STAMP OF APPROVAL - a selection story

application

L E V I

I've been put through war. Through suffering. Through excruciating pain. Then I had to come home as an orphan. I've cried more tears than normal, and had one too many stitches in too many places.

Yet I've never experienced anything more difficult than filling out this application.

Abri sits across from me, head down, focused on her homework. She's seldom looked up at me and seen me struggling, but even if she did, she probably wouldn't care. She had been all too happy when the announcement went out that all men between ages 25 through 30 were ordered to write out an application for the upcoming selection.

She said, and I quote, "About time you were forced into a relationship."

I almost drive this pen into my forehead.

Abri looks up. She smirks. "Having trouble?"

I give her a look.

"Okay then." She pushes away from the table, coming to stand next to me. "What's the problem?"

I can't help but feel like a student being helped by the teacher.

I gesture to the entire stack of papers. "Everything."

Abri leans down and I move out of her way. I let my head hang over the back of the chair, closing my eyes.

"Okay, well to start, you can put your name down. Then your last name. Then your birthday. Then—" I poke her side when he starts to become annoying. She squeals, hits my arm, then goes back to reading everything else I need to fill out.

"It's all easier said than done, Abri."

"You're telling me you don't know how to fill out your hobbies?" she asks in disbelief.

"Exactly."

She rolls her eyes. "Let's see, you like to work on cars, go to the gym, ride on your motorcycle, comb your hair, speak Spanish without warning, get tattoos, and eat cereal with a fork." She grins cheekily.

"That last one isn't a hobby," I point out.

She takes her seat. "It should be, judging by how often you do it." She goes right back to her homework.

"Neither is combing my hair," I argue.

Abri shrugs.

It was a little helpful. I have a very short list of hobbies, likes, and dislikes. Why would they need to know this anyway? Isn't the whole point of a selection for the Princess to get to know us? This feels like a cheat sheet for her, whereas I would receive nothing if I got in.

Or maybe it's a way for them to sort through the applications. Find the best ones.

In that case, maybe I'll add a few weird hobbies, likes, and dislikes.

I pause when faced with writing a bio for myself.

I could blur it, only put the most important things, skip over the part with the war, with the injuries, with the deathes. I could write about how wonderful my dad had been, even if he's not with us now. I could lie. It's easier than telling the truth. The truth is messy. And hurtful. And even writing it makes me relive every moment I wished I forgot.

I want to lie. I realize that now.

It's easier than facing the truth.

But I can't. I don't want to get in, but I won't lie to make sure I don't. Whoever it is who looks over the applications, whether it's the Princess herself, an advisor, or the King, will not find a lie among mine. I couldn't hide who I am in person, and I can't on paper either. Too many things have happened that formed who I am now, and to blur it over... it wouldn't be right.

The rest of the application goes by easier.

All I do is tell the truth.

And hope it's enough.