On becoming a notary

10:43 am

The whole thing is pretty absurd – the process was wrapped up in under an hour, transportation included. A month and a half after I signed my request I take the oath and go on my way, with a “good luck” from the commissioner. It took the others in my office nine months to do it. They could have had a baby.

I walked in to work on my first day and was told to sign the commission request, so I did. I was nervous before the orientation, and nervous before taking the oath, and came to both extremely prepared. The nervousness was, of course, needless. I am always nervous doing things I’ve never done before.

At no time was I asked if I felt comfortable vowing to do these tasks, at no time was I asked if I understood what my responsibilities were. At this moment all I understand is that I filled out a bunch of papers in order to make my signature mean something to the government. I am now bonded and can be trusted to notarize. I have an embosser seal with my name on it, and I Can do it all for a fee of $2, or nothing, whichever I prefer.

The city is so quiet during the day – everyone is up in an office somewhere, and it smells clean without the sweat of the day passing you at a light. The same dapper gentleman, young, my age- early twenties – in a tan linen suit, leather suitcase, thinning hair – that sounded so scared and mild in his Spanish accent – who stood in front of me in the notary office – suddenly stands in front of me now, in the metro, waiting for a train. When it arrives he walks past the car before us to the end, and disappears. When I sit down I pass a crowd of tourists, plaid pants, headbands, well toned arms, and sit behind a woman with a long scratch down her fingers as if from a cat, that is just beginning to bleed. She perhaps hasn’t noticed it yet.

Another woman wears a very shiny diamond ring, and the words of my recently married friend regarding whether anybody else noticed the newness of her ring comes to mind. I remember how that morning I placed my old ring, a promise ring, a thin sliver of silver with a dot of sapphire, on my ring finger. I tried every other one but it doesn’t fit. I turned the stone away and thought about my current boyfriend and the enormity of my love. I And then I stacked on top of it my mother’ sold wedding ring and thought how strange that none of these people tell each other they love them anymore.

All of a sudden I was terrified at losing these thoughts and held them in my mind like a sweet moment as more people got on the train, a trio of young people with long hair and sandals and instinctively I pulled up my sleeve to show the tattoo on my arm. I have the habit of not noticing but when I am around my generation I do this, and when I am near older adults I pull my sleeve down to hide it, with unconscious desires to fit in. I long to tell the man in front of me in the “Keep Austin Weird” shirt that I’ve been to Austin, and loved it, and look, I’m just like you even though I wear a suit and work for a lawyer, as if these things connote a betrayal of sorts. I am holding this notebook as I stand and wait for the doors to open, and catch him watching me, with a look that says either “I get you, you could be my friend”, or “How could you do this work”, I couldn’t tell. And now I am sitting on a concrete bench in the station, furious in my scribbles with a thousand paragraphs left to write today and men and women passing me, not noticing, as I notice their shoes and canes and suitcases go by. I had to write this all down, you see.

It is cool and bright as I come up out of the metro, precluding fall, as it was cool and bright this morning. I take a chance and head to the Starbucks – I am not terribly needed at the office as it is slow today. It is August and it is slow and empty and there is no way of knowing how long it takes me in the government offices. I have no change for the homeless man selling newspapers and dodging him I cross the street in front of a Land Rover driven by Georgetown kids. I avoid pollsters with a camera and lament how on a day like this I am taking a break indoors to celebrate the weather. But it is an indoors with windows where I can see the blue of the sky, unlike my office cubicle.

Inevitably the Starbucks is crowded, and inevitably there is a woman in line ahead of me, very beautiful, full, clean, in great heels, that makes me feel as if there is a good reason to spend twenty minutes in the morning and more money on clothes to ensure your appearance. There is also an older woman, dumpy, in high-waisted jeans that bobs to the music playing and has apparently been in this morning already from what the barista says but she looks as if, in contrast to the coolness of the beautiful woman, she is enjoying her life. My coffee is ready and I sit at the only empty table to watch people amble by and ponder how life gives us these options sometimes.