Violent Acres

My husband and I went to the dog park today where we sat on a bench watching our dog wrestle around with yellow lab mix. The owner of said yellow lab came over to chat with us and exchange pleasantries. She was a nice, older lady and her dog was cute for a lab mix.

All of the sudden, the lady asked me, “Is your name V?”

I blinked twice and said, “Uh, yes it is. Do I know you from somewhere else?”

“V [myoldlastname]?” she asked.

Ever so slightly suspicious, I said, “Well, I’m married now so my last name is different. But yes, that’s me. Who are you?”

She took off her sunglasses and raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Indeed she did look mildly familiar, but I still couldn’t quite place her. “A little,” I answered her, “But I’m not sure where I know you from. What’s your name?”

“Jane!”

“Hmm. Still doesn’t ring a bell. Where do I know you from, Jane?” I asked again.

Jane was getting increasingly flustered. “I can’t really say,” she finally said.

Now I was getting really suspicious. “You didn’t know my Mom, did you?” I asked.

She seemed horrified by the idea. “NO!” she said.

Relieved, I smiled. “Why can’t you tell me how I know you then?”

Jane started fidgeting around and wringing her hands. To be honest, I started getting a little freaked out. I mean what kind of lunatic refuses to tell you how she knows you?

Finally, she leaned in and whispered into my ear the name of the place I sought therapy from when I first left my Mother’s house. Suddenly, I realized exactly who she was.

Jane used to be my therapist.

“Oh, it’s Ok!” I told her, “My husband knows I’m batshit!”

She blushed and said, “Well, I didn’t really want to say anything…”

“It’s no biggie,” I reassured her, “In fact, he’ll probably ask for your card so he can convince me to give you a call later.”

She laughed again and our moment of awkwardness was finally over.

But later, after thinking about the exchange a little more, I started to get weirded out. After all, until that day, I hadn’t spoken to Jane in over a decade. Yet, she remembered exactly who I was…including my first name, last name, and minor details about my past.

This either means Jane has a memory like an elephant or I was so incredibly fucked up she had a hard time forgetting me.

Personally, I don’t really relish the idea of being the craziest nutjob in Jane’s old appointment book.

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