WHERE IS MY MIND? HAVE YOU SEEN IT? I HAVE LOST IT!

I stare at the woman behind the desk at the DPS. "I can't renew my license until my birthday?"

She nods sagely, already glancing at the person behind me in line. "That's right hon. When you renew your license next time before you turn eighteen, you can renew up to thirty days ahead of time. This time you have to renew it on your birthday. And make sure you have a VOE form."

I blink, mind tearing at the acronym. Verification of Enrollment. "Yes, ma'am, but I'm starting college in a week." And I need a freakin' license to drive myself there!

"Okay, then make sure you have your diploma or last report card."

The scream builds low in my gut, rising into my chest. I cram it into a tiny box. "I was home schooled." Don't get me wrong, I'm sooo glad I was home schooled, but as I've discovered with the SAT, SAT subject tests, driver's ed, two college applications, NCAA, and Department of Public Safety, it really screws up the system. My atypicalness earns me lots of extra paperwork.

I think fast, before I am dismissed and the guy slouching behind me renews his motorcycle license. "Can I bring my bill and school schedule from --- University?"

She nods. "That should work fine, hon."

Well, something ought to go my way today.

_______________________________

I realize the absurdity of the situation. If I drive myself to the DPS on my birthday, I'll be driving on an expired license, giving them reason to slap me with a fine. The woman must be confused. Three days later, I head up again. The line is long. Lo and behold, the same woman sits at the desk. I bottle the scream that's been occupying my chest.

And five minutes later, the woman switches posts with a state trooper. I shoot a glance at my dad, smiling like an idiot.

An hour and a half later, I dish up ten bucks, smile for the camera, and get a piece of paper with a Texas stamp as a temporary license. Life is good.

________________________________

I growl at the computer monitor. "What do you mean I'm not cleared? I had those transcripts sent two weeks ago?" I call the NCAA Eligibility Center. And I eat breakfast, pack some clothes, endure the never-ending torture of Muzak over my phone's speaker before a representative picks up. Turns out one community college never sent them a transcript.

I peel out of the driveway, tires squealing -

Ahem. No, Mom's with me. I drive legally and safely to the college, fill out a form, hand it in, and wait. I'm gonna send the stupid thing overnight myself. I plop into a chair against the back of the wall, and wait.

Five minutes later, a woman emerges from her office with a transcript, calling my name.

I stand up, gaze trapped by the white envelope she holds. Oh, my precious. Come to Gollum.

"I need to see an ID, please."

"Sure." I open my wallet and have a heart attack. My license? Where's my license? My beautiful face does not smile at me from the top of the wallet, as it always does. A blur of pictures flash in my eyes, and I remember. Right. Temporary license. I pull out the folded paper and hand it to her. "Here you go."

She frowns at it. "I'm sorry, but I have to have a photo ID for privacy reasons."

The scream makes it halfway up my throat before I slap it back. I mutter "You've gotta be kidding me." Force a smile. "I just got my license renewed a few days ago."

"Do you have a school ID? That would work."

"I was home schooled. "

She says finally, after checking with someone, that she can just see my mom's ID instead.

I take the transcript and hurry to the post office before she can change her mind and send campus police after me. Thirty-three dollars later (overnight = wincing wallet), I have a little peace of mind.

Until I come home and trip over one of three suitcases on my bedroom floor.

(This is one-hundred percent truth, by the way.)