Devon Hartford - Painless

“Are your parents incarcerated or presumed dead?”

Maybe me and Criteria weren’t as close as I’d hoped. But the idea of my mom or dad in jail was hilarious. I couldn’t decide if my mom would rule her cell block or be shived in the shower because she was such a bitch. My dad would probably be like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption and do everyone’s taxes while outsmarting the warden. As for presumed dead, did it count that they were dead to me? At least it felt that way. I sighed. Probably not.

“No to both,” I said.

Sheri’s friendly expression suddenly went serious. “This is difficult to ask, but were you physically or sexually abused by either one of your parents?”

“No. But does mental abuse count?” I joked.

I could tell Sheri didn’t find that funny.

“Sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I know you’re probably very stressed dealing with all these money issues when all you’d rather be focusing on is your studies.”

“You can say that again,” I sighed.

“Next criteria. Are your parents unable to be located?”

I had no interest in ever seeing them again, but that wasn’t what she meant. “No. I mean, yes. They’re in Washington D.C.”

“And you weren’t adopted?”

“No.” But sometimes it felt like I was adopted by robots.

Sheri sighed heavily. “Well, unfortunately that means we won’t be able to override your dependency status.”

My shoulders sank and I slumped down in the chair. “Oh.”

“But you might qualify as independent already.”

“Oh?” I smiled.

“Yes. If you are twenty-four, you would automatically be considered independent, but I see here on the computer that you haven’t yet turned twenty.”

“No,” I sighed. “Not until next school year.”

“And you’re not an orphan, or ward of the court?”

“Do you mean a ward like Robin is a ward of Batman’s?” I asked hopefully

She grinned. “Well yes. But you don’t happen to know any superheroes, do you?”

“One,” I grinned, thinking of Christos. “But he doesn’t have a costume. He has tattoos. Does that count?”

She chuckled, “Sadly, no. Maybe if you got him to wear a costume?” she winked

“Probably not,” I sighed.

“Any chance you’re a veteran?”

“No.”

“A graduate student?”

“Still an undergrad. Geez, I’m nothing, aren’t I?”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. I’d say you’re a bright young woman with a financial hiccup. We can work through it. You don’t have any legal dependents, do you? Any children or aging grandparents you care for?”

“No. But I could get pregnant, if that would help,” I said sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” she said with amusement. “Besides, even if you got pregnant tomorrow, you wouldn’t have the baby until Fall Quarter, so your dependent status wouldn’t change until then. That wouldn’t help you pay your Spring tuition, now would it?” She winked at me.

“I guess not.”

She leveled a serious but compassionate look at me. “Don’t get pregnant, Samantha. If you think working two jobs is tough, having a child is ten times harder. I know what I’m talking about.” She picked up a photo from her desk and spun it around for me to see. It was her smiling with a little boy and girl. Both kids were grade school age. “Don’t let their cuteness fool you. Like toads, lizards, and demon spawn, the second they realize they’re larger than you, they will try to eat you,” she grinned.

“Got it. No kids.”

“Gosh,” she sighed, “there’s only one other option.”

I winced. “What? Do I have to be a member of the clergy or something? I’d totally become a nun if it would pay for school.”

“No,” she smiled, “just the opposite. You’re not married, are you?”

A bullet of surprise knocked me into the back of my chair. “Did you say married?”

“Yes.”

“As in, wed? As in, hitched?”

She chuckled, “I did. Can I take it that you have a husband? I only ask because I didn’t see a ring on your finger.”

I didn’t see a ring on my finger either, but the idea made me woozy in the best way possible. I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on Sheri’s desk. My brain and heart swirled with possibilities.

What if Christos and I were married?

What if?

I suddenly wanted to do the happy dance on Sheri Denney’s desk. But it wasn’t like I could ask Christos to marry me, could I? No. Such things weren’t done. I could hint. I could hint like crazy twenty times a day. But Christos had to do the asking, assuming I didn’t scare him away with all the hinting.

Sheri raised her eyebrows expectantly. “You are married, aren’t you?”

“No,” I sighed. “Not yet, anyway. But I have a serious boyfriend.”

She deflated a little. “Don’t rush into anything, Samantha. I don’t want you coming back in here tomorrow with some adventure story about how you drove to Las Vegas tonight and got Elvis to marry you and your boyfriend at a drive thru wedding chapel for a hundred dollars. Marriage is a serious commitment. Don’t take it lightly.”

“I know,” I sighed.

Sheri rested a hand on my forearm and looked me in the eye. “I’m not saying don’t get married, I’m just saying don’t rush into it. Get married because you love each other, when you’re ready. Not because you need some financial aid money.”

I really liked Sheri. She wasn’t so hard core like my parents, trying to control everything I did. Maybe Sheri could adopt me? No. She had two kids already.

“In the meantime,” she said, “try talking to your parents again. It’s your best bet.”

“I don’t know. Ever since I changed my major to art, they’ve been flipping out. And my mom thinks my boyfriend is a bad influence.”

“I see,” she nodded. “I argued with my mom about boys all the time when I was your age.”

“Really? What happened?”

She grinned conspiratorially at me and leaned forward to whisper, “I married the boy we argued about the most.”

“See! Maybe I should marry my boyfriend!”

She rolled her eyes. “I know it sounds like getting married will fix everything. It doesn’t. There’s more problems, just different ones. Now, you said something about changing your major. What was it before?”

“Accounting. But that’s just what my parents wanted. I changed my major to art because that’s what I’ve dreamed about doing since I was a girl.”

Sheri smiled, “I wanted to be a dancer when I graduated from high school. Getting married and having kids put a stop to that. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband dearly on all the days he isn’t driving me nuts, and I love my kids more than anything. But I never got to move to New York to be a dancer like I had always dreamed.” She gave me a serious look. “Samantha, you have to choose. If you want to be an artist, you might have to wait on marriage.”

“But my boyfriend is an artist! And he’s successful too!” A sudden rush of optimism and hope swept through me. It felt like my life was suddenly coming together, despite everything my parents were doing to stand in my way. “Maybe I can have my boyfriend and an art career and get married!”

“Maybe you can,” Sheri smiled. “But please, please , don’t rush out and tie the knot. Try talking to your parents first. If they helped you before, it’s because they love you.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Loved me like fire loved to burn things, maybe. Groan. But I bet not like Sheri loved her kids. They were lucky to have her as a mom.

She continued, “Maybe if you explain to your parents how serious you are about art?”