Page 105 of Cross Checking

“Uh, you can apply for a French citizenship certificate now,” he repeats in English.

“I got that, butnationality?”

“Yes, your father held a French passport which means he is a citizen, and so are you. The Government recently passed legislation that allows foreign missions to process these applications instead of the Judicial Courts in France.” He sighs, heavier than before. “My workload is now double, but that’s beside the point. Please fill out form 16237 and take another ticket from the front. Now go.”

I accept the form, which is more like a thick booklet, and plop it on a side counter to fill it out. Written at the top, in large,bold French text, is the title: Application for Certificate of French Nationality.

That’s when it hits me.

I’m French, apparently.

That lets me live anywhere in the EU. I can move to Sweden as soon as I have my documents.

Holy fucking shit. This is perfect.

With no time to spare, I race through the form, filling it in with the black pen I thankfully had the foresight to bring with me. I take another ticket and get called up almost immediately, given that the consulate is empty today.

“Hi, good afternoon. I have a citizenship certificate application,” I say, handing over the booklet and my folder of documents.

The agent leafs through the form, glances at my dad’s old passport, rifles around some more, and types something into her computer.

“Sign on the screen in front of you, please.”

I comply and wait in silence for a few more minutes.

The agent clears her throat and jolts me back to attention. “Your certificate is approved. You can pick it up in around two weeks. Please pay the consular processing fee of fifty euros and we will provide a temporary confirmation for use in the meantime.”

I tap my card on the debit machine. “Already? That was fast.”

The agent gives me a terse smile. “Yes, we’re getting better with bureaucracy, and the digital national database helps, too. Once you have the certificate in hand, you may apply here for an ID card and your passport.”

This is a lot. I really need to update my dad on the positive developments in French government bureaucracy over the last fifty years.

I mumble a quick thanks in French, and she returns it before tapping at her computer. I sit down and collect myself, scanning over the plain-typed French text on the confirmation receipt in my hands.

Agent 4917, under the authority of the Consul General of France in Toronto, Canada, acting on behalf of the French Judiciary, certifies, on the basis of the documents provided, that

LUCAS GABRIEL TREMBLAY, born in TORONTO, CANADA

IS FRENCH

in accordance with Article 18 of the Civil Code.

This document confirms the holder’s eligibility for the issuance of a Certificate of French Nationality.

I’m French.

Erik is gonna love this, and I race out of the consulate to call him.

I don't connect, so I text instead.

Yo I’m French!!!

Not Delivered

.

Huh, that’s odd, but the rink might be a dead zone. Stuffing my overflowing folder of documents into my backpack, I walk back home, and once I’m inside, I slump down at my dining table. It’s after three in the afternoon, which is when Erik says his workday ends, so I try to call him again.

---