United Strangers of America

By JS O’Keefe

“You are a man only in your own country,” he would tell us. “When abroad, you are just a passport.” What a puzzling phrase no one has ever heard.

Now, flying with him from Newark to San Francisco, I notice he uses his passport for ID at the ticket counter. Passport? Quite surprising; he was born here, a thoroughly incurious person, and he only speaks English.

“Planning a trip to a foreign country in the near future?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Never been, and don’t ever want to go.”

“Why the passport then?”

“I’ve been feeling alienated,” he says.