‘Have we met?’
‘No I don’t think so.’
‘Are you sure? Because...’
‘I’m sure...’ with this I dart off.
Except wait, I do remember. You sat next to me in high school; you gave me a lift last week. You were the drunken guy sitting next to me in the kombi. You gave me a lift last week.
And although I had so hoped to never see you again. It’s a small world and I find myself desperately trying to get away from you.
I never want to remember the people I meet. I am much more inclined to stick my nose in the air and scurry off. It is not because I don’t like people.
But that’s beside the point.
I seem to suffer from stage fright.
The thought of putting up an I-know-you-good-to-meet-you performance is daunting. Smiling, flattering and pretending to be remotely interested in what other people have to say.
Although I am quite paradoxical about it. If I met you and I knew you and you pretended not be interested then I would be offended. I want you to smile at me, to say hello. To remember my face. And then I want to have the pleasure of saying.
‘No sorry I do not know you.’