A Vague Hopscotch
As you wait for your number to flash, you watch American TV. Each screen is mute, set to show a different network. Your eyes can’t help but read closed captions, though it’s hard to connect with the shows while your ears want to focus on the interviews. The juxtaposition of the inaudible entertainment and the low hum of applicants unnerve you. Then again, there is no room for contemplation. It’s your turn.
The agent greets you in English and starts working on your folder. A healthy amount of anxiety is highly appropriate at this stage. You shift your weight and scan the room. A stunning woman in all-black arrives at the booth next to yours, carrying a thicker folder than yours. Briefly, you fear that you haven’t done your due diligence – one more copy, one more paper; maybe you shouldn’t have smiled in your headshot.
Your agent asks you about the degree you’ll be getting in the US. You square your shoulders and offer him your answer with a rehearsed alacrity. He nods and falls silent again. The woman in high heels gets asked about the purpose of her visit.
I am learn English, Sir. Here my certificiated registry paper for tongue school in Boston.
Even you wince on your high Turkish horse. It’s not the thick accent that the agent picks on, but that she chose to conduct her interview in English with little to no proficiency. She must have heard of the urban legend that speaking their language increases the odds.
How long does she intend to stay?
Only six months, Sir. She hands the agent a paper. You notice that she has taken off one of her shoes and is now crushing its heel under her bare foot.
How would she pay for school?
My stable salary 600 million Turkish Liras in month. Here my certificiated invoice. But my other income bigger, bonuses, not visible in my invoice.
Your agent asks how you are going to pay for your education. The question is a ruse, as the folder contains every answer, but you don’t take the bait. You kindly mention the letter articulating that UMass will cover your graduate school expenses.
How is she planning to attend a language school while she’s enrolled in a program in Turkey?
But I am return back, Sir.
That’s not what the question was.
I am back Turkey when school begins. Here is the certificiated academic order.
Has she ever taken any English courses before?
I taken special classes from a long teacher. This is her certificiated speech proving the classes.
She hasn’t said a single word she hasn’t been able to provide a document for. Even the heel, you wonder. Though you’ve never witnessed a visa interview before, you can tell this has deteriorated. You hear the sound, so does she. The anxious woman bends over and picks up the broken heel. If you two could just have a moment, you would tell her that she’s providing documents, not herself. That’s not how authenticity works. You see it. The agent sees it. The entire country has seen it on TV.
Your agent hands you a paper that says “Congratulations! You’ll receive your passport and stamped visa in the mail in a few weeks.” You do feel like you have accomplished something, albeit hollow. As you head for the exit, you hear the breakdown in her voice.
Why deny? Because of mistake document?
Outside, it’s still early morning. You sit on an empty bench over by the tree. Have a bit of a contemplative moment, if you will. You don’t want to go home, or America, or those places only visas could take you to. The long line in front of the Embassy has become longer. Applicants are comparing their documents and experiences while murmuring in unison, “It’s all about the papers.”
The broken lady steps out of the building and makes a phone call. That she won’t immediately leave reassures you. She listens, nodding rhythmically at the new set of suggestions. Both her shoes are off now, dangling dead from her free hand. Soon, she starts playing a vague hopscotch on the sidewalk, back and forth, up and down the tiles. You find it tragic that her agent won’t know about her charming struggle out in the world. You decide to watch her for as long as the record keepers need. You hope that she is not chasing after another paper to prove that she is.
Ali A. Ünal is a writer from Turkey. He arrived in the USA with a fellowship to study creative writing at UMass, Amherst. His stories have appeared in Willow Springs, Apogee, Third Coast as well as in his native Turkish. He’s been longlisted on The Wigleaf’s Top 50 Very Short Fictions 2021. He holds a Ph.D. in English from University of Louisiana at Lafayette and teaches creative writing at Central Washington University, Ellensburg, WA.