Last Sunday I took a cozy autumnal walk to a local coffee shop. Right as I was making my order, I saw a friend of mine picking up her coffee, about to leave. After quickly giving out my order of icelatteoatmilknoice, I waved in her direction and said “Suzanne! Hi!” but she looked at me like I was one of those annoying people trying to sell her an overpriced family phone plan at the mall. She mustered a grouchy “Hi,” which sounded like it had a question mark at the end of it, as she briskly walked out the doors with her usual order of a chai latte.
She was the first one.
The following Monday I headed to work as usual. Security stopped me before I even got to the metal detectors.
“Excuse me, miss?” said Dan, one of the regular security guards. We weren’t friends or anything, but after seeing each other nearly every morning for the past two years, we were acquainted enough that the security procedure was more of a quick formality; basically just us saying morning to each other.
“Yes?” I answered. It was weird that he called me ‘miss’.
“Do you have your employee badge?” he asked.
“Uh, sure, Dan. Here you go,” I said as I plunged my hand into my handbag. He’d stopped asking me for the badge after a week of me working there - until now, I guess.
The badge was a large rectangular piece of plastic with my name, clearance status, employee identification, and a magnetic key that corresponded to the clearance status, which unlocked the doors I needed. But as my hand rummaged through the bag, I couldn’t find it.
“Miss?” asked Dan, as he put his hand on the radio secured to his tactical belt. I put the bag on the floor to search with my eyes instead of just by feel, and said to Dan “C’mon, Dan. It’s me. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.”
I thought maybe his boss had gotten more strict with the security. They weren’t allowed to exactly be friendly to begin with, but humans are humans. We like to be friendly. And even more than that, we like it when lines move fast.
“Miss, if you don’t have your employee identification with you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I could feel my face becoming hot, which meant that my cheeks were already red. I’d never misplaced that damn badge, and with Dan acting so weird, this was not the day for it to happen.
Just as he was putting the radio up to his mouth, I saw the corner of the badge. Its edges had scratched at the lining of the bag, slowly cutting and penetrating it and sliding almost completely inside of it, out of view and touch. Bad luck, I thought. With a quick, triumphant swoop I lifted the badge up to show it to Dan. He put the radio back to his hip and grabbed it. He stared at it like a bouncer checking the ID of a seventeen year old with the too-soft, rubbery ID of a 31-year-old McLovin, which is to say, unimpressed.
“I’m sorry, miss, but it seems like your employee badge has expired. I’m to remind you that all employees must renew their badges every six months through their corresponding administrative branch.”
“Expired?” I asked. “How can it be expired when it was working just fine last Friday? Did it expire on this exact day or something? And I haven’t gotten any sort of notification, either.” I knew it wasn’t his problem, but then again, I was hoping that he could fix it.
Dan looked at me like I was a criminal. “Miss, this badge expired two years ago.”
The rock that had scratched at my throat throughout this embarrassing interaction slumped downwards and grew to a sizable stone in my chest, blocking the normal flow of oxygen into my lungs.
“That’s not possible,” I told him as I tried to feign a relaxed, confident outlook.
Dan handed me the badge, and said “I’m sorry, Miss. I would advise you to contact your administrative branch.”
I raised my voice just the slightest amount “But I need to go to work! I’m already late! What the hell, Dan?” He corrected his posture then, growing a good two inches as his shoulders broadened. He looked a bit scary. I guess that’s why he was hired as a security guard.
“I’m sorry, miss. You’ll have to vacate the premises until you can resolve the matter with your employee badge,” he said, grabbing the radio preemptively.
I hadn’t noticed it until then, but a small line had gathered behind me. They all stared at me, some with annoyance, some with pity. I’d been that asshole holding up the whole line because of my problems.
“Fine,” I said, putting the badge back into my bag and walking away from the scene I’d made.
