Heavy

Carla lifted her heavy eyelids enough to bring a thin horizon of light into her field of vision. The alarm clock, squawking like a parrot who swallowed a klaxon, was on the other side of the room. She had placed it there because she couldn’t buy one that didn’t have a snooze button. This self knowledge prevented her from waking up late, but it didn’t prevent her from forgetting to turn off her alarm. This was the first day of a sixteen-day sabbatical from work, a chance to switch from writing legal opinions to writing her memoir. Her publisher had insisted that she take time off from her law practice to provide them with a treatment. She was grateful, knowing that she never would have taken the time off otherwise.

The publisher knew the book would sell. Carla was a part of history. She was the first transgender attorney ever to argue a case in front of the Supreme Court. Her work on anti-discrimination cases had reached the stature that she was regularly consulted by big businesses to help craft their HR policies. This lucrative enterprise was more than enough to bankroll all of the pro bono cases that she pursued, but it ate up all of her time. Luckily her partner, Hannah, was a professional writer and well understood the difference between a need for solitude and rejection. For this reason she had chosen to attend a writer’s retreat in Taos while Carla worked on her memoir at home. It also served as an incentive. If Carla finished her manuscript ahead of schedule, Hannah would return from the retreat early and they could spend some quality time together.

Her phone vibrated, causing the coffee in her French press to ripple. She glanced at the number. It was her personal assistant. She must have forgotten the strict do-not-disturb orders that she had been issued. The phone vibrated again. Same number. This time a text message was left. She was just starting to get on a roll with her writing, so she would look at it later. She pictured the back yard of her childhood home. The dominant feature had been a tall, lonesome pine tree. She concocted a sentence that combined a description of the tree with a metaphor for her personal growth. As her fingers pulled these words from her mind and affixed them to the page, her phone vibrated again. Same number. She would have to call and provide her PA with some steel-edged clarity.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” her PA’s voice was raised a pitch above normal, “It’s a genuine emergency. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to come in to the office. It’s the C.I.A. They want to see you.”

“That’s fine. They can see me in a couple of weeks. Schedule it. Anything else?”

“I already told them that you weren’t available, but they were quite insistent. They say that it’s an urgent matter regarding national security and the welfare of a minor. They can’t tell me anything more because of security clearance.” National security didn’t mean shit to Carla, but a kid in trouble?

“Fine. I’ll be there in an hour. Tell them they have fifteen minutes to convince me.”

She had hoped to spend two weeks in her sweats, but here she was steering her Tesla towards the office, critiquing her hurriedly-applied makeup in the rear view mirror. When she arrived, two men wearing Botany 500 suits were already seated in her office.

“Ma’am,” the older agent began. He seemed uncomfortable using the appropriate feminine salutation, but continued nonetheless, “we need your help with a case that you are uniquely qualified for, but it is a matter of national security. You have been issued security clearance in the past, but we would also like to pay you a retainer. That way secrecy would also be assured through attorney/client privilege. Do you agree?”

“Yes. I agree to confidentiality, but I can’t agree to represent the client until I hear the case. My assistant mentioned that this is a legal matter involving a child?”

“Yes. We have a child at Oakland Tech high school who is suing for emancipation.”

“On what grounds?” Carla asked. “Has the child been orphaned, abandoned or abused in some way?” The two agents eyed one another uncomfortably before the first one responded.

“On the grounds that she is an adult. She claims to be forty-two years old.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Carla asked. “Did Hannah put you up to this? I’ve told her time and again that we don’t share the same sense of humor, but it probably did me good to get me out of the house. Is she paying you scale? You guys are good. Had me going for a minute.”

“This is no joke,” the second agent, slightly younger, said. “This is a fifteen-year old girl who claims to be a forty-two year old woman.”

“I’m an attorney,” Carla said. “It sounds like she needs a mental health professional.”

“She has provided ample evidence to back her claim,” the first agent responded. “And she’s very well acquainted with you. She asked us to tell you something that would serve as proof of that.”

“What would that be?” The older agent got out a notebook and began to read a sentence from it.

“The ancient cedar had two sides; the wind-scarred side that faced the valley with the bark worn down to smoothed wood and the lush green side that faced our home, smelling of sap.”

“How could you possibly know that? Is my home under surveillance?” Carla couldn’t think of any other way for anyone to know that sentence, the one she had written this morning before being interrupted by the matter at hand.

“She said that she’s read your memoir. Apparently it’s a best-seller and that’s the opening line.”

Carla thought about that old tree and knew that it was time to face whatever the wind would bring.