“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

The truth was,

as I saw

the woman approaching

along the crosswalk,

a smile of

recognition on her

face, I figured

she knew me.

As she came

closer, I searched

for her name,

tried to recall

it, tried to

pluck it out

of the fog

that had bloomed

inside my head

like a flower

made of fog.

As she got

near to me

and saw no

smile of recognition

in my face,

she slowed and

the smile faded

from her mouth.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

I looked at

her, at the

shape of her

face, heard the

tone of her

voice. I dived

into the fog

and hoped I

would come out

with her name.

Once, when I

saw someone who

I knew, I

called her by

a different name,

Sarah instead of

Stacey. She had

been insulted but

I didn’t bother

explaining. She wouldn’t

have understood. I

swam inside the

fog that was

like a flower

this time and

came up for

air, clutching a

name. I let

it flow from

my tongue and

hoped it was

the right one.

“Of course I know you. You’re Joanne.”

She smiled, but

it didn’t have

the same vitality

as before. She

looked slightly put

out as if

remembering her name

didn’t let me

off the hook

entirely. We talked

briefly, but it

lacked the warmth

there would have

been had I

greeted her with

a smile. I

knew she was

unnerved by the

blankness and nothingness

the fog that

not only swam

inside my head

but along my

face. We said

our goodbyes and

I walked home

proud of myself

for having remembered

her name.

When I got

on the bus,

there wasn’t anywhere

to sit. I

had to stand.

I held on

to the pole

in front of

me, feeling the

bus move and

shift around me.

I marvelled that

I could do

such a thing,

something as simple

as riding a

bus standing up,

when a year

ago, I wouldn’t

have been able

to do so.

I noticed a

man sitting down

on a seat

to my right.

He held a

cane between his

legs. He caught

me staring and

smiled at me.

“You look like you have something to be happy about.”

I tried to

look respectful, hoping

he would forgive

my obvious rudeness

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I used to walk with a cane.”

He nodded, as

if he had

expected this response.

“What was yours named?”

“Hugo.”

I said, letting

the word out

in a breath

of soft air.

“Mine too.”

He said. He

held up his

cane and I

saw the brand

name stamped there.

“Why think of a better name when it already has one, right?”

“Right.”

I said, smiling.

He gave me

a serious look

and when he

spoke again, it

was like the

air around him

began to shimmer.

“Never be sorry for your strength. For what you’ve been able to accomplish.”

He said. He

shrugged and gave

me a smile

that I recognized

because I had

worn it. I

looked at his

face, really looked

at it and

something clicked within

me, I reached

to touch him,

to touch myself,

for he wore

my own face,

had my eyes.

He was me

as I had

been over a

year (lifetime) ago.

Me, myself

and I began

to fade away.

I wondered if

he (if I)

had been riding

the bus this

whole time, if

I had left

behind a piece

of myself. As

I thought this,

he reached out

and dropped a

small blue pebble

into my hand

“Here. You forgot this. It’s time you took it back. Don’t look back, though. Only go forward.”

“What is this? What do I do with it?”

He (I?) smiled

and gave me

a kind look.

“It’s a seed from where you used to be.”

“What do I do with it?”

He (myself?) gave

me another deep

smile, almost chuckling.

“You plant it, silly. Watch it grow. Make something wonderful out of what was. Don’t look back, only forward.”

He (me?) faded

away completely and

I was left

holding a piece

of myself that

I had forgotten.

I had not recognized

what I had

been, but I knew

who I had

become. I would

follow the advice

that I (me?)

had given myself.

I would plant

the seed and,

as it grew,

so would (me)

(myself) I.