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Written
by: “Irene
Naridza”
IA
PIC MADE BY HOTPOT: https://hotpot.ai/art-generator
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"Alright,
Philips. We're letting you go with just a warning this time." the woman said as she
opened the holding cell. I jumped out, my heart pounding hard. "Follow me to
do some quick paperwork." she ordered firmly. I followed closely, staying to the
right side of the hallway.
After accidentally hitting the police officer’s windshield with that
can, he wasted no time catching me. He was really strong. He lifted me easily
and threw me into the back of the patrol car. I remember my heart pounding so
hard, and it was hard to breathe.
The rumors my mom told me turned out to be true. The cells at the police
station are terrifying. They're dark, filthy, reek of urine, and are full of
unpleasant people. At least, because of my outfit, they thought I was a girl
and put me in a female cell.
Inside, there were two other girls, looking messy and smelling kind of
bad. As soon as the guard left, they started saying inappropriate things to me:
"Can I borrow your clothes?",
"Got any cigarettes?" I just stood by the cell bars,
squeezing my eyes shut.
It would have been worse in a male cell, but even so, it felt like an
eternity. Because of a stupid mistake, I ended up in a horrible place with
people of unknown intentions. Fortunately, the officer came back to get me. But
my hands are still shaking, my eyes sting. I feel like tears are about to form.
We turned the corner, and I could see the exit from the holding cells.
As we passed by the entrance to the male hallway, those guys whistled at me
again. One even said something I couldn't make out while shaking the bars.
"Shut your
mouths, bastards!" a nearby guard shouted. In
the blink of an eye, he pulled out his baton and slammed it against the guy’s
bars, making him fall backward and go silent while his cellmates laughed at
him.
I felt safer once we passed through the main gate, entering the common
hallways of the police station. I followed the officer to a large room with
several tables. On one side, officers were filling out paperwork. On the other,
there were empty chairs. My mom was waiting in one of them. She immediately
stood up and gave me a warm hug—it felt so good.
After a few seconds, we let go, and she told me to sit down. The officer.
The same one who arrested me. He watched us silently with those expressionless
green eyes.
"You're
very young, girl. I suggest you stay out of trouble from now on." he said without moving his
head or gaze away from me. I couldn’t help but grab my mom’s hand.
"You can
collect your confiscated belongings on the first floor, section 3, window 2." he explained, handing my mom a small piece of paper. It had her name and
a number on it. "Have a good day." He returned his attention
to a form. "Thank you, same to you." my
mom said before standing up and leading me away.
My heart wasn't racing as much as it was in the cells, though I still
feared for my secret. But everyone seemed too busy with their own matters,
walking past us without even looking. We weren’t a priority—that calmed me down
a bit.
We arrived at the designated window. It was like a bank counter, with a
thick glass wall separating us from the clerk.
"Good morning, we're here to retrieve Nadia
Philips’ belongings." Mom spoke through the small diamond-shaped holes while sliding the paper
the officer gave us through the bottom slot of the glass.
"May
I see your ID?" the woman asked, her voice
slightly muffled from where I was standing. Mom handed it over, and the woman
examined it. "Alright. The young lady’s ID, please." she
requested. Oh no. This is going to be embarrassing.
"It was among the items confiscated when she
was detained." Mom answered calmly. "Can you provide me with your ID number? I’ll
look it up in the database." the
woman said as she turned on a small black monitor.
"Is this really necessary?" I blurted out without
thinking. Mom squeezed my hand tightly as a scolding. "It’s
just protocol. When minors are involved, we have to register both the legal
guardian’s and the minor’s documents." the woman explained
calmly.
"No problem, here it is..." Mom said, making the woman
get ready to type on the numeric keypad. "14,
02, 20, 00, 28, 01, 40, 14" she
dictated slowly while the woman entered the numbers into the database search.
According to my history teacher, when Maglavir’s identity documentation
system was first introduced, it was all paperwork that people couldn’t carry
around all the time. Since most of the population was barely literate back
then, remembering the 16-digit ID numbers was difficult.
That’s how they developed the new numbering system: birthdate, followed
by province and city codes, and finally, four randomly chosen digits. The
four-digit part was because no city had over a hundred births per day. It made
things easier since it was simple information.
The woman clicked on the search button, and a small window started
loading. I just hoped she wouldn’t judge me when she saw that my real name was
Nathan and that I was a boy. Explaining that I dressed like a girl because it
made my mom happy would be complicated and embarrassing.
