First encounter

I have been living in the United States for almost five years. And I still have accent.

I have been living in the United States for almost five years. And the country still smells like the citrus detergent I used when I first had to wash my dishes in my until-then empty place.

It was a warm Tuesday when I first arrived, bringing in my bag old clothes, in my purse a passport with a student visa, and in my hand a wedding ring.

New York's airport, my first contact with the country, was chaotic and so darn American. I could not understand the direction the black woman gave to me. I ordered burger, fries, and a root beer float (though I never really came to love the soda). I read magazines with Brangelina on the cover. I smelled the pine soap from the restroom. I ate salted peanuts on my flight.

It was so hot in Utah I thought I was back to Brazil. I saw the mountains from the top and they amazed me--It was the first time I saw real mountains.

The dust on my converse was orange.

I was happy in my empty apartment. And it smelled like citrus detergent. And it had only a bed as furniture.

My neighbors spoke Spanish, and for a moment I thought I was the wrong place. But boy howdy, was I in the right place.

I have never been the kind of person who knows how to make decisions, but I knew it that day I had decided right. I had fallen  in love with the citrus detergent and with the person who bought it.

His smile created one single dimple on his face, and all of a sudden everything seemed to be worth it. Even my accent after five years in the United States. Even the high mountains with white snow on top. Even the salted peanuts I ate.