Across the carpeted aisle, a young Marine corporal got up from a row of blue chairs and picked up an olive-green plastic water bottle.

His black name tag, stitched over his right pocket, read REID.

Corporal Mason Reid walked over to the metal drinking fountain set into the wall six feet from my seat.

His sleeves were rolled into tight, perfect folds around his forearms.

As he bent to press the fountain bar, his eyes flicked toward my right lapel.

His gaze landed on the gold oak leaf pinned to my collar, and his thumb hesitated on the fountain bar for an instant.

Mason Reid straightened right up, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and took a quick step back from the fountain.