by Cynthia Hand
We’re currently on E122.
Nyla sits next to me and starts knitting a pair of socks that I instinctively know is for my mom. My mom was the one who taught Nyla to knit, actually, a couple of years ago. She keeps offering to teach me, but I tried it a few times and I always end up with a mass of tangled yarn. I’m not crafty. But it would be nice to know how to knit at a time like this. It would at least give my hands something to do.
My leg’s bouncing. Nyla puts her hand out to stop it. “You all right?”
“Not really.”
Nyla’s mouth twists. “Do you want to talk about the sch—”
“Nope.” If I didn’t want to talk about it on the four-hour drive over here, I for sure don’t want to talk about it now. I’m think I’m good with never talking about it, ever again.
“Okay. But if you want to talk about it, I’m—”
“Still nope.”
“Okay.” She takes her hand away and resumes her knitting, humming her country music.
I pick up a three-year-old People magazine and try to steady my breathing. Get the letter, I remind myself, trying to stay focused on my mom in all this. Then we’ll go from there.
I look at my watch every thirty seconds, so I know that Nyla and I wait approximately fifty-two minutes before my number is called.
“I got you,” Nyla says quietly as I lumber to my feet.
“Yeah.” I feel numb, like I’m floating out of my body and watching it all from above, like this isn’t really my life, again—it’s that scene where Cass gets the letter from her birth mother.
How do you even prepare for that kind of thing?
“How can I help you?” asks the clerk as I stumble up to the desk.
I hold out the appropriate piece of paper with a shaky hand. “I need to give you this form. I had it notarized.”
The clerk takes the form. “Thank you.” She looks it over. “All right. It’s all in order.” She stamps it, makes a copy, and hands it back to me. Then she leans forward to call out, “Next.”
I’m confused. “That’s it? But then don’t I get—”
“You could have mailed the form in,” the lady says cheerfully but also like she thinks I should have mailed the form in and therefore not wasted her precious time. “But it’s good to bring it in person if you need a copy. Which I gave you.”
“But now I get the letter, right?” I ask.
“Letter?” Now she’s the one who’s confused.
“The letter that my birth mother left for me.”
The clerk’s expression goes totally blank. “Who told you there’d be a letter?”
“My mom,” I answer. “And then on the website for the Department of Health and Welfare I thought it said I had to come make a request for the letter in person. And I had to bring this form, signed by a notary.”
The clerk turns around and calls into the back of the office. “Linda? Can you come here a second?”
A lady in a pink sweater—Linda, I presume—strolls up to the counter.
“This girl is asking about a letter written by her birth mother,” says the clerk, loudly this time. Now everyone in the office—the people in the waiting room and the people working the desk—is staring at me with that look—the poor-adopted-you look. All except for Nyla, who just looks worried.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly to Linda.
“Oh, yes, hello,” Linda says apologetically. “There was a program—it ended about fifteen years ago, but there’s an archive of these letters.”
“Okay. I would like my letter, please,” I say.
“They’re in storage in another facility,” Linda informs me.
I want to say So get it, but I know that would be rude.
“We hired someone last year to sort through them and handle the requests, but you see, unfortunately, there are fifteen years of requests that nobody has been taking care of until now. So there’s a significant backlog,” Linda says.
It sounds like I’m not getting the letter today.
“What does that mean?” I ask a bit hoarsely. “How long will I have to wait?”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “It could be some time after you file your request that you receive the letter. It could be months. Maybe even years. I’m very sorry.”
So I’m not getting the letter in the next six weeks.
I can feel my jaw tightening. “This is my life, you know.” My voice sounds high and sharp and not like my voice at all. “This isn’t just paperwork for me.”
And now everybody is really staring. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nyla stand up. I turn to leave.
“Do you still wish to file the waiver of confidentiality?” Linda asks.
I swivel back. “To get the letter? Yes. Right? That’s why I’m here.”
“No, the letter archive is a separate issue,” she explains. “I’ll put your name on the list for the letter archive right away.” She copies down my name, my date of birth, and my contact information onto a yellow legal pad. There’s not even an official form for the letter thing, apparently, which makes me think that this is never going to work, not if there are fifteen years of backlogged names on legal pads waiting for their letters.
“So wait, what’s the waiver for, then?” I ask after that’s done.
Linda looks at me with pity but also like I’m a moron. Because I obviously didn’t read this thing I had a notary sign and everything. “It’s if you wish to waive your right to confidentiality in the case of your adoption. We have a matching program, here. If the biological parents both submit a waiver of confidentiality, and the adopted child also submits a waiver, we can legally share the contact information between the involved parties.”
“I bet there’s a backlog for that, too.” Okay, maybe I’m being a little rude.
Linda doesn’t seem bothered, though. She works for the government and therefore deals with rude people all the time, apparently. “It’s a careful process, and yes, it takes time.”
It’s all starting to sink in.
“So what you’re saying is that if my birth mother wants to find me,” I say slowly, “she can fill out this form, and if I also fill out the form, you’ll give me her information and you’ll give her my information.”
