A familiar stranger

It took a few seconds to realize I was utterly and completely lost — standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, hands slack at my sides, blinking at a world that had reshaped itself around me. The street name meant nothing. The faces passing by blurred into a soft stream of motion, none of them stopping, none of them looking back.

Where was I going?

I turned around, slowly. A traffic light blinked red. A child laughed somewhere. My mouth felt dry. I tried to remember what I’d been doing only a moment ago.

“Hey,” said a voice — gentle, unsure, like someone entering a room in the dark.

I turned. A woman stood just beside me—in the second half of her thirties if I had to guess, ginger curls tied back, coat a warm, dark green. Her eyes were kind, but there was something else behind them too—caution, maybe. Or worry.

"Are you OK?" she asked, raising her left hand to lightly touch my arm.

I blinked, trying to place her. “I...” I glanced away. “I’m not sure.”

She gave a small nod. “That’s okay,” she said, her voice steadier now. “You’re just standing here so still. I thought maybe you needed a moment.”

“I… I might’ve taken a wrong turn,” I muttered. The words felt thick in my mouth, like they didn’t belong to me.

Her head tilted slightly. “Happens to the best of us.” She pointed to a bench nearby, not stepping too close. “Let’s have a seat,” she said, calm and unhurried.

“…Alright,” I said. “Maybe just a minute.”

The walk to the bench felt longer than it should. I stared at the ground, at the cracks in the pavement. She walked beside me, quiet.

We sat. She took a sip from her coffee, then wrapped both hands around the cup like she was grounding herself with the heat.

For a moment we just sat in silence. I said something about how warm the sun felt, just to fill the silence — to prove, maybe, that I still belonged in the moment.

“Weather's nice,” she replied, “but I always forget how noisy this street gets around this time.” Her eyes followed the traffic as she spoke.

I nodded slowly. The sounds that had been jabbing at me—brakes, engines, sharp laughter—began to dull, as if her presence turned the volume down.

She took another sip of her coffee. The cup made a soft, hollow sound as it touched the bench beside her.

“You used to say Tuesdays were good for errands,” she said lightly, almost to herself. “Less crowded in the mornings. Fewer people bumping into you with those squeaky carts.”

I looked at her, then away. The words tugged at something I couldn’t quite hold onto.

“Tuesdays,” I repeated, like I was tasting the word.

A bird darted across the pavement, pecking at crumbs near the curb.

“Do you… live nearby?” I asked, trying to return the question before it slipped from my mind again.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Not far.”

Her answer made sense. Or at least it didn’t jar anything loose. That was all I could ask of a sentence these days.

I stared ahead, the warmth of the sun fading just slightly. A flicker passed through my chest—uncertainty, or maybe the echo of something I used to know.

“To be honest with you,” I started hesitantly. “I’m a little embarrassed. Usually I’m nothing like this.”

She reached out, gently this time, and placed her hand over mine.

“You’re not ‘like’ anything,” she said. “You’re just you. And that is OK.”

I looked at her again, properly this time. The sun caught the red in her hair. Her eyes.

“Do we know each other?” The words came out before I even knew it. “You seem quite familiar.”

Her mouth curled into a smile, but her eyes did not move accordingly, giving her a melancholic expression. “I get that sometimes.”

That wasn't a real answer. But I let it sit. I watched the shadows moving on the pavement.

The silence stretched again, this time easier. She didn’t fill it, and neither did I.

I looked down at my hands. They trembled slightly. Not cold—just off. My body had started doing things without asking me. It frightened me sometimes.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not scared,” she said.

I looked up. Her voice had changed—softer, less distant.

“I’m not scared,” I said, too quickly.

She looked at me, without saying a word.

I sighed. “I guess I’m just… embarrassed. It’s like someone turned off the lights for a second.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m here.”

Slowly the noises that had previously dulled my senses faded, and I started to hear birds singing. The smell of freshly baked bread reached my nose, as well as a whiff of freshly ground coffee beans from the bakery cafe on the corner.

And then, like light through a curtain, something broke through.

“…Claire?”

She smiled. A single tear fell down her cheek to her chin.

“Hi, Dad.”

***

The name felt heavy in my chest. Familiar. Right.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. I only knew that I didn’t want to let go of her hand.

“You’ve been very kind,” I said, unsure whether I was joking or apologizing. “I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you, you were right in front of me.”

Her hand squeezed mine. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to know right away.”

Something in my chest shifted. Warm, heavy.

“You sure it’s Tuesday?”

“Definitely.”

“Then we’d best get on with it,” I said, trying to push myself up. My legs wobbled, and her hand was there before I could even ask.

We stood together, side by side, facing the street.

She didn’t rush me.

And I didn’t feel the need to pretend anymore.

I looked at her once more, “I’m still not entirely sure where I am right now, but at least I’m with you.”

She smiled. “That’s enough.”

And we began to walk.