E.P. Rains

Hello, thank you for contacting the Immigration Services Contact Center. My name is Alba, and my agent ID is #E19872569. I would be more than happy to help you today. Can you please provide me with your case number?

I stood from my desk and padded to my closet, fishing out the manila folder filled with documents about our case. The folder contained our entire relationship. Photos of our wedding, ship tickets, our marriage license, affidavits proving the validity of our relationship, and case files. The slip of paper with our original case number was crumpled. I almost threw it out when I received it until I realized the significance of the document.

“Hi Alba, my case number is IOE547882745578,” I typed. I checked and double checked the numbers I punched into the chat box.

Are you the applicant, the benefactor, or someone else?

“I am the applicant.”

Thank you. Would you like to put an address and a phone number on file for this correspondence?

“Yes, please. My address is 5782 Woodbridge St. Washington, DC. 20008. USA. Earth.”

Three dots floated at the bottom of the screen to indicate the agent was typing. I stared off into space as I waited for Alba’s reply. I reached over beside my computer and grabbed the cup of long cooled coffee that I had made before I clocked in for work. A thin film of milky foam stagnated at the top. Giving the mug a few swirls, I tipped the contents back in my throat. The mental disconnect between expecting a hot drink and receiving a cold sip made me pull a face.

Thank you. How may I assist you today?

I cracked my knuckles and thought about the easiest way to word my question for maximum results. These online help features, and the individuals manning them, could often get tripped up with long forum-style questions.

“Can my spouse visit me while our immigration application is pending?”

I had more questions than that, but getting the basic question answered would make figuring out my follow-up easier. The dots appeared again.

I understand that you are asking if your spouse can visit while your application is visiting. One moment, I will look this up for you.

I re-read the reply, grimacing at the incorrect sentence. I hoped the agent would be able to find an answer to what I was asking, or even understand what I was asking. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms.

OPERATOR HAS DISCONNECTED FROM YOUR CHAT. Please put your question in the chat box and our AI powered agent will help you find the resources you are looking for.

A ripple of frustration passed through me. I hovered my mouse back over the chat box.

“Connect to an agent.”

Hello, my name is Irma. I am the Immigration Services Contact Center AI assistant. I can help you find what you’re looking for! What are you looking for?

“Connect to an agent.”

I understand that you would like to speak to an agent. Can you please let me know your case number and briefly what you are asking about?

“My case number is IOE547882745578. I have a question about immigration.”

I have many resources about immigration. Would you like me to redirect you to my help platform now?

“No, speak to an agent.”

You have been added to the queue to speak to an agent. Request volume is high right now and estimated time in queue is 30 minutes.

Tension began to grow in the back of my neck and shoulders. I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a few deep breaths. The sun was beginning to set, shining directly into my eyes behind my computer. I pulled the blinds shut, enshrouding myself in greying darkness. I picked up my phone.

Me: Hey baby, I am on the chat feature with immigration. Hoping I can get a straight answer soon.

Tomaik: I really appreciate you doing this for us.

Me: Already been disconnected once. So annoying!

Tomaik: I’m sorry, I hope they will answer soon.

Three dots.

Hello, thank you for contacting the Immigration Services Contact Center. My name is Dave, and my agent ID is #V725990357. I would be more than happy to help you today. Can you please provide me with your case number?

I scrolled back up in the chat and copied my earlier message, pasting and sending before regretfully realizing I had called Dave ‘Alba’.

I am the applicant.

Thank you. Would you like to put an address and a phone number on file for this correspondence?

“Yes, please. My address is 5782 Woodbridge St. Washington, DC. 20008. USA. Earth.”

Thank you. How may I assist you today?

“Can my spouse visit me while our immigration application is pending?”

Tomaik: I can’t wait until we don’t have to deal with this shit anymore.

Me: Me too.

Tomaik: Then it will just be you and me forever.

I smiled and clicked off my phone, setting it aside. Tomaik and I met during my stint in the Peace Corps five years before. I was fresh out of college, and he worked for his father’s grocery store. I would go into the store every day just to chat with him and eventually that ended up with us going on our first date. He took me on a shuttle tour of the Axeron asteroid belt. I knew he was the one when, instead of looking out the windows at the stars, he was staring at me as though I were the center of the universe.

Please call the Department of Interplanetary Affairs for an answer to your question. They will be able to tell you if your spouse can come to visit.

Me: They want me to call the DIA. WTF! DIA doesn’t manage immigration cases, the ISC does.

Tomaik: If this is frustrating you, please don’t feel like you need to call them tonight. You can always call tomorrow.

Me: No, I want this settled. We need to book everything if you’re going to come down for my birthday. You know how expensive cryo-travel can get at this time of year. Calling now.

Tomaik and I got married on a bright, hot day on his home planet, Traeon 12. The ceremony was intimate; just me, him, my parents, and his father. The wedding was perfect, and our honeymoon took us around the Traeon star belt for twenty-two days. Marital bliss came crashing down as soon as I returned to Earth and began the tedious process of petitioning the ISC to let my ‘alien’ husband move to Earth. Having the planetary governing bodies inspect every inch of my marriage felt dehumanizing and I was the only human in the equation. The appointments, the interviews, the paperwork. Tedious, invasive, and demoralizing.

I knew when we started dating that people would have a problem or questions about our relationship. My colleagues at work often asked prying questions about how we met and how we stayed together across time and space. Some weirdos in other venues asked about our sex life, both physical and long distance. I became very good at projecting the this is none of your business stare. Tomaik faced even more probing and judgment from his countrymen, so I couldn’t complain too much when some nosy person decided to ask me about how the horizontal tango works with six arms in the equation.

