~ D M V ~
Nothing was going to ruin Mia’s afternoon, not the rain, not the long line she was standing in at the DMV. The wall clock read 12:15. Paul expected dinner at six. Figure two hours for the sauce, add in the shopping, prep, and there was plenty of time. Heck, time to burn. Relax. What a ding bat.
In the line she shifted her weight and considered the menu, his favorite, Chicken Parmesan – fresh chicken, not frozen, vine-grown tomatoes, not hothouse, and of course grated cheese, none of that powdered stuff like last time. Oh, she almost forgot. She dug a pen and slip of paper from her purse. Grater, she wrote in a jittery script.
She’d have to make up for the morning. She was just tired. The flight from Cancun had been a bear – stuck in the Atlanta airport with no sleep, no shower, and junk food for twenty-four hours. She woke up with a dull headache and couldn’t get into it. She’d make up for everything tonight. Put on a negligee, give him a little show. Maybe the black lace or the thong and push-up. But she’d have to try them on first, take a good look at herself in the three-way and make sure she didn’t look fat.
Inside her pocket the cell vibrated. She fished out the phone and flipped it open. “Hello?” “Hey, baby.”
“Hi, honey.”
“Been calling the house. Where are you?”
“At the DMV. Remember?”
“Oh yeah. Listen, about this morning. I’m really sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“It’s okay.”
“Had a lot on my mind. Getting back to work after the honeymoon, the stress, the craziness.
Man, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No problem, really.”
“I’m the luckiest man alive. About tonight, forget dinner, let’s order out.”
“But I want to try the recipe again.”
“Baby, cooking isn’t your strong point. We’ll order Chinese. Besides I’ve been thinking,”his
voice became a whisper, “maybe we could get the camera out and make another movie.”
“Paul . . .”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
“And big daddy loves you too. Do you love big daddy?”
“Oh, Paul, I – ”
“Say it.”
Mia glanced around, cupped her hand to the phone and murmured, “I love big daddy.” “Atta girl.”
“Next,”a disembodied voice called out.
Mia glanced around. She was first in line. “Honey, I gotta go.”
“Sure baby. See you tonight. Can’t wait. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Disconnected, she pulled the phone from her ear, snapped it shut and headed for the teller. “What do you need?” said the woman at the window.
Mia passed the form. “Change of name.”
The woman checked it over then turned toward the computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. Tat-tat-tat.
Mia’s hands shook. She loved Paul totally. Things would be fine. “Okay,”said the woman, swiveling around. “Sign at the X.”
Mia picked up the pen and wrote, Mia Fort – . Midway, she stopped and blinked hard. “Oh no, I’m signing the wrong name.”
“No problem. I’ll print another.”
Mia felt flushed, embarrassed by such stupidity. Tat-tat-tat. Moments later a clean form was in front of her.
Mia was about to sign when the woman reached over and grabbed Mia’s hand. “Girl, you sure you want to do this?”
How did the woman know? Mia wanted to defend herself, tell the woman that Paul’s a doctor and she deeply loved. Instead, she jerked her hand free. Mia Brockman, she signed, officially and forever Paul’s wife.
Back in the car, Mia pulled down the rearview mirror. She needed to check her make-up, to adjust, to adapt. She needed to not see the black eye.
Author’s Note:
DMV is flash fiction. Flash fiction runs under 1000 words and is becoming a popular format, especially for the internet. Not so long ago, the main outlet for short stories was obscure university or literary presses that often had a significant turnaround time and whose audience was limited. The game is changing. Express yourself, put it on the information highway, and show the world what you got. DMV was my first award-winning story. It’s creepy and hopefully makes a reader think. DMV was first published by Ascent Aspirations Magazine.