Brief Encounters

It's always awkward when I run into him, even though I've technically known him for longer than anyone else. The first time was at Valley Forge; I wasn't born too long before that. I was bringing what few supplies I could find to the Continental troops--you know how teenagers love rebellion. Anyway, a camp full of cold, hungry, sick, miserable men probably isn't the safest place for a young girl alone, but I was too stupid to realize that. One soldier pulled me onto his lap, shoved his hand up my skirts (two fingers black with frostbite, I remember), and asked me to keep him warm that night.

Then he appeared. At the time he was a soldier, too. Tugged me up and sent me on my way.

I never properly thanked him, even though, like I said, I've encountered him several times since. Trouble is I don't know know him. I just see him places. We ended up working in the same dirty factory town in Massachusetts for a few years. I don't think he recognized me, though, despite a few meaningful glances I shot his way. Then there was that women's suffrage rally in New York, and that time he was across the street from me at a ticker-tape parade post-WWII. A sweaty little punk show in the 70's. Last time was at the bank. We might have seen a lot, but we still have bank accounts like everyone else.

It's not that I haven't ever talked to him. We shouted at each other for a bit at that concert. Turns out he's even older than I am. Came over from Europe. Saw the Holy Roman Empire, all that stuff. I don't know. I'm not very good at pre-me history.

He said there were a few others, but I haven't met them, at least not to my knowledge. There's no annual convention for people like me. I have no idea why it happens. My body got stuck one way and then stayed and stayed, and still stays. Same thing with him, I guess.

I'd ask you to remind me to thank him next time I see him, but I doubt you'll make it. No offense.