The very friendly Registrar asked me to come around the counter, and I followed her to a separate, windowless room that held the old certificates on microfiche. I emphasized that I had a significant amount of research to do and that it might take me several days. She just smiled and said I might be interrupted if a staff member needed to use the fiche, but otherwise it shouldn’t be a problem. She had one of her assistants show me how to use the microfiche and where to find the films for particular ranges of years. I would be working in the microfiche room, unsupervised, with access to all the birth and death records going as far back as the state had been keeping them. I was looking for infants who had passed away between 1965 and 1975, at an age between one and three. Why would I want a birth year that would make me so much younger than my actual age? Because I could pass for that much younger, and if the Feds ever used age criteria when searching recently issued driver’s licenses in a state where they thought I might be living, they would—I hoped—skip right over me.