist. His job was done. I didn’t have exact change, but I did have a dollar—about four times his asking price—and I gave it to him. “No change,” I told him. “My bracelet is beautiful. You did a great job.” He smiled broadly, packed up his case, and sprinted away. I was surprised when his small hand tapped my shoulder just moments later. “I want to make you another bracelet. But I’ll do it for free this time. And I am going to pick your colors!” I laughed out loud—we all did—as the little boy began working on his new creation. “I must have overpaid,” I joked. The new bracelet was constructed just like the previous one, with periodic tugs at my wrist to measure progress as he wove together green and yellow thread. When the ends were knotted in place, I reached into my purse and found another dollar. The boy didn’t reach out to take it. “Thank you for making me something so beautiful,” I told him. “You worked so hard on this, and I will wear it every day.” He reluctantly took the money, shyly smiled at me again, and disappeared into the darkness. I should have expected to feel his hand on my shoulder again when he reemerged a few minutes later. This time, tears slid down his cheeks. “I brought you a present, but I didn’t make it,” he told me. He took my hand and placed something small and round in it, and when he closed my hand around it, he held it for a beat. “I wanted you to have this so you would remember me. That way, we can stay friends when you go home.” Before I could react, before I could process his words, he was gone, running across the beach. I opened my hand. In it was a green plastic ring, clearly something of value to him. I slipped it on my finger and blinked back tears of my own. We stayed on the beach until the air felt cool on our skin. Reflexively, I found myself glancing over my shoulder until we left, looking for the little boy, hoping I would feel him tap my arm again. As we departed for our hotel, the green ring felt warm on my finger. I whispered goodnight toward the dark waves washing over where his footprints had been. Somewhere out there, I hoped my friend heard me.