Yesterday I was walking in NYC with husband on Second Avenue, on the plaza close to the 59th Street Bridge [you know the 59th Street Bridge song – “Feeling Groovy?”] I digress.
I do not live in NYC anymore.
We pass this guy walking with a white-haired woman. I think I know this guy. The key word here is “think.”
I turn. I look. I say to husband – “I think I know that guy.” Husband turns around and looks. The guy has the dark short curly hair look. Husband says “He has a common look.”
Um, yes he does. I say “slow down.” We slow down, I turn around again. He is talking with the woman – deep conversation