Making an impression in 1992 and beyond

I was sat outside the library in the town I was essentially brought up in until I departed in 2001. I was waiting for my daughter to come out as we’d been in to get some books for her. My son was in urgent need to not wait for her, so we’d headed outside to wait where he could regale me about something. He is afraid of silence. 

A lady in a nurses uniform walked past and looked straight at me. ‘Hello, Tony.’ She said as she carried on past. In the proceeding 28 years I, to my shame, had misplaced her name in my head. I recognised her, but the name is somewhere between the lips and the abyss. It was so strange that she said this as she carried on as it was delivered like we had seen each other a couple of days ago in a pub or a cafe. As opposed to having last seen her when we’d left school in 1992. 

Have I not physically changed enough in these last 28 years so old he could literally pick me out by walking past a bench in 2020? It would seem not. 

I don’t know why it made me feel so happy. Maybe it rekindled my lost belief in human nature and kindness. She was a remarkably lovely person I remember. We weren’t friend, friends but we spoke. She clearly remembers me from that time and it made me think of what home is. To be away from somewhere and still nigh on three decades later be acknowledged like for all intents and purposes you haven’t really left to some. 


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