I have been waiting at this stupid DMV since 9:30 this morning to get my address changed on my driver's license, I rub my temples when they call this elderly lady's number before mine. I was here before she was. Maybe she is here for a different reason, I say to myself in an attempt to calm my already frayed nerves. My eyes begin to zone out of focus and I begin to remember the life that I had.
My life...was not as easy as I led some people to believe. My father's strict military routine and my doormat of a mother made life just that harder along with my siblings. Once you started walking, it was downhill from there. My father would make all of us get up at 4:30am and run around the neighborhood, clean the house from top to bottom and if it was not up to his standards, he would make us do push-ups, sit-ups, squats, or laps for everything he found wrong, and then we had to go to school. My mother got it as well. My siblings and I couldn't even have friends sleep over because we knew our father would subject them to what he does to us. I was the one to get it worse than my other siblings and I am not entirely sure why. If I did one thing wrong, I had to so exercise. If I came home with a B on my report card, I had to do squats for an hour straight. Sometimes when I would input my own opinion to a conversation, he would send me to my room without food. That was more often than not. He made my life such hell.
I finally left when I graduated high school at 17 years old with no money and only the things I could carry, I went to my best friend; Yakira Hart house, and stayed there. Yakira's family was delighted to have me there and that I helped around the house though it took me a while to adjust to the fact that I could sleep in and didn't have to worry about a bullhorn being blown in my face at 4:30 in the morning. Life got easier. They even help me get a job and that's when I bought my first car. However, when I tried to go back home for a visit, I was told by my father that I was not welcomed back. I clenched my fist and just as he was about to close the door, I put my foot in between the door frame and the door, stopping the door.
"Why do you hate me so?" I snarl. "I did everything you asked me to do. Fuck, I did better than you wanted me to do. Yet, you still hate me. Why?"
"Because you are black! You aren't even my daughter. You belong to some other man and I refuse to treat you the way I treat my own children." With that, he slams the door in my face.
"569!" A female representative calls.
I stand up and go up to the counter to tell him the reason for my visit. I hate having to look back on times like that, but sometimes I have to remember who I am and where I came from. And as of now, I don't know either one of those things.
"Yes, I would like to change my address on my driver's license, please," I state why I am there as I hand her the necessary paperwork for the change.
"Alright. I am sorry about the slow services, we have been backed up due to shortage of staff members. Everyone is either sick or on vacation." She rolls her eyes and takes the paperwork.
"It's alright. I am just glad that I didn't have to go into work today." I smile and watch her type away on the computer.
"Luck you. I am just ready to go on lunch break. All of this noise is getting on my nerves."
I look around at the mass of people in the DMV lobby. Toddlers running around, babies crying, parents sitting there waiting impatiently for their turn, other parents running after the toddlers. I turn back to the female with my eyebrows raised, "Yeah, I can understand that."
"And...finished." She gives me a temporary copy of my license with my new address on it. "Your real license will come in the mail within 5 to 7 business days."
I take it and look at it. "Thank you. Have a good day."
"Whew, I will try."
I giggle and walk out of the DMV. Taking a breath of fresh air, I amble onto my white Audi A7, gets in, and cranks it up. Roaring to life, I peel out of the parking lot as it begins to fill up more and more with people that need the DMV's services.
Driving down the street with my windows down and my music blaring through the speakers, I go pass my parent's house. Since that time with my father, I had not been back there, but my siblings have always spoken to me, even my mother snuck some time to speak with me. Looking back at the house in the rear-view mirror, I still want to go check on my parents. I know that my siblings have moved out and on with their lives and I do often wonder how my mama is doing. But, my mind tells me to keep driving until I get to my own house, I do just that.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