Once I got out of the building and the suffocating embarrassment, I dialed my boss. No answer. I started walking to my car, and once I got in, I called again. Still nothing. I left a voicemail. “Hey, it’s Em. My employee badge seems to have some sort of problem, and I can’t get into the building. Uhh, call me back as soon as you can. Okay, bye.” I didn’t really know what else to do, so I emailed him from my phone. As I drove home I felt as if I was doing something wrong, like I was skipping class. But what the hell else could I have done? They were obviously not going to let me in. And once they figured out I hadn’t showed up for work, I was sure my boss would call me back.
Once I arrived home, I took a look at my employee badge. In the midst of the scene I’d forgotten to even verify what Dan had said. But he had been right, it had expired. Not today, not last week, but two years ago. But the date seemed familiar. I combed the part of my brain that holds all the important dates: birthdays, holidays, the day my first boyfriend dumped me (glued into my memory by vehement teenage angst). I thought and I thought until I finally extracted the meaning of that date.
Two years ago. Late August. Monday. It was the first day at my then new job.
I rummaged through the two cardboard boxes set at the back of my wardrobe which contained all the important (and not-so-important documents) I’d accrued over the years. I couldn’t find my employment contract, and that was an important piece of paper to keep. Maybe I’d misplaced it. Whatever, I thought, I have it all backed up virtually. I got my laptop and checked through my cloud: not there. Emails: not there. Saved documents? Not there.
That’s when I started to really get scared. Either there was something really wrong with my job, or there was something wrong with me.
-
We weren’t allowed to contact our coworkers outside the work site for security reasons, and if there was some problem with my job that would indeed soon be resolved, I didn’t want to facilitate even more problems. So I held off on contacting them, at least for the time being.
But what I could do is see a familiar face. Someone to talk to. So I called my mom. She’s retired, and after my dad died she’s mostly been gardening. That sort of became her new thing. And we’re pretty close, so I didn’t think I’d be disturbing her. She didn’t answer.
I was sick of trying to call people, so I decided to just drive to her house. Twenty minutes later, I was making the turn to her driveway.
She lives in a two-story building, large enough for the family that used to live with her, but now it’s a bit ghostly in all its emptiness. There’s a fresh coat of white paint on its wooden exterior, which annoyingly reflected the morning’s cool sunlight as I parked on the driveway. None of the lights were on inside, but as I got out of my car I could hear her working in the garden out back. I walked around the house on the path of flat rocks she’d brought from here and there, planting them into the soil one by one.
She was on her knees her back facing me, planting flowers. There was a mound of fresh, black dirt next to her. She couldn’t see me, but I could see her. I walked towards her.
“Mom?” I said as I got within a few feet from her.
She almost fell to her face from fright, looking around frantically until she finally turned around and saw me.
“You scared me!” she said, obviously feeling annoyance, or perhaps anger disguised as annoyance.
“I’m sorry. I tried calling but you wouldn’t answer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” she said, the annoyance melting away as she unclenched her face. “My phone’s inside the house and I’ve been out here working all morning.”
I chuckled. “I figured as much. Can we talk?”
“Uhh, sure. Had we, um, talked earlier? About meeting?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. No, we haven’t. I thought I wouldn’t be bothering you, but I’d really like to talk. If that’s okay with you.”
“Talk about what?” She paused for a thoughtful moment. “Is this about the cupboard? Because I sold that already. I thought I took it off marketplace.”
Cupboard? What was she talking about?
“Uhh, no, mom. Not about the cupboard. Just something weird that happened at –”
“Mom?” she interrupted, looking perplexed.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I just let out a whispered uh-huh.
“I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,” she said. Confused? She was the one who was confused! I wondered if by some miraculous curse I’d stumbled upon the exact moment she’d begun crossing the rubicon of becoming old. Not just wrinkly-face-and-sunkissed-arms-old, but that terrifying rot that begins to stir inside a person as they start to slowly wander towards the inevitable.
“Are you okay, mom?” I asked her. I wasn’t letting go of calling her that.
