Belinda Blue was feeling down. In fact, she was feeling blue, and she was a member of the Blue family, so she always felt Blue with a capital letter, but not so often blue with a small latter. She knew that other people had colors for last names, but only certain colors were common: Black, White, Green, Brown. No one was called Ms. Orange or Mr. Purple. Maybe some other colors could be used, but she couldn’t think of any. Even Blue was unusual for a last name. Maybe her ancestors had the name Blukowski or Blukov or Blusson, or something like that, and then when they came through Ellis Island the immigration official looked them over from their hats to their tattered shoes and wrote down the name Blue.

Blue was a good color. It didn’t seem like a sad color, so why did people say they were blue when they were sad? Belinda sometimes felt insulted when she heard her name used that way. “I feel so blue!” her friend Bernice Brown would say, and Belinda would clam up and sulk for the rest of the day. Bernice never seemed to catch Belinda’s change of mood. And there was no way Belinda could retaliate by telling her friend she felt brown.

Today she had a specific reason for feeling blue. She had gone to the car repair in need of an oil change for her blue car. The mechanic was so good looking that Belinda decided her car would need brakes the following week and windshield wipers the week after that. His name was Mike, or so it said on his shirt, and he seemed, at least at the time, to be a one-person operation: he greeted her, worked on her car, wrote up the bill, took her credit card, and issued her receipt.

“Belinda Blue,” he said, as he looked at the paper. “Interesting name. Do you always feel blue”?

She frowned at him. “No, not always, just when people make fun of my name.”

“I wasn’t making fun. Just trying to be funny. Sounds like a stage name. Maybe you should be a movie star. Maybe you’re already a movie star. You’re sure pretty enough.” He gave her a big smile that revealed deep dimples.

Belinda tried not to look embarrassed. She didn’t know what to say. Should she thank him for the compliment? No, that would be provocative, or something. She just smiled.

And then she left, in a turmoil of emotions. She liked this guy and wanted him to repair her car forever, or for at least as long as she could find repairs, but why had he made fun of her? Blue was a stupid name. It made her feel blue. She had to get rid of it.

The next day she was at the courthouse trying to change her name. She had her birth certificate and her driver’s license and hoped that would be all she needed, except for some money.

The clerk, a middle-aged woman with red hair, frowned at Belinda’s application. “So, you want to change your name to Blukowski? Why would a pretty young woman named Belinda Blue want to do a thing like that?”

“Um, I think you’re just supposed to process the request, not give advice.”

The woman leaned toward her. “Listen. My name is Gertrude Glavojovich. I would love to have the name Belinda Blue.”

“Well, you’re welcome to it, once I get rid of it.”

“It wouldn’t seem right, somehow. Maybe you’ll get married someday. You can take the name of your husband, if you want. Why go to all this trouble and pay money for something you don’t really need?”

Belinda looked behind to see if anyone was standing in line. No, no one. She sighed and turned back to the clerk.

“Maybe you’re right. I was just feeling blue today.”

The clerk gave a hearty laugh. “That’s funny!”

Belinda turned around and left, thinking about all the people and agencies and governmental units she would have to inform should she change her name from Blue to Blukowski. Then she began wondering about Mike the mechanic. What was his name? How could she find out?

The next week Belinda Blue decided to take her car in to get her brakes checked. There was Mike.

“Hi, Ms. Belinda Blue. Was anything wrong with my work?”

“No. Not at all. But I think I need my brakes checked. There seems to be a problem.”

Before long, Mike was back. “No problem with your brakes, Ms. Blue. Anything else I can help you with?” There were the dimples again.

“Um, you know, you remind me of someone I knew in high school. What’s your last name, Mike? I assume you’re Mike, unless you’re wearing someone else’s shirt.”

He laughed again and showed his dimples one more time. “The name’s Blukowski. Michael Blukowski.”

Then and there Belinda decided that whatever happened, she was never going to feel blue again. Not about her name, at any rate. And Belinda Blukowski had a nice ring to it. Maybe even Belinda Blue Blukowski, unless that was somehow over the top.