Home Creative Nonfiction Jayelle Seeley – Nonfiction

Jayelle Seeley – Nonfiction

How to Change Your Name

By Jayelle Seeley

 

  1. Get Engaged
    • Go to the court with your fiancé the day before your wedding.
      • Fill out the marriage license application.
        • Get to the line where you are asked what last name you’d like to take.
        • Freeze.
        • Say, “I’ve never even written my first name next to yours. I haven’t even said the combination out loud.”
        • He says, “You don’t have to take my last name if you don’t want. Or you can hyphenate.”
        • “I always planned to change my last name when I got married, so I guess I’ll just take yours.”
        • Cry.
          • Ask yourself, “What is wrong with me?”
    • Get married.
      • Get harassed for the next six months because your voicemail and Facebook still say, “Jayelle Marie Seeley.”
        • Change your last name Facebook.
        • Re-record your voicemail so that it just says, “Jayelle.”
    • Complain to your new husband.
      • I’ll have to take an entire day off.
      • I’ll have to go to the Social Security office which means driving downtown which I HATE.
      • I’ll have to park on the street which I HATE.
      • I’ll have to go to the DMV and get a new license which I HATE.
      • I’ll have to change my name on everything I own which I will HATE.
    • Quit your job, the one you hate.
      • Drive downtown.
        • Park in the lot.
        • Walk toward the building.
          • Entrance closed.
          • Walk around to the side.
        • Sit and wait.
        • “Congratulations, Mrs. Johnson.”
      • Spend an hour on your makeup before you go to the DMV.
        • The man at the door sees you holding an envelope in your left hand which hosts a big sparkly ring.
          • “Name change?”
          • “How did you know?”
          • “Congratulations.”
          • Smile demurely, “Thank you.”
        • Take the best damn license photo of your entire life.

 

  1. Leave Your Husband.
    • Use your middle name as your last name on all your social media.
    • Two years later, the divorce decree arrives.
      • Don’t read it.
        • Too painful.
    • Every time you’re asked for your legal last name:
      • Say it in a low tone.
      • Mumble it like a child who was just forced to apologize.
    • Wait another two years.
      • Maybe I’ll just change my last name to Marie!
      • Maybe I’ll make it Jayelle 2.0!
      • Maybe I’ll be Jayelle The Magnificent!
      • Maybe I’ll use a last name from a random generator!
    • Get a job at a school where all the students need to call you “Ms. Johnson.”
      • Lose that job.
    • Get accepted into a master’s degree program.
      • “He has nothing to do with me earning my master’s. I have to ditch his last name.”
      • No other brilliant ideas come your way
      • Decide to take back your maiden name.
    • Hear all the horror stories about expensive name changes.
    • Assume there was nothing in your divorce paperwork that would allow you to resume your prior name.
    • Print out a document using online software to change your name with The Supreme Court.
      • Fee of $210
      • Alerting the papers.
        • This seems extreme.
    • Call your lawyer friend.
      • “Just go down to City Hall with your divorce decree!”
      • “I didn’t think the divorce included that.”
      • “It’s a standard provision.”
      • Finally read your decree.
        • “Oh.”
    • Drive downtown on a Monday morning.
      • Find street parking near City Hall.
        • Line up the side mirror with the other car’s side mirror.
        • Cut it hard.
        • Mirror lines up with bumper.
        • Start turning the wheel back.
          • Hit the curb.
            • “Fuck.”
      • Find a different spot.
        • Feed the meter for two hours.
      • Walk to City Hall.
        • “I don’t know if I’m in the right place but I need to change my name because of divorce.”
          • “You’re in the wrong place, go to the court.”
      • Walk to the Court Building.
        • Get through security.
        • No one asks where you are going.
        • Look blankly at a sign.
        • Do a lap around the first floor.
        • Climb the staircase to the clerk’s office.
          • “You already have it written into your decree. All you have to do is go to the social security office.”
        • You could walk to the federal building but you’re sure your parking time will expire before you’re done there.
        • Walk back to your car an hour early.
      • Park by Café Kubal on Water Street because you remember that was right next to the lot where you parked for the federal building.
        • Pay for two hours.
      • Remember the entrance is not at the front.
        • Walk to the side.
          • Entrance closed.
          • Follow the signs.
          • Go around back.
          • Follow more signs.
          • Entrance here.
            • Look over and notice your parked car.
              • Realize that you did a lap around the entire building.
      • Check in with Security.
        • “What are you here for?”
        • “Social security.”
        • “It’s going to be a long wait.”
        • “Well, I’m here.”
        • Take a number.
        • Wonder if you will run out of parking time.
      • C435
        • “I need your divorce decree.”
        • “This is from April?”
        • “Yes, April of 2016.”
        • “I was being indecisive.”
        • “I’ve never been in that situation before so I don’t judge.”
      • “Here you are MIZZ SeeleyYou’ll get your new card in two weeks.”
        • “That’s it?”
        • “That’s it!”
      • Look down at the receipt
        • Jayelle Marie Seeley.
          • Notice that it has been over four years since a new piece of paper has been handed to you with that name.
            • Feel unexpectedly elated.
    • Realize you have another hour before your parking time expires.
    • Every time you pass someone:
      • Smile broadly.
      • “Good morning!”
    • Get a scoop of vanilla raspberry swirl ice cream topped with hot fudge.
      • Take off your sandals.
      • Roll up your pants.
      • Stick your bare feet into the fountain at Clinton Square.
      • Kick your feet back and forth with childish glee, splashing water.
    • Wait at the DMV for two hours.
      • “Sign here.”
      • “1 2 3”
      • “You look pretty.”
      • $12.50
        • “That’s it?”
        • “That’s it!”

 

 

 

BIO

Jayelle Seeley has called Syracuse, NY, home for the past 8 years. She is currently studying for her master’s degree mental health counseling. This is her first published piece.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Writing Disorder is a quarterly literary journal. We publish exceptional new works of fiction, poetry, nonfiction and art. We also feature interviews with writers and artists, as well as reviews.

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