his father had explained long ago, “because two Davids would confuse everyone.” Adam inspected the certificate—and it all checked out. His birthday, February 14. Valentine’s Day. His mother was sentimental about birthdays and Adam’s in particular. She shopped for days and always baked a special cake. “A lovely day to be born, Adam, a day of love and tenderness,” she said. He looked at his father’s and mother’s birth certificates. Same official-looking paper, same signature: Tobias Simpson, Town Clerk.
Adam flicked through the other envelopes. Insurance policies. Social Security cards. He looked at his card and his number. It was new-looking, fresh, untouched. Why would someone his age need a Social Security number? Suspicion made him pause and in that pause, the sound of the lawn mower grew louder, and Adam held his breath. The lawn mower’s motor receded and Adam exhaled. He remembered that you needed a Social Security number to open a bank account and his parents had presented him with his own bank book and fifty dollars deposited in his name on his tenth birthday. There was only one envelope left in the drawer. It was sealed. Adam held it in his hand, the envelope almost weightless. He knew that he could not risk opening it. And he also knew that it probably contained nothing suspicious at all. In fact, he felt ridiculous and guilty investigating the contents of the drawer.
Still curious, he held the envelope up to the light and could see faint outlines of a document inside. Thedocument looked familiar: the blue seal at the bottom. He realized that the envelope contained another birth certificate or something similar. The blue seal was identical to the seal on the other birth certificates. Why another certificate? Had someone else been born that he knew nothing about? Did he have an unknown brother or sister maybe? This was crazy, this was ridiculous. It could all be explained easily. But he had to open this envelope. He had to find out. He had to know.
He inspected the envelope. Plain, white, undistinguished. Like any other envelope he’d often seen on his father’s desk. He searched the desk now, opening drawers, and came upon a bunch of white envelopes. He compared them with the sealed envelopes. They were the same. It would be easy …
The sound of the power mower suddenly died; an emptiness filled the air. Adam was too much committed to his search to stop now even though his father might be heading for the house for a glass of beer or to rest awhile. He quickly tore open the sealed envelope and withdrew the certificate. It was a birth certificate all right. Signed and sealed by the same Tobias Simpson, Town Clerk, Rawlings, Pa. At first, Adam thought the certificate was a duplicate of his own because his name was written on the paper: Adam David Farmer. But the date was different. This date was July 14. The year was correct, exactly as it appeared on the first birth certificate. But a different date. A different birthday. He had two birth certificates, two birthdays. Crazily, he thought, Was I born twice? And his hands began to tremble sobadly that he could barely slip the certificate back into an envelope. His tongue was dry when he tried to lick the envelope. His hands shook as he replaced all the stuff in the drawer, turned the key in the lock, slipped the torn envelope into his pocket. He heard his father’s footsteps at the back door as he returned the keys to the table. He went downstairs and hid in the cellar until the trembling stopped.
T
:
And what did you do about it?
A
:
Nothing. There was nothing I could do. I figured it was a mistake. I figured that when we left Rawlings, my father had arranged for the birth certificates to be made out—we’d need them wherever we were going—and that the town clerk, that Tobias Simpson, had made a mistake and given him the wrong one or something. Wrote down the wrong date. And probably my father didn’t notice it until later and had to send
Adam flicked through the other envelopes. Insurance policies. Social Security cards. He looked at his card and his number. It was new-looking, fresh, untouched. Why would someone his age need a Social Security number? Suspicion made him pause and in that pause, the sound of the lawn mower grew louder, and Adam held his breath. The lawn mower’s motor receded and Adam exhaled. He remembered that you needed a Social Security number to open a bank account and his parents had presented him with his own bank book and fifty dollars deposited in his name on his tenth birthday. There was only one envelope left in the drawer. It was sealed. Adam held it in his hand, the envelope almost weightless. He knew that he could not risk opening it. And he also knew that it probably contained nothing suspicious at all. In fact, he felt ridiculous and guilty investigating the contents of the drawer.
Still curious, he held the envelope up to the light and could see faint outlines of a document inside. Thedocument looked familiar: the blue seal at the bottom. He realized that the envelope contained another birth certificate or something similar. The blue seal was identical to the seal on the other birth certificates. Why another certificate? Had someone else been born that he knew nothing about? Did he have an unknown brother or sister maybe? This was crazy, this was ridiculous. It could all be explained easily. But he had to open this envelope. He had to find out. He had to know.
He inspected the envelope. Plain, white, undistinguished. Like any other envelope he’d often seen on his father’s desk. He searched the desk now, opening drawers, and came upon a bunch of white envelopes. He compared them with the sealed envelopes. They were the same. It would be easy …
The sound of the power mower suddenly died; an emptiness filled the air. Adam was too much committed to his search to stop now even though his father might be heading for the house for a glass of beer or to rest awhile. He quickly tore open the sealed envelope and withdrew the certificate. It was a birth certificate all right. Signed and sealed by the same Tobias Simpson, Town Clerk, Rawlings, Pa. At first, Adam thought the certificate was a duplicate of his own because his name was written on the paper: Adam David Farmer. But the date was different. This date was July 14. The year was correct, exactly as it appeared on the first birth certificate. But a different date. A different birthday. He had two birth certificates, two birthdays. Crazily, he thought, Was I born twice? And his hands began to tremble sobadly that he could barely slip the certificate back into an envelope. His tongue was dry when he tried to lick the envelope. His hands shook as he replaced all the stuff in the drawer, turned the key in the lock, slipped the torn envelope into his pocket. He heard his father’s footsteps at the back door as he returned the keys to the table. He went downstairs and hid in the cellar until the trembling stopped.
T
:
And what did you do about it?
A
:
Nothing. There was nothing I could do. I figured it was a mistake. I figured that when we left Rawlings, my father had arranged for the birth certificates to be made out—we’d need them wherever we were going—and that the town clerk, that Tobias Simpson, had made a mistake and given him the wrong one or something. Wrote down the wrong date. And probably my father didn’t notice it until later and had to send
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