I am Bush Village!

I am riding a train bound for Pakchong, after spending several hours waiting at the station in Bangkok. For the first few minutes of the journey, I have my own seating section, but at the next stop, I am joined by a group of students, one of whom speaks a little Eglish, and is anxious to practice. After a couple of minutes of introductions, Tree, my new friend, hands me a cup of beer on ice. I thank him and enjoy the cup, handing it back so the cup can be enjoyed by the next thirsty member of the group. After a couple of rounds, I politely bow out, but the students continue, getting steadily plastered. Each time the train stops, the largest and youngest rider sticks his head out to see if a beer vendor is nearby, going out to purchase more bottles and ice if it's handy.

About an hour into the ride, Tree looks at me and says, "Bush Village!" and points at me, smiling happily. I am confused. I'm pretty sure I had not told him my last name was Bushman. Was he making a reference to the President somehow?

"Bush Village?" I repeat, making sure I heard him correctly. Tree smiles and nods. "Bush village!" he says, conferring with his friends, who smile and nod too. "Bush village! Bush Village!" Now Tree is gesturing at his chin and nodding at me, referring, I think, to my goatee. I rub my own chin, and say it again: "Bush Village? I don't understand."

Tree looks at me incredulous. "You don't know Bush Village? Die Hard? Die Hard 2? Die Hard 3? Big star international!"

Suddenly, I understand. "Bruce Willis?" Tree smiles wide in acknowledgement. "Bush Village!" I look at them all. "You think I look like Bruce Willis?" They nod and smile with glee. I gratefully accept their interesting compliment as they slowly get smashed and the night comes on.

Tree looks at me in earnest. "Good memory in diary for you." He makes a vague gesture with his hand. I nod and smile, assuming he wants me to remember this night. He is unsatisfied. "Good memory I make." He gestures again, a little sloppily, but I think he is pantomiming a pen and writing. I dig in my pocket for a pen, thinking he wants to write something in some unrevealed diary. He takes the pen, nodding, then looks at me searchingly. I look back at him, and he says "paper." I pull my backpack down from the rack and fetch him an envelope for him to write on. He smiles and gratefully writes me the following message:

"I am Tree. I love Stephen Bushman. See you again for ever."

I am touched by the sentiment, and I thank him in Thai: "Kawp Kun Krahp."

See you again for ever, Tree. Good night and good luck.