We are down to weeks before our wedding. Long ago, I took care of the major details. Now the little details are catching up to me. Like getting our marriage license. Minor detail.
But I was kind of dreading it. The courthouse? In Houston? I was imagining a line a hour and a half long. Apparently, that is only the misdemeanor and licence tag/car titles lines. How should I know that, though? It isn't like I have done this before. A lot. And that time wasn't even in Texas. My hour and a half fear, in reality turned out to be no line at all. We walked right in, sat down, and were immediately helped.
A young white man in his early twenties, motioned for us to sit down. He fired off several questions about previous marriages, child support, and past felonies. After he entered the info from our driver's licences, he asked one final question.
"City and county of birth?"
Shit. What county was I born in? I think for a minute. Hold on. I know this. It was the name of the damn hospital. Mid-something or another. Crap. Crap!
Finally it comes to me, "Jefferson! I was born in Jefferson County! I think?"
The man entering our info looks at me, "You lived in the Port Arthur area?"
"Then that is right. That is near Vidor, you know. You aren't bad are you? You know what I mean? You know what is in Vidor, right?"
Um. I glance over at the black woman at the table over who is staring at him. At us. How did this conversation turn like this? One minute I am happily getting my marriage license and the next minute I am in the KKK? What the fuck?
He is still waiting on an answer. Holding my marriage license hostage. "Um. No. I am not bad," I say reaching for the envelope in his hand. Another couple walks in, dressed up for the occasion of getting their license. I motion to them, "But I think they might be."