"Where do you think he is?" asked a gruff voice to my right. I was sitting near the end of the long rows of chairs at the DMV, watching Heidi negotiate the paperwork for her Real ID.
"I don't know. Go ask." a woman's voice behind me answered.
I didn't want to crane my neck and look at either of them, but the drama had me hooked.
"Ooooooh! There's ketchup!" a little kid chimed in and I could smell fast food being unwrapped.
"I think he's sitting in the car," said the man, and when I glanced over he was peering out the plate glass door.
"Isn't that the guy?" asked his companion.
"Yup," he answered.
"Eat a french fry," she told the child. "Go ask," she repeated to the man.
I watched the tall, grey-haired guy in a flannel hoodie shuffle up to the service window next to Heidi.
"How was it?" he asked.
I couldn't hear the reply of the uniformed man behind the safety glass.
"He's my grandson," the other man explained.
I saw him nodding and when he turned to return to the rows of chairs he was not smiling. "He said that there was a problem. When he told him to come to a full stop and turn left, he didn't do it," the man reported to the lady behind me.
"Well," she said, "he must be upset. Let's go."
And the three of them pushed their way out into the dark December late afternoon. Heidi was smiling for her picture, but I was feeling a little sad for the kid in the car.
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