Invisible Woman

Sometimes it is fun to be invisible. Today I was walking down the hall and I spotted a woman I had co-taught Sunday school with for a summer, two years ago. She smiled at me with one of those innocuous smiles. The ones you give a stranger in passing. Instantly, I knew who she was, Suzanne. I smiled back knowingly. I have a secret, inside information, power. I know you, but you don’t remember me. Granted, back then I looked different about the head as my grandmother would say. I had long dreadlocks that were tinted an auburn color at the tips. I am black and we all look alike, right? Ha! Ha!  I walked past feeling like a god, all knowing in my human, observant way.

Sometimes I overestimate my capacity for remembering others because this happens to me so often. I meet someone and remember them long after that meeting. However, they don’t remember me usually. I could think, “Well, maybe it is me. I am not memorable.” That is not it. There is always the chance that these folks are preoccupied or just don’t want to be bothered. Sometimes I pretend I don’t know them also. Are they pretending too?


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