Every so often, I drive past one of my ex-boyfriend’s house here in town. Much has changed since we dated, namely my hairstyle and my car. Sometimes I wonder if he’d recognize me if he saw me now.
Then I remember a night, shortly before finals in my college sophomore fall, I happened to see him at a gas station near my college. We exchanged stories of how he was taking dual enrollment classes (he was two years behind me) and I was getting ready to transfer to UCF. Those pleasantries.
He then mentioned how his older brother and his wife had a son. “Another one?” I asked. No, my ex was talking about his brother’s first son (though they’d since had a second).
The one he and I, along with his parents, drove seven and a half hours for so the family would be there for the birth. (Why I was included to this day eludes me.)
I reminded him of this. Turns out he completely forgot I was there.
If he didn’t remember me at such an important point in his life, I seriously doubt he’d remember me now.