I typed the 800 number into my phone and waited. Another ‘helpful’ AI read out the buffet of options before she announced in a perky tone: For questions about immigration and visas, please press 48.

Thank you for calling the Department of Interplanetary Affairs. This call is being recorded for quality assurance. Please say or enter your case number one digit at a time.

I said our case number as slowly and clearly as possible.

Thank you. I can understand full sentences. Please say a few words about why you are calling today.

“Question about immigration.”

I’m sorry. The Department of Interplanetary Affairs has suspended all external phone communications to focus on the critical backlog of visas and immigration cases. Thank you for calling. Click.

I slammed my phone down on the desk and pushed back my chair, standing to my feet. I ran an angry hand through my hair. Every step of the immigration process after we submitted the application had been hoop after hoop to jump through. We had been waiting for a decision for 575 days. I checked our application status daily, hoping that we were moved along to the next stage in the process.

I plopped back down in my chair and began typing furiously.

Hello, thank you for contacting the Immigration Services Contact Center. My name is Winston, and my agent ID is #X25793156. I would be more than happy to help you today. Can you please provide me with your case number?

“Hi Winston, my case number is IOE547882745578. I am the applicant. I do not want to leave an address of phone number on record.”

Thank you. How may I help you today?

“I have a question. Can my spouse visit me while our immigration application is pending?”

Three dots. They disappear after a moment and then return, flickering like a candle burning in the corner of my screen.

Please wait while I look this information up for you.

I close my eyes and hope that this person on the other side of the screen will be able to answer our question. All I want is for my husband to visit me for my thirtieth birthday. He hasn’t been to Earth since we got married.

Thank you for waiting. According to our policies…

OPERATOR HAS DISCONNECTED FROM YOUR CHAT. Please put your question in the chat box and our AI powered agent will help you find the resources you are looking for.

I began to cry. I don’t know where the tears came from, whether from emotional exhaustion or frustration, but hot salty tears dripped from my eyes onto my lap. The dots of water left a dark pattern on my shirt.

Me: No one will answer me! They hung up on me and another agent disconnected.

Tomaik: I’m sure I had the exact thing happen to me when I called a few years ago. Both agencies were like ‘no you’ and told me to go to the other. Eventually I got an answer out of one of them.

Me: This is stressing me out. I don’t know what to do.

Tomaik’s name flashed across my screen. His contact photo is of us on our honeymoon, smiling into the camera. I answered the call.

Tomaik materialized on my phone, looking concerned. His four eyes blinked at me, searching my red, puffy face.

“You’re crying,” He said.

For some reason that made me cry even harder. I sobbed, sucking in gulps of air and shuddering.

Tomaik shook his head, “Please do not cry, my love. It will all be okay.” The artificial voice coming out of his transmitter was so much more sterile than the tonal language his species spoke.

“What if it isn’t? What if they never approve our application and you can never come visit me?”

“Then,” He cocked his head, “we will find a new place in the universe that will accept us. We have traversed so much in our time together: distance, opinions, and bureaucracy. What is stronger than us together?”

My eyes and cheeks burned from my tears. I felt the flush of emotion making me itch. Tomaik’s species, the Horkas, don’t cry. They feel deeply, but they don’t cry. My tears always concerned Tomaik, the same way someone bleeding would concern a human.

I sucked in a shuddering breath, “I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“I know you do. I miss you too.”

I had only managed to visit him twice since we tied the knot a year and a half before. The longing and loneliness clawed at my soul like an animal willing itself free of a cage. I went through the motions of my daily life. I worked, I saw my friends, I kept a good routine. He and I talked regularly, finding time to video chat and text frequently. But every night as I stared up at the stars, I imagined my husband a light year away, living a life that was held apart from my own, and it broke my heart.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I wiped my eyes. Only as the adrenaline left my system did I realize that Tomaik was sitting in his father’s living room.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know you were visiting Pop today.”

He shook his head, “It is okay. I needed to make sure that you are okay. Pop understands.”

“I am okay, just a little dramatic.”

Tomaik smiled, “Not dramatic, just you. I promise it will all be okay, my love. You should rest and try calling them again tomorrow. It is your dark time, is it not?”

“Nighttime, yes,” I chuckled. “You will have to get used to that when you move here.”

Their sun never set on Traeon 12, only grew dim, like Iceland in summer. There would be many things he would need to adjust to on Earth. Since the Galactic Borders opened a hundred years ago, some interstellar species had decided to settle on the planet, but it still wasn’t common. Many species couldn’t withstand the gravity and conditions on Earth, only those with similar atmospheres on their home planets.

“I will adapt. I will do anything for you.”

I smiled, shyly, like I did when we met. When he told me that he could understand why humans thought they were the only sentient species out there because they had examples of perfection like me. He wooed me and showed me that love runs deeper than skin or scales or fur or the number of body parts an individual has. He drew me in and taught me about his people and his way of life. He introduced me to things I had never experienced before and I fell in love with it all, and him.

“Okay, I love you. Tell Pop I say hello and I miss him.”

“I will. I love you too.”

I hung up and settled back into my seat. I refreshed the page.

Hello, thank you for contacting the Immigration Services Contact Center. My name is Pendra, and my agent ID is #P42031896. I would be more than happy to help you today. Can you please provide me with your case number?

“Hi Pendra, my case number is IOE547882745578. I am the applicant. I do not want to leave an address of phone number on record. I have a question: Can my spouse visit me while our immigration application is pending?”

Three dots appeared in the corner of my screen.