Months after we moved here we still had to check ourselves from leaning in to kiss a person hello. In the strictest sense of the word what we do when we greet someone isn’t a kiss, really. It’s more of a social duty. We reach out a hand to touch the other person’s arm, and we brush cheeks together. If one is younger, one can expect to get their cheeks pinched in the process, or to have the person’s other arm reach out to secure the person in front of them to examine them head to toe and remark how much one has grown or how much one looks like their mother. (Or aunt, or grandmother. Usually the person one least wants to look like at the time.) The kiss is part of the routine. We have developed different varieties in our house- there are: “I’m still upset at you, but I have to go” kisses, “You’re obnoxious, but I still love you” kisses, “I most definitely have some sucking up to do” kisses, and the occasional “I love you”- Hollywood and Klimt variety.


We moved here and everything was different. My parents would lean forward, a Pavlovian response to the word “Hello,” and have to pretend they were looking behind the person they were saying hello to. It would look like they were bowing- another way to peg them as different, as foreigners. Another reason why we, as their children, felt justified in not carrying out our routine at home, too.


Because we are their children, though, we couldn’t kick the habit completely. One day, shortly after moving to Indiana, we were having breakfast, (we were late, as usual), and my brother’s bus driver pulled up and honked the horn. He shoved the last, crunchy bit of toast in his mouth, grabbed a napkin and ran out without a word. When he walked in after school my mother walked up to him and loudly, verbosely, made sure he knew how upset she was that he had skipped on the goodbye kiss. The dark cloud that had been following her all day loosened its lightning bolts and exploded around them.


I had my first date here. A skinny, blue-eyed charmer with an amazing singing voice. I didn’t need help with hellos anymore- years of training stopped me as soon as I found out in whose company I was in- but goodbyes were something that stumped me. My North-American mask falls off easily, my tan skin shows through it sometimes. I was warned against going too fast. “Take it slow, just a peck on the cheek. No need to give the kid ideas,” a friend of mine said, with fervor. But then she confused me by adding, “If it seems to be going well and you think the timing is right, it’s ok to kiss on the first date.” That and what all the movies seem to say about the magic of the first date and people pulling out the breaks and going full out… I was a wreck. So I thought, well, I do want to see him again. Why not treat this as a hello?


He drove me up to the door of the dorm hall. I subconsciously shivered, said “It’s chilly.” I didn’t mean it, really, nor was I trying to hint that I wanted his arm around me. He pulled off his sweater. It was a silly gesture. (Unless he was trying to get into my dorm room?) My thoughts raced, but I kept my cool. I thanked him in my flawless English, and lightly touched his shoulder while leaning in to let cheeks brush. I handed him his sweater and he chuckled. I nearly ran inside, let the door shut behind me and looked back only when it was safe.


My sister shyly pulled me aside the last time I visited home. She’s the youngest in her grade, but in spite of, (or maybe, because of) her age “shy” has never been on the list of her defining characteristics.


“You know Sean, that kid you saw at Cassie’s birthday party?”


“Yah. Didn’t he go to your school? I remember seeing him all the time.”


“Well,” and here she took a breath, and her voice sped up, “I was sitting in class and Paige -you know Paige? That girl that came that one time we went to the bowling alley? Yeah, she told me that Sean asked her what she thought I’d say if he asked me out to prom.”


“That’s awesome, Izzie!”


“Wait. Yeah… So he asked her AFTER that if she thought I’d go out with him after prom.”


I visited my family in the Dominican Republic and was sitting in my uncle’s barely lit living room, enjoying their fan, when the student who was boarding there came in, wiping the sweat off of his polished-ebony forehead. I stood up to say hello to him like I had done for the past couple of weeks, like I had done every time I saw him. Except this time he leaned in a little further, pulled my shoulder in a little bit, pressed his leathery lips on my cheek. I can hear him debating with his female friends-She leaves in a week- should I really even bother? What do you think she will say? What if she gets angry and tells her uncle?


My thoughts zoomed through my head, my ears started ringing and for a couple of fractions of a second I wasn’t quite sure what to say.


“Do you like him?” I asked my sister.


“Yeah. And I want to go out with him too.” She doesn’t see an immediate response on my end. “I mean, he’s so funny, and sweet, and he’s so cute!” Her eyes glance away, her mind is somewhere else.


“I approve, hon.” I turn my head to her and smile, which helps distract me from the emptiness in my stomach. I reach my arm around her shoulder and plant a kiss on her forehead.

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