She stood up then, patting the dirt off her overalls. “Oh, honey. I’m not your mom. Do you need me to call someone?” She had a warm, concerned look on her face now. A look I knew so well, but it wasn’t for me, which felt weird. It was for someone else. That someone she was seeing in me, someone I didn’t know.
“No, no… you don’t need to call anyone.” I said. “But I am your daughter. And you’re my mom. Is this a joke? Because if it’s a joke, it’s not a funny one. I really need to talk, like, serious-talk.”
She took a step towards me and looked me up and down. “Miss, I’m absolutely certain now that you’ve confused me with someone else. You are not my daughter, and I am not your mother. Now, why don’t you come inside and I’ll make a quick phone call. Do you like tea? Or coffee? I have both, and I can make you a cup if you’d like. Just for a moment, and then we can find your mom. Does that sound okay? My name’s Sarah, by the way.”
I stared at her directly in the eyes. I tried to find myself in her, but I couldn’t. I was a stranger.
Without answering her, I walked straight back to my car. She followed me from a careful distance and reminded me over and over again that she could call someone. But I couldn’t bear it. It was all too much.
-
I clenched the wheel as I drove, trying to stabilize my shaking hands. I had to admit that she had been on the right track about calling someone, but who do you call about this? I had called her!
But I loved her for being so careful with me, with a stranger. Even though I’d frightened her, she just wanted to help. But I couldn’t bear playing that role, so I had to leave. I didn’t want to think about the long-term effects of whatever was happening. I felt like my world had become glass, and there was a crack that had begun to stretch and pull and divide. Soon it would crumble in a loud crash, and I’d be left bloody as I grasped at the shards.
-
I ran up to my apartment, traversing two steps at a time. Once I got to my floor, I saw my landlord coming downstairs. I was sweating like a pig and breathing like one too, and the wheel hadn’t fixed my shaking hands so I fumbled with my keys. I was relieved when my landlord walked by me, but then he stopped at the foot of the staircase.
“Are you the tenant here?” he asked.
“Yeah, sorry. Just fumbling with my keys here,” I said, trying to laugh it off, but it came out more as a nervous laughter. I thought he would confront me and ask if I’m trying to break in or something, but instead he just gave me a confused look and said “Huh,” and walked downstairs. Of course the key finally slid into the lock the exact moment he was out of sight.
Once inside, I kicked my shoes off and went straight to my cardboard-clad paper documents. The thought that this was all somehow intentional became evident, sending a cold shot up to my chest. And if it was intentional, what else was missing besides my employment records?
The papers were strewn about from our previous fight, but thankfully, they were still there. It took me some time to go through them, since their semi-chronological order was lost in the struggle, but after some time I finally found what I was looking for.
My birth certificate.
My eyes nearly burned through the page as I read through it whilst holding my breath. I skimmed through the whatevers until I got to the important part:
Name: Emily Avery Jacobs
Father’s name: Mark Edwin Jacobs
Mother’s name: Sarah Jessica Jacobs
So I was her daughter. I guess I just had to check. And this was proof that I was a real human being with a name and parents and a birthdate. And I wasn’t crazy, at least not completely. I decided that this was the most important document I had, so I placed it into my bag. I no longer trusted the boxes.
And that’s as far as I’ve gotten. It’s like my life has been erased from everyone except me, and a stranger testifying her lost place in the world is not going to do much. I know it sounds stupid. But now that I know that I was born and I have a mom (although she doesn’t recognize me), well, that’s something to go off of. I can’t let the cracks shatter everything. I need more information, and I have a couple things I think might help. And honestly, I need to think of something other than the ghost I have become.
Now I need your help. You’ve read my post. You’re still thinking of me. But later, maybe today or tomorrow, try to remember me. And if you can, please tell me in some way. And if you can’t, then it won’t matter, because I’ll be gone from your mind. Either way, I’ll know if this - condition, I guess - is proactive.
Thank you.
- Em