Bye Bye Baby

(I live in a city that has a somewhat bad reputation, with so-called thugs and drugs. I’m female. Also, in France, people are more prone to kiss friends or relatives (but not strangers) on their cheeks. That’s more or less the equivalent of hugging a friend in America. I’m taking the elevator to go back to my apartment. In this elevator, there’s also a young woman and her three-year-old son. The little boy is trying to push the door opened with his small hands.)

Mother: “[Little Boy], stop touching this door!”

(The boy steps back and frowns. I can’t help smiling at the two of them because the kid is adorable. His mom smiles at me, too. The elevator stops and we’re all getting out.)

Mother: “Good evening!”

Me: “Good evening!”

Little Boy: “Bye!”

(He’s waving at me happily, obviously expecting me to answer.)

Me: *waving* “Bye!”

Little Boy: “Bye!”

Me:  *jokingly* “Bye!”

(I walk to my door, yet he waves and tells me ‘bye,’ again and again, obviously wanting me to answer and to answer himself again and again. I’m about to enter my apartment.)

Little Boy: *still waving* “Bye!”

Me: “Bye!”

(The boy suddenly runs and stretches his arms out to me! I kneel and he gives me a peck onto my cheek! I’m so stunned that I can hardly say:)

Me: “Bye!”

(He was still waving happily and saying ‘bye’ when I closed my door. I was so moved that I kept beaming the whole evening. Nowadays, when someone asks me how living in a ‘dangerous place’ felt, I always answer ‘well, one day, I was kissed by a stranger in front of my apartment and I definitely loved it! Don’t be shocked. He was three!’)