The Ceremony Map

The envelope was waiting for Sasha when he came home from Fort McMurray on a Thursday night. A white envelope with a red maple leaf in the corner.

He didn't open it in the kitchen. He took it to the small table by the window, where his wife used to sit with her pen and her notepad when she made the English phone calls. He sat in her chair. Then he opened it.

Notice to Appear to Take the Oath of Citizenship.

He read the first line four times. The ceremony, it said, would be conducted by a citizenship judge. Then he put the letter down on the table, very carefully, as if it were a glass that could break, and sat with his hands flat on either side of it for a long time.

In May, he had taken the citizenship test: twenty questions about Canada, history, geography, government. He had studied the little book for months, in the truck, at gas stations, in motels. He had passed. Then he had waited. Now there was a date. Wednesday, August 18. Ten o'clock.

He took out his phone and sent a message to the class. Just one line.

I have the date.