folder in the box and hands it to
Chloe with a dull smack on the countertop.
“You need to fill out this form and submit it with a valid
form of identification and proof of address. Expect a waiting period of 10
business days for the results,” she explains lackadaisically.
Ten business days? That is practically two weeks!
Chloe’s elation shatters. Ten days seems like a lifetime
from today. She needs answers now . It is a matter of her own sanity. It
is literally a matter of life and death! She fights to keep her voice even. “I
can’t wait 10 days,” she insists.
Pearl shrugs, as though there is absolutely nothing she can
do. “Do you have any idea how many death certificates are accumulated over 24
years?” Her eyebrows rise, hanging from the strings of her own limitations.
Chloe, unsatisfied with that answer, retorts with, “You
should have a proper filing system.” There is no reason to blame Pearl, but
Chloe’s frustration is flavoring her judgment. Death certificates are important.
The department should take better care to keep its records and their filing
systems up to date. In any other big city, Chloe is certain the same
information could be gleaned in one keystroke.
But of course, the facility in her town would be the one to
be behind with the times. Just her luck.
Always her luck.
Dryly, “This is a government office, sweetheart.” Pearl
finds her feet and resumes leafing through her clipboard of miscellaneous
documents. “They don’t pay us enough to do a proper filing system. Please step
aside.”
Chloe looks behind at the waiting customers. She obediently
steps aside. Another customer quickly takes her place.
Chloe takes a pen from the canister on the counter and
begins filling out the form. It asks for an ID number. She pulls out her
driver’s license and is about to write off the number, but notices her mother’s
face and number on it. Her eyes narrow. She turns the ID over in her fingers,
watching the light reflect across the glossy surface and her mother’s face. Why
does this feel wrong? Is she hallucinating again?
Chloe cuts in front of the other customer to reacquire
Pearl’s attention.
“Ma’am—” Pearl tries, raising her hands with her palms
turned out. She does not want a scene.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe says backhandedly to the man she shuffled
out of the way. He folds his arms, incensed. Chloe returns her attention to
Pearl. “Please look at this and tell me what you see.”
Pearl stares at her in amusement. She reluctantly accepts
the license with a smart snatch of the hand and brings the picture to her face.
“Driver’s license for Cleopatra Jones. Good picture. Expires on November 10,
2017. Friend of yours?” She gives the license back to Chloe, sliding it across
the reception counter.
“Ma’ mother,” Chloe clarifies. “She hasn’t driven in 24
years.” It makes sense, due to the fact that her father died in a car accident.
“Her license was never renewed.”
Pearl blinks. Deadpan, “Lady, you got issues. But you need
to move on so I can deal with these other customers.” She gestures towards the
line, met with murmurs of agreement.
Chloe excuses herself. She abruptly turns back towards the
desk. Above the chatter, “Can I take the form home?”
“Sure,” Pearl replies, watching Chloe curiously, her hand
moving to hover over the button for security. Chloe takes the hint, folds and
creased the document so it will fit in her purse, and leaves the office.
Chloe stands alone on the side of the road outside of the
Department of Health, framed by a congested parking lot that was not build to
accommodate enough cars. She looks in all directions, not sure which way to go.
She does not want to go home.
All that awaits her at home are more confusion and
self-doubt. Instead, she goes in her bag. Tucked under her wallet, Chloe finds
the card her mother gave her and exchanges the three page document for it.
Chloe stares at the card incredulously. She
Chloe with a dull smack on the countertop.
“You need to fill out this form and submit it with a valid
form of identification and proof of address. Expect a waiting period of 10
business days for the results,” she explains lackadaisically.
Ten business days? That is practically two weeks!
Chloe’s elation shatters. Ten days seems like a lifetime
from today. She needs answers now . It is a matter of her own sanity. It
is literally a matter of life and death! She fights to keep her voice even. “I
can’t wait 10 days,” she insists.
Pearl shrugs, as though there is absolutely nothing she can
do. “Do you have any idea how many death certificates are accumulated over 24
years?” Her eyebrows rise, hanging from the strings of her own limitations.
Chloe, unsatisfied with that answer, retorts with, “You
should have a proper filing system.” There is no reason to blame Pearl, but
Chloe’s frustration is flavoring her judgment. Death certificates are important.
The department should take better care to keep its records and their filing
systems up to date. In any other big city, Chloe is certain the same
information could be gleaned in one keystroke.
But of course, the facility in her town would be the one to
be behind with the times. Just her luck.
Always her luck.
Dryly, “This is a government office, sweetheart.” Pearl
finds her feet and resumes leafing through her clipboard of miscellaneous
documents. “They don’t pay us enough to do a proper filing system. Please step
aside.”
Chloe looks behind at the waiting customers. She obediently
steps aside. Another customer quickly takes her place.
Chloe takes a pen from the canister on the counter and
begins filling out the form. It asks for an ID number. She pulls out her
driver’s license and is about to write off the number, but notices her mother’s
face and number on it. Her eyes narrow. She turns the ID over in her fingers,
watching the light reflect across the glossy surface and her mother’s face. Why
does this feel wrong? Is she hallucinating again?
Chloe cuts in front of the other customer to reacquire
Pearl’s attention.
“Ma’am—” Pearl tries, raising her hands with her palms
turned out. She does not want a scene.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe says backhandedly to the man she shuffled
out of the way. He folds his arms, incensed. Chloe returns her attention to
Pearl. “Please look at this and tell me what you see.”
Pearl stares at her in amusement. She reluctantly accepts
the license with a smart snatch of the hand and brings the picture to her face.
“Driver’s license for Cleopatra Jones. Good picture. Expires on November 10,
2017. Friend of yours?” She gives the license back to Chloe, sliding it across
the reception counter.
“Ma’ mother,” Chloe clarifies. “She hasn’t driven in 24
years.” It makes sense, due to the fact that her father died in a car accident.
“Her license was never renewed.”
Pearl blinks. Deadpan, “Lady, you got issues. But you need
to move on so I can deal with these other customers.” She gestures towards the
line, met with murmurs of agreement.
Chloe excuses herself. She abruptly turns back towards the
desk. Above the chatter, “Can I take the form home?”
“Sure,” Pearl replies, watching Chloe curiously, her hand
moving to hover over the button for security. Chloe takes the hint, folds and
creased the document so it will fit in her purse, and leaves the office.
Chloe stands alone on the side of the road outside of the
Department of Health, framed by a congested parking lot that was not build to
accommodate enough cars. She looks in all directions, not sure which way to go.
She does not want to go home.
All that awaits her at home are more confusion and
self-doubt. Instead, she goes in her bag. Tucked under her wallet, Chloe finds
the card her mother gave her and exchanges the three page document for it.
Chloe stares at the card incredulously. She
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