A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
She did not look convinced, but she began typing a sequence of commands that made her monitor flicker with green lines of text.
“Your master’s degree in business administration was completed in four consecutive semesters,” she said, reading the screen. “There was a balance of twelve thousand dollars due at the start of your second year.”
“Yes, I took out a personal student loan to cover that portion,” I said, leaning closer to the glass. “I need the receipt of that transaction.”
Mrs. Gable frowned, her finger tracing a line on her screen. “There is no record of a student loan company on this ledger.”
“That is incorrect,” I said, checking my watch again. “I distinctly remember signing the promissory note.”
“Let me pull the actual transfer voucher from the registry vault,” she said, standing up from her swivel chair. “It will take thirty minutes to print the microfilm record.”
I sat on a wooden bench across from the counter, the silence of the high-ceilinged room pressing down on me.
The waiting area remained empty except for a young student sleeping on a vinyl couch near the exit. At three in the afternoon, the printer behind the counter began its high-pitched hum, spitting out three pages of gray-tinted paper.
