Momento

Until people started mistaking me for you, I didn't realize just how high you had raised the bar for me to just be myself.

You know?

What did the original cover of the 1983 Peter Godwin recording, Correspondence, look like? I only remember it didn't look like this. And what were the names of those two songs by other artists from that same time period? The one a sultry recitation of New York City personal ads at the time and a chorus that went: "Person, to person, to personal announcements." The other half-spoken, half-sung by a fey voice with a seemingly feigned British accent intoning: "Cardboard sidewalks. Breakdance! Breakdance!" I can't remember and typing the words person-to-person and cardboard sidewalks into a search engine is useless.

I don't remember if I was counting lasagna noodles into boiling water or measuring diced onion in a cup when my nephew, who was going through some kind of superlative phase at the time, exclaimed, "That is more than anyone has ever done before!" Although he was saying that about everything at the time, it was perhaps flattering taking into account it was only dinner for six.

I am wondering now how many times has this woman served me breakfast? I don't know that either. Once again, though, I have forgotten to use the mustard I always remember to ask her for.

Leaving the tip and waving to you, I think about how I don't know your name anymore, but I can picture clearly and even feel the cool and breezy afternoon long after what's-his-name introduced us when I stopped worrying if your quirky mix of attention and indifference was shyness or scorn.

And which of my friends was it who came out of the restroom shocked because the man at the urinal next to him was peeing arms akimbo? You tell me. This afternoon I remembered to do the same after almost an hour of sorting through compact discs at the bargain music store and not wanting to touch myself because I hadn't washed my hands first.

Who knows the names of the other three people who have told me I look like that one guy? I only remember it's you and the woman I always see in the checkout line, so there are five of you.