“If the biological father also fills out a form, or if there’s no way to locate him in a timely manner, then yes. That’s how it works in the state of Idaho.”
“Okay. Yes. I still would like to file the waiver.” I let out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding since this morning. “And I’m not going to receive anything today,” I say, just to be sure.
“That’s all we can do for you today.” Linda smiles patiently. The other clerk is helping someone else by now.
“Thank you.” I shuffle like a zombie to the parking lot, Nyla trailing behind me. It’s starting to snow, tiny light flakes that melt the second they touch my skin. A huge wave of relief and disappointment crashes over me, so strong my knees almost buckle with it.
“Are you okay?” Nyla asks.
I close my eyes and picture the way my face must have looked during that entire exchange with poor Linda. Then I start laughing, laughing so hard I double over and tears come to my eyes.
“All right. Definitely not okay,” Nyla assesses.
I can’t stop laughing. It’s the weirdest thing.
When I finally look up, gasping for air, there’s an old man standing in front of the building looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which I’m pretty sure I have.
“Hi,” I call out. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” I turn my face up to the snow and take a deep, shuddering breath.
“Oh, good. Welcome back,” Nyla says. “What do you want to do now?”
“Nothing.” I look around for where she parked Bernice. “Let’s go home.”
Dear X,
Melly has been basically yelling at me for the past two hours. She doesn’t like the way I filled out the non-identifying information form. She says I can’t turn
it in the way I filled it out. I was too sarcastic in what I wrote, she said.
“I was being honest,” I told her. I think you deserve honest, don’t you?
“You need to remember that it’s not only you who’s choosing here,” she said. “The adoptive parents have to choose you, too.”
Apparently she doesn’t think they’d choose me, if I gave them the form this way, because if I’m sarcastic maybe they’d end up with a sarcastic baby. Can’t have that, can we?
So I did the form again. I was a good girl this time. I kept it to the basics. I was boring. Generic. I said what I’m expected to say, really, and nothing more. Maybe that’s for the best. I do want them to choose me. To choose you, I mean.
But I’m going to include the original form here. The true one. So I can tell you how I really feel.
Melly also says I have to get the father to fill out the forms, too, because that’s half of the information you need, isn’t it? I’m not thrilled at the idea of talking to Dawson about it. I’ve been trying not to think about him at all. He still hasn’t called. Not that I expected him to. He doesn’t even know that I’m at Booth.
But I’ll work on getting the form to him, because Melly’s right. There’s so much I don’t know about Dawson. And so much you probably need to know.
S
NON-IDENTIFYING INFORMATION FOR ADOPTION REGISTRY
SOCIAL AND HEALTH HISTORY☑ Birth mother ☐ Birth father
The information in this report has been provided by the birth parent.
The Bureau of Vital Records is not responsible for the accuracy of this information.
DESCRIPTION OF SELF
Marital status: ☑ Single ☐ Married ☐ Separated ☐ Divorced ☐ Widowed
If married or separated: ☐ Civil marriage ☐ Religious ceremony
Are you an enrolled member of a Native American tribe, Alaskan village, or affiliated with a tribe? ☐ Yes ☑ No If yes, what tribe?
Religion:
I’m not religious. I can’t remember the last time I went to church.
Ethnic background (e.g., English, German, etc.):
The same Chex mix of most people I know. European, with a dash of this or that. It’s not going to explain why you like Mexican food.
Country or state of birth:
Idaho
Race (e.g., Black, White, American Indian, Japanese, etc.):
White and privileged and still in this mess.
Height:
5'3". Yeah, I’m a shorty.
Weight:
115. I assume they mean before pregnancy. And I’m still gonna lie. That’s none of your business.
Hair color and texture:
Brown and boring. I’ve been trying to grow it out for two years but it never seems to get much past my shoulders.
Eye color:
Blue, like a pale, sky blue, I would say. My best feature easily.
Unique physical features (e.g., freckles, moles, etc.):
I have freckles across my nose that are “cute” is what the guys would say, and what I would consider to be the normal amount of moles.
Complexion: ☑ Fair ☐ Medium ☐ Olive ☐ Dark
Use sunscreen, okay? I freckle in the sun, like my mom, but my dad goes lobster red in like 10 minutes. We’re a family of ghosts.
☐ Right-handed ☑ Left-handed
Yeah, and it’s always been the biggest pain. I hope you’re not left-handed. Even though that means I’m supposed to be creative or something.
Physical build (e.g., big/small boned, long/short limbed, muscular, etc.):
I’m average. I’m never going to be a supermodel.
Talents, hobbies, and other interests:
I’m into music. Some oldies, more indie, some alternative. I’m listening to “Kryptonite” by 3 Doors Down right now, and it is awesome. I also like writing, I’m finding out. More and more these days. I mean, I knew I liked it before. I tried working on the school newspaper for a while, and I did the yearbook this year. Mostly because my dad said I was required to have a school-related hobby. But that didn’t last. Let’s just say I’m not a fan of deadlines.
