I recently entered a needle and ink shop with an acquaintance whom had an appointment.
I didn’t recognize the piercer but she knew me from high school. She was overjoyed to tell us how she tried to convince her sister, recently, to name her child after a bad-ass she knew in high school: Me. Her words. It slowly came back.
My acquaintance asked a few questions about my teen years. The piercer delighted in talking about me, like I was her favorite band or comfort food. She also said things in a way that convinced me she has indulged in the idea of me in recent years.
As we left, she introduced me to her husband.