Part 19 (2/2)

”I don't make the rules, Ms. Landon. Just fix it.”

”I'm trying! It's just that I can't seem to . . . the Social Security office is always-”

”Prove you are who you say you are, or your life here is over.”

Candy walks away. I turn to Everett, but he is walking away too, his hands thrown into the air. I'm left by myself.

The one who can't prove she's alive.

It feels like I'm living in one of those nightmares you can't get out of. Everett tells me to leave immediately and go get this taken care of. ”You should have plenty of time to get through the line today,” he said. And he's right. Usually, I'm there in the late afternoon and the line is always wrapped around the block. But if I leave now, I've got four hours. So I grab my things, rush out of the building, and power walk straight to the Social Security office.

Now, if you were a total stranger and you walked by, observing this scene, you'd think I'd lost my mind. But since you know the whole story, you'll understand why I'm clinging to the gla.s.s of the front window, my left cheek pressed against it, pounding and wailing. ”No! No! You can't be closed!”

But a sign on the front door clearly says Closed. ”Why? Why?? How??”

A mounted police officer rides by, the horse's hooves clacking loudly against the concrete. ”Ma'am?”

I turn, my back and palms now against the gla.s.s. I look like an oversized window decal.

”Are you okay?”

I'm aware of the tears streaking down the side of my face and the fact that my hair is clinging to my cheeks the same way I'm clinging to this gla.s.s window. ”They're closed.” I manage to get the words out like a normal person, but then I sob.

He remains expressionless. ”Yes, they are.”

”Why?” I wail. ”I mean, why would they be closed on the one day I can get here on time?”

”It's a federal holiday.”

”What?”

”They'll open again tomorrow, ma'am.”

”What federal holiday? There's no federal holiday!”

”Move along.”

I notice his hand has moved to his taser. Awesome. Yes, please taser me. That would be the perfect end to my day.

He waits. I sigh, grab my bag, and walk away. I don't even bother going back to work. Not looking like the mess that I am. I wander the New York City streets for a while, hoping to be inspired by the vibe. I'm not. I'm hopeless. I'm going to end up losing my job because I'm dead. And then I'll die, for real, from a broken heart.

Speaking of broken hearts, I find myself thinking of Jake a lot. Especially . . .

The kiss.

Why would he kiss me? As surprising as it was, I don't regret it at all. And that surprises me even more. My life has been plagued with regret, so it just seems like that would be natural order of things now.

I must make things right with Jake. But before I do that, I have to get my life back. Literally. I decide I'm going to get up at the crack of dawn and arrive first thing at the Social Security office. That will ensure me a spot. Then my life can go on.

I'm in bed and the hopelessness returns. I've tried not to think of my wedding day. The busyness of the new job has helped. But alone in the darkness, atop lumpy old Murphy, I find myself dwelling on it. Then crying about it. I can't sleep. But I must.

Then there's a knock at the door. I almost don't answer it, but there's a little optimism in my heart that says this could be opportunity knocking. Silly things like that pop into your head when you're mourning your pathetic life.

”Hi.” It's Mikaela.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway nearly blind me. I put my hand over my eyes to shade them.

”Mikaela, what . . . what are you doing here?”

”I need to talk to you.”

”Kiddo, it's late.”

”It's 8:30 p.m.”

”I . . . look, I've had a really hard day. I'm sorry, I just can't . . . maybe tomorrow? Okay?”

She doesn't say okay, but I smile and nod as if she did, and I shut the door.

It seems weird that being in the dark sparks thoughts of G.o.d, but this seems to be the place that I begin to remember him. Despite the nonsense that my mom brings to the table in the religious realm, I've always sensed G.o.d and known he loves me. It's just that more often than not, I don't pray. And I can't really think of a good reason why that is so. It just is.

Maybe I'm a little mad at him that I got dumped at the altar. But then again, he wasn't the one who dumped me. Maybe I'm a little mad at him that my dad disappeared. But then again, he isn't my dad. I run out of excuses at some point and as I stare up into the dark, trying to find the ceiling. I say the first prayer I've uttered since coming to New York City. I ask for help proving I'm alive. He parted the Red Sea. Surely he can get me to the front desk of the Social Security office.

The next thing I know, it's morning and my alarm is sounding. I shut it off, dress quickly, and forego breakfast. I grab my bag and hurry, walking faster than the already frenetic crowd of the NYC sidewalks.

I round the corner, bracing myself for a long line at the Social Security offices. I gasp.

There's one person in line. The door hasn't opened yet. It opens in five minutes.

I hurry to check to see if there's a sign declaring a federal holiday. There doesn't seem to be. The man in front of me is old, using a cane. I don't stand too closely for fear of knocking him over, but I'm about to burst with excitement. Finally!

I remember my little prayer to G.o.d and I silently thank him for making a way.

A woman walks to the door and unlocks it from the inside, opening it for the old man. I follow closely behind, flas.h.i.+ng her a wide grin. I don't really expect her to smile back, but she does.

Wow, this day is getting better. I glance behind me. There's not even a line forming! Please tell me this isn't a dream!

I expect to stand and wait, as the old man was there before me, but there are two windows and a friendly looking woman beckons me over to her window. I slide past the old man and quickly take a seat. There is a lump of happiness and relief in my throat.

”Hi,” I say.

”What can I do for you today?”

I explain my dilemma. By the look on her face, I can tell this isn't something she sees every day. I take my pa.s.sport and driver's license out of my bag and slide it toward her. ”So, as you can see,” I conclude, ”it's very important that I get this resolved today.”

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