How Quickly We Forget...

I remembered him. I recognized him immediately, and all the details about him came back. The way he shot a basketball. The way he always shook hands, whether he won or lost. The way he followed me around last summer, awkward but trying, clearly, to gauge my feelings for him.

Unfortunately for him, someone else had caught my eye.

But I let him hang out with me, because he was friendly and fun and was doing no harm to my chances with my crush. He didn't flirt, nor did he so much as ask for my number, but he somehow appeared wherever I was and seemed to always have something he needed my help with or wanted my opinion on.

The first time he ever talked to me, he walked up and said, “Do I know you? Were you here last year?” I assured him that this was my first year at this summer camp. But his attempts at conversation didn’t stop there.

His saddest conversation-starter was, "So, was there a movie actor that inspired you to wear aviators? Or do you just like them?"

To which I replied that while I found Top Gun: Maverick pretty cool, I chose aviators simply because they were cheap at T.J. Maxx. Still, he made sure he mentioned that he also owned aviators and after that chat, he not-so-subtly went back to his dorm to grab them every time he saw me wearing mine.

He asked me about my name, and was it short for anything? He teased me for my gaga ball fails. He ended up next to me or near me during every chapel session. All my friends were making eyes at me, but I assured them, Austin was only a friend. Several years younger than me, unsure of himself but trying to be, he was a nice kid that I didn't mind having around if he wanted to play cards or make jokes.

The week passed quickly, then summer camp was over.

A year later, same time and same place, I spotted him walking into the cafeteria. I was sure that at some point he would say something to me—after all the time he’d spent with me last year, it would be the polite thing to do. But this year was different. This year I had a boyfriend, and everyone knew it. I was with the guy Austin had watched me fall for last summer, the guy who walked up to me while I was in the dinner line with some friends, including Austin, and struck up a conversation. The conversation that never ended for us. And yet, I felt compelled to say something, anything, to Austin, that friendly soul who tried his best but alas, just didn't get the girl. I thought well of him. I had nothing against him. I felt bad for him the year he liked me, because he was too young for me and I knew he didn't have a chance--he was more of the younger brother type.

The first couple days of camp passed with no interaction between the two of us. But I knew he'd seen me and recognized me. Probably, I concluded, he was intimidated and had given up because of my being in a relationship. He wouldn't mess with me. He wouldn't step forward. He wouldn't greet me. He was too respectful. It would have to be I who acknowledged our previous connection, honored our week of friendship.

He stood around the air hockey table, coincidentally close to the table where my friends were sitting. As I headed towards them, I paused next to him, as naturally as I could, and repeated that first question he asked me, one year ago. "Do I know you? Were you here last year?"

His eyes lit up. "Yeah! Yeah, you were the girl with the aviators, and you were really good at carpetball. But...ugh, I'm so bad with names! I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

It was almost hilarious. Didn't he spend all his time with me last year? He knew my name, even asked me more about it a couple times! He was the one who'd had a crush on me--why did I remember his name while mine was lost to the depths of forgetfulness? How ironic life can be.

I gave his extended hand a shake and reminded him of my one-syllable name. I decided to play dumb, and ask him his too, even though I hadn’t forgotten. He seemed delighted I had reintroduced myself, even if I let him think I barely remembered him.

After that, he seemed to be everywhere I was, not making conversation or sitting next to me, but simply existing in the background. Purposely present and noticeable, but subtle and safe. I asked him to sign my shirt on the last day, and even though he somehow spelled it wrong, and fixed it wrong when I pointed it out, Austin is on my shirt. Austin is in my past. Austin is in my life.

I wondered if he also lied about forgetting my name. Maybe, just maybe, he was just as embarrassed as I was that he remembered it. Maybe he assumed I forgot, and he didn't want the remembrance to be one-sided, to seem too attentive or obsessed. Even if he did, I was glad we exchanged the introduction. It doesn't sit well with me to recognize someone, and know they recognize me, and have shared moments and memories, but not acknowledge them despite much time passing between our happenstance encounters. It's just not right to me...People deserve to know they are seen and remembered, cradled somewhere in my tangled nest of memories.

Austin did. His smile showed how valued he'd felt. He wasn't the guy for me, but he was somebody, and he was worth remembering. After all, it was my only chance to let him know.

I will never see him again. But if, by the generous hand of fate, I do, I won't pretend to forget his name. I will approach him, no matter how much time has passed, and say with a smile, "Hello, Austin! Fancy meeting you here. It is so good to see you again."