i’m not sure what possessed me, but i ripped open the envelope immediately. it arrived on a single white sheet of paper, marked express mail from the office of immigration and naturalization services. it had been sent to my home, though i did not recognize the name of the addressee. i was generally not one to interfere with official business of state—especially as it concerned strangers—though i imagined the letter itself might contain some clue, some hint as to why it had been delivered here, to me, on this day: wednesday, my least favorite of days.

the contents of the letter were perfunctory, it’s language, bureaucratic. little gray boxes like little gray windows in which lived lonely black and white letters. they stated that the individual’s F-1 visa extension application had been received, and that they were then waiting for the relevant academic institution to send along the student’s declaration & certification of finances for i-20/ds-2019 application. i stumbled over the medial backslash for over an hour: did it relate the ds-2019 to the i-20 somehow? was a ds-2019 a possible subset of an i-20? was one simply another name for the other, were they the same in every respect but in name? but then why not just call them the same thing? my stomach cramped and i fell forward. the thought of it all ached in me. i began to white out. the letter was making me snowblind.

aside from the addressee’s name, there was no identifying information. no country of origin. no date of birth. the document was just a receipt, and across the top--in big bold black letters--read “NOTICE DOES NOT GRANT ANY IMMIGRATION STATUS OR BENEFIT.” odd to think a notice capable of granting something. technically speaking, government departments “granted” such things. (upon this sublime revelation, i wiggled my finger in the air at some imaginary person, which whom i fantasized myself having this conversation, i imagined their undivided attention, leaning in over their crème fraiche, his hand reaching for mine. i was making such an impression on him. he was really into me. whatever i was saying, i had to say more of it.) so more specifically, it was some administrator within the government department who granted them.

the notice was merely the reflection of the granting, though a perfect reflection at that, and so in this case much like some still glacial lake. and if the letter was at least as perfect as the thing it reflected, then it was—in its own singularly inexhaustible sense—the most beautiful letter ever.

i took a breath and drifted to the window where my gaze fell into the handsome box garden my downstairs neighbor kept. somewhere out there in the world, a stranger would not be receiving this receipt. they would not miss it. they would not write the home office in search of it. they had done the work and the letter stated no response was needed at the time. would they send more? whose life had been thrown inexplicably up against my own? did they live close by? was they a possible neighbor? my face was suddenly flush in the warm summer air, i strut out my front door and leaned over the railing into the parking lot, fanning myself with the letter. as i said, the name was not familiar to me. such was the thinking, the searching, the scanning of its face.

but then the kettle boiled for my evening coffee. i threw the letter down on the entrance table. i must remember to write the home office. to let them know that there’d been a horrible mistake. that the person in question was not in residence here. an action must be taken. yes, a direct and verifiable action. i will otherwise stare into the letter’s reflection forever. i will otherwise never come out of it.