At the passport scanner
an X tells me I must go
to an agent for further 
questions. My mother
has been pulled by 
uniformed men and placed 
in glass-walled offices 
my entire life, but I have never
been selected. The agent 
asks: Why were you away 
so long? I have been trained 
by my mother how to answer 
agents my entire life, so I
reply: Oh, just visiting,
sir. I smile. I smile so hard 
my jaw quivers. As the agent taps
my American passport on the 
counter I am comforted by my 
citizenship, just as I’ve been 
discomforted by mother’s lack 
thereof. The agent tells me 
I have been pulled from 
the line because I travel
so often to Mexico that I should 
get Global Entry. The agent 
says: With Global Entry you 
can come and go as you
please. No more lines, no more
wait. I think of my mother
who has stopped traveling
because she’s tired of being 
pulled from lines despite 
her green card. I look at my 
hands and reply: Oh yes, yes,
I will look into that. The agent 
returns my passport. The linoleum 
floors glare bright and I imagine 
my mother in an office somewhere—
they will not let her leave. I go 
home. I pour myself a glass 
of water and look up Global Entry 
online. I do not apply, instead 
I call my mother and tell her 
this story. My mother asks: Did you
smile the whole time? Yes, 
I say, I smiled the whole time.