Which of the following describe your personality (check all that apply): ☑ Aggressive ☑ Emotional ☑ Happy ☑ Rebellious ☑ Shy ☑ Serious ☑ Calm ☑ Friendly ☑ Irresponsible ☑ Fun ☑ Temperamental ☑ Critical ☑ Outgoing ☑ Stubborn ☑ Unhappy
Comments:
Seriously? I’m “unhappy” that I’m being expected to categorize myself this way. What are you supposed to get out of this? I’m like checking all the boxes! How’s that for stubborn? I’m seven months pregnant right now—I’m all of these things! I can’t be summed up by a checked box.
EDUCATION
Last grade level completed:
10th
Average grade received or GPA:
C student, sorry
Presently in school: ☑ Yes ☐ No
Future plans for schooling:
I want to graduate and then get a job. I’ve never been great at school. Which is probably not what you want to hear. I did think about journalism (see above) but it seems like the newspaper business is dying fast and there’s no way I’d want to be on TV.
Subjects you are interested in:
Music, but I don’t play an instrument. History, but I don’t want to be a history teacher and I can’t remember dates very well. Art, but I can’t draw. I’m okay at math but I hate it. You can see the pattern here.
Any school-related problems or challenges (tutoring, Special Ed, etc.):
Not really except that I don’t like school and school has never really liked me.
EMPLOYMENT HISTORY
Current occupation:
Military service: ☐ Yes ☑ No If yes, branch of service:
Vocational training:
Work history:
I worked at Target last summer. It sucked, but there was a nice week where I built a bunch of bicycles out in the garden section. I liked putting together the bicycles—hey, maybe I’ll be a mechanic!
That’s it! This form has inspired me to fix my future.
FAMILY HISTORY
Was anyone in your family adopted? ☐ Yes ☑ No If yes, who?
If so, it’s a deep dark secret.
Your order of birth (e.g., 1st of 4):
2nd of 3? Not sure how to answer when I have a half sister. I have an older brother and a younger half sister. Does that make me the wild middle child?
Personal relationships with parents, siblings, or extended family members:
I am a disgrace to the family, according to my stepmom. She’s clearly very loving and supportive. My dad’s the silent “leave her alone” type. Also super supportive, obviously. My brother is awesome, but he’s also absent, which I can’t blame him for. My mom is also largely absent, but that’s fine. I’m more the independent sort.
Summarize adjustment to pregnancy. Include how you and your parents adjusted to the pregnancy, and if you had peer support:
My dad/stepmom basically forced me to go to Booth (a school/home for pregnant girls), so they wouldn’t have to deal with me. My mom has been fairly supportive, although she was most supportive of the abortion idea, if I’m being honest. The teachers at the school are very helpful, though.
YOUR BIRTH PARENTS (child’s grandparents)
FATHER
Age (if deceased, state age at time of death):
46
Health problems:
High blood pressure, because he’s so uptight, I think.
Height/weight:
5'11", 200 lbs. He could stand to lose a few pounds.
Hair/eye color:
brown, brown
Build: ☐ Small ☑ Medium ☐ Large ☐ Extra large
Complexion: ☐ Fair ☑ Medium ☐ Olive ☐ Dark
Right-/left-handed:
right
Description of personality (e.g., happy, shy, stubborn, etc.):
He’s a barrel of laughs. Ha ha, not really. But people s
eem to like him and look up to him.
Talents, hobbies, interests:
politics, golf, skiing
Education:
college
Occupation:
lawyer, and not the cool, trying-to-help-the-helpless kin
Number of siblings:
2
Race (Black, White, American Indian, etc.):
white
Ethnic background (e.g., German, English, etc.):
German/English, this may be where the uptight comes from.
Religion:
Presbyterian, or at least his butt warms a pew a couple Sundays every month.
Marital status: ☐ Single ☑ Married ☐ Separated ☑ Divorced ☐ Widowed
Aware of this pregnancy? ☑ Yes ☐ No
He wishes he wasn’t.
MOTHER
Age (if deceased, state age at time of death):
44
Health problems:
Height/weight:
5'2", 100 lbs. She’s basically skinny and perfect.
Hair/eye color:
brown, blue—we have the same eyes
Build: ☑ Small ☐ Medium ☐ Large ☐ Extra large
Complexion: ☑ Fair ☐ Medium ☐ Olive ☐ Dark
Right-/left-handed:
left
Description of personality (e.g., happy, shy, stubborn, etc.):
Around strangers she’s the quiet type. She can get mad, but it blows over quickly.
Talents, hobbies, interests:
ballet, skiing, tennis—the skiing is the only thing I could tell they had in common
Education:
college
Occupation:
ballet teacher
Number of siblings:
0
Race (Black, White, American Indian, etc.):
white
Ethnic background (e.g., German, English, etc.):
Irish/Italian—I think this is where the yelling comes from.
Religion:
Agnostic—they used to fight about how she should go to church.
Marital status: ☐ Single ☑ Married ☐ Separated ☑ Divorced ☐ Widowed
They divorced each other and remarried.
Aware of this pregnancy? ☑ Yes ☐ No
YOUR BIRTH BROTHERS AND SISTERS (child’s uncles and aunts)
1) ☑ BROTHER ☐ SISTER
Age (if deceased, state age at time of death):