The window finally loaded. I recognized myself, but not my
eight-year-old self from when I first got my ID. It was me from just a month
ago, when my hair had grown into a mane thanks to that hair growth shampoo.
My jaw dropped when I read where my name should have been. "Nadia
Philips Oliven. Everything looks correct." the woman said as
she wrote down my ID number on a form, then stood up and walked to the shelves
behind her.
How the heck is my name listed as Nadia in the database? HOW DO THEY
HAVE A PHOTO OF ME LOOKING LIKE A GIRL? I leaned closer to the glass.
The rest of my information was there; address, blood type, birthplace,
my mother’s name alone under the ‘Parents’ section, even the "M" for
male under the gender category. At least that part was in smaller print.
The woman returned and took everything out of a box: my foldable table
and chair, my thermos, my winter hat, my purse, and its contents inside a
plastic bag. "Here you go." she
said as she placed everything in the sliding tray for us.
Mom helped with the foldable items. I opened my purse and put the bag
inside. There was no time to sort everything out. I slung the strap over my
shoulder, grabbed my hat and thermos, and emptied the tray.
The woman slid a form to my mom through the slot. "Your
signature, please." The pen scratched against the paper
quickly, and finally, we were free to leave. "Have a
good day." she said before returning her attention to the
computer, where my information was still displayed. She closed the window and
opened another screen full of text and numbers. "Same
to you." my mom replied.
I put on my hat and followed her. Outside, the cold was even harsher. Fortunately, we didn’t have to walk far to find Mom’s '92 compact hatchback. She put the foldable furniture in the back, got in behind the wheel, and manually unlocked my door.
"Did you have fun in there?" Mom asked once I got in.
She didn’t look angry, but she wasn’t smiling either. "N…no. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Mom." I stammered. "I’m
not mad, I’m relieved." she said, turning the key and starting the
engine.
"When they called me to say you were arrested,
I thought you had lost your sales permit or… that you had listened to some
stranger and started selling magic powder." No, I didn’t lose the permi— wait… “What the heck?” I
blurt out as we pull out of the parking spot.
"I was young once too, and my mother also
raised me alone. I know that financial need can push you to the worst places." she said in a serious tone
as she drove toward the exit. She handed the parking ticket to the guard, and
he lifted the barrier for us.
She kept her eyes on the road, remaining silent for a few moments. "It's a relief that it was just a minor offense. Be
more careful next time." She
turned to smile at me. The situation felt strange.
I turned toward my purse, took my things out of the plastic pouch, and
arranged them properly inside. The one-dollar American bill that got me into
this mess went into the bill section, a rare sight among the Maygels.
The last thing I put away was my ID. Right there, in the name section,
it clearly read ‘Nathan Philips Oliven’ My heart started racing again as I
remembered that in the current database, my name was listed as ‘Nadia Philips
Oliven’ But… how did it change? I haven’t been to the civil registry since we
first got this ID six years ago.
My thoughts were interrupted as the sound of ballads filled the air. Mom
had turned on the radio to the station that played romantic Spanish music, one
of her favorites. She listened to them all the time, and I had even memorized a
few lyrics. This particular song was from a group called ‘Grupo Brindis’
She hummed softly to the tune, tapping the steering wheel with a small
smile. I had seen her do these same three things whenever she won a poker game
against her friends. Now the answer was clear.
Just like everything else, she had done this, and she was happy that the
changes were made quickly. Even when someone updates their ID with new
information, it usually takes months for those changes to appear in the system.
That photo— it was from one of those photo sessions she had excitedly made when
this ‘female rush’ started.
Dressing me up as a girl and calling me ‘Nadia’ was one thing,
but legally changing my name and ID photo without telling me? That was drastic.
What else was she willing to change?
I watched the cars speed past us on the highway. The ones in the fast
lane were nothing but blurry streaks I could barely recognize. Mom once told me
that’s how the years pass— if you look away for just a moment, they’re gone.
I don’t know how long she plans to keep this up, but until I’m old
enough, I guess I’ll have to go along with it. Well, it’s not like this is
torture or anything. I don’t want to overreact. It’s just… her obsession with
having me as her ‘Mommy’s girl’ is really strange. However, I guess I’ll go
along with it until she gets bored.
“Que… difícil es… vivir
sin ti…” I sing timidly, joining in. Her smile grows
wider as she turns up the volume. “Reconozco que eres parte ya de mí…” we sing together as the car moves forward,
heading home.
To Be Continued…
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