The canopies that cover the street obscure my vision, so it’s not until he’s upon me that I spot him.
Jennifer! – he sticks out his hand – how are you? – and goes from handshake to hug.
Oh wow! How are things? as I come out of his embrace, and scan my memory for his unfamiliar face.
The kids have been a handful; his parents have been ill. Work’s been a nightmare but what’s new. There was a holiday to Europe – that cost a bomb – but what an experience. Another planned to Fiji, without the kids. Do you stay in touch with Gabe and Shan?
If I look nonplussed, it’s because I am. To my knowledge, I’ve never met a Gabe, or a Shan, or this man that stands before me.
Oh you know…as much as I can.
Did you hear what happened to Muriel?
I hadn’t, but wasn’t it…a sin? Thankfully he nods.
But what about you?
What can I tell him without revealing that I’ve either forgotten him, or he’s mistaken me for someone else? What could I tell him anyway? Work, family, relationships – there is either nothing to say, or far too much. I could tell him that my sisters don’t talk to me, that my last relationship was over ten years ago, and that he may be the only person I speak to today. I could tell him anything, but I tell him nothing.
Oh you know – keeping on!
He laughs knowingly, which is more than I can say.
As he chats and I think, people pass us by. Dogs circle each other. A man slows his pace to read from a phone, and stops to type a message; he looks up, then walks away, slightly faster than before. A bus waits at traffic lights, while two other buses pass in front. Three cars slow down and stop behind the bus. Lights change from green to red, and from red to green; the bus, and now four cars, continue on their way. Likewise, we depart after a few minutes, with promises to stay in touch, but no numbers exchanged.
Why had I answered to Jennifer? As a child, I cultivated several nicknames; none stuck, but I would answer to them all. In my teens I thought of changing my name, but couldn’t commit to one. Later, in a new city with no friends and no past, I used my middle name – I thought it more sophisticated. No one who knew me then, by that name, in that city, knows me now. None of these names were Jennifer.
The canopies that cover the street obscure my vision, so I almost walk into her.
Hannah! am I glad to see you, I just had the strangest experience. Didn’t catch his name, knew nothing about him, and he knew nothing about me, yet we spoke for 15 minutes.
She looks at me for a moment, nonplussed.
I’m so sorry, I’m just terrible with faces, and with names. Have we met?
Will Meehan is a Scottish-Irish writer living in Wellington, New Zealand, somewhere between the city and the sea, with his wife and baby son. His work has most recently been published in Donk Magazine. In his spare time, he works in the public service.