Having 3 boys under the age of 5 at the playground tends to keep me occupied.
I don’t really notice other things. Just constantly count my boys to be sure I know where they are. 1…2…where’s?…oh!…3, 1…2…3…
So, I might not notice someone calling my name from across the playground.
I’m not intentionally being rude by not answering you, I’m just busy.
But, if you call me by a name that no one has called me in over 8 years, I won’t even look in your direction.
Yet, it happened on the playground last week.
“Emmy? I thought that was you!”
Blank stare at the girl heading across the playground towards me, toddler planted on her hip.
“It’s Michelle,” I stammer.
“No, it’s Sarah, don’t you remember me?” I blink and let her think that I got her name wrong, not that I’m correcting her.
She probably never knew me as anything other than “Emmy.”
And I really don’t want to explain to this girl why that isn’t me anymore.
She plops down on the bench near where I’m standing and proceeds to tell me all that she has been up to since we last saw each other. I vaguely remember that she was married to someone who worked under my X.
I’m not paying much attention to her, still counting my boys to be sure they are all where they are supposed to be, but I’m starting to get lost in thought.
Lost in memories.