Mari

I used to see her only once or twice a year. But I always looked forward to the times that I might have a chance to see her. I never knew when it would happen, so I was constantly on alert. You see, she wasn’t related to the family I was living with, but with my friend’s family. I wasn’t at their house all that often, so I had to try to figure out when she might be there, and plan accordingly. It never worked out. I would only see her at random times and no matter how many times I asked my friend about his cousin, he never seemed to get the clue.

Well, now I live with this family. I’ve only been here two weeks and already she’s stayed with us twice. I can’t help but wonder if the frequency of her visits has increased since I’ve moved in. Who cares?

The first time I met her was at my friend’s birthday party at his house. They sat me near the head of the table and then put her across from me. She doesn’t speak English super well and at the time I didn’t speak much of the local language, or at least I didn’t think I did. So our communication was limited to smiles and awkward glances. But, the smiles were abundant that night and have been every time I’ve seen her.

I saw her a couple times randomly around town or at my friend’s house, but never at a place where we might again have a chance to talk. That is not until the next year at my friend’s next birthday. This year they sat us right next to each other and wouldn’t let her get up to help the women do anything. They wanted her to sit there right next to me and the rest of the women were content to do all the work and watch for anything that might unfold between she and I.

I forgot to mention that the first time I met her, the smiles, awkward glances, and barely understandable conversation between us had been noticed by all the other female guests, who then took it upon themselves to sit behind her and make comments about us all night. She couldn’t see them, but I could see it all over her shoulder.

She wasn’t here this last weekend, but she was the one before. The day she left was sad but also one of the best ‘old me’ moments in a long time. She was leaving and I was going to school. We said good-bye, but there wasn’t much else too it. After an hour or two at school, I came back home for lunch and she was still there waiting for my friend’s brother (her other cousin) to take her home to her village. It took them a bit to get everything together and he pulled the car around to the front and honked for her to come out. Everyone else was gone from the house. Well, everyone except the bed-ridden grandmother in the next room, and she and I. I stood up from the kitchen table to say good-bye once again and give her the culturally appropriate kiss on the cheek. There was something in the way that we both got as close to the other’s lips as possible that set me off and made me think if I might have possibly missed a chance that will never come again.

Normally the kiss on the cheek isn’t even a kiss on the cheek at all, but more of a ‘touch cheeks and kiss the air’ thing. But with her it’s never been that way between us. It’s always been straight on the cheek. But this kiss was on the cheek, but millimeters away from being on the lips. We had been alone in the house and had either of us just moved a tiny bit closer that kiss would have been a lot different. Maybe I might even be planning a wedding that I was being forced into. Or I’d be working on trying to find a new town with my program manager because I had been kicked out of this one. Or we might have just had a passionate kiss in the aloneness of the house and no one would have been this wiser. We’ll never know.

Though, I came home tonight to find her here again…