Do You Know Me?

Do you know me?

I’m familiar with that look of recognition. I get it often. So don’t feel that it’s inappropriate. Most men think I’m that buddy they shared a few beers with in college but otherwise didn’t get to know that well, while most women tend to think they may have gone on a few dates with me before discovering that I was a raging bore. The point is that look isn’t alien to me.

Watching me from across the street on that frigid day in November, you presented me with all of the tell-tale signs of a person struggling with a subconscious that has readily identified someone but is too unwilling to share said information with the rest of the brain. The long drawn out stare followed by the squinting of the eyes. As if distorting your vision was going to make me more recognizable. And you continued to stare. Longer than most would, but I’m sure that courageous gesture was helped along by the fact that I was staring at you, as well.

You eventually gave up and went along your way, content to let your subconscious hide my identity away somewhere within the folds of your brain. It’s unfortunate, because I’m sure, given a few more seconds; you would have remembered where you had seen me before.

A month passed before our paths crossed again. Walking down the aisle of the grocery store, we casually brushed shoulders, raised our heads and made eye contact. I knew that look right away. Like I said, it’s not a terribly uncommon look for me to receive. As our shoulders rescinded their caress, my eyes broke free of yours. But I continued to study your faint outline in the gentle reflection of a nearby window and noticed that your gaze never wavered. You carefully studied me trying to gain access to the information that your cruel subconscious once again held just out of reach. As I strolled the length of the aisle you continued to examine me, never once noticing that I carried nothing in my basket, which I would abandon, unused, on the next aisle.

And then there was last night when you presented me with a variation of that look which I have come to know all too well. Staring out your window with the phone gripped tightly in your delicate hand, you scanned the darkness for the embodiment of the voice that repeatedly whispered your name across a static connection. Familiarity mixed with fear. It wasn’t my face you recognized this time, but, instead, my voice. A voice that had whispered to you on many a restless night. A voice which your subconscious had danced with in a dreamscape far removed from the reality that saw my all to familiar face perched inches away from your own diminutive features.

Recognition. I know that look. But some day it will change. Some day your greedy little subconscious will spill the beans and that look of recognition will be replaced with one of terror. I often wonder when I will see that look painted upon your face. On a crowded street, in an abandoned parking lot, or in the safety of your home. There’s really no way to tell, so I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
Do you know me?

Maybe Not.

But one thing is for sure.

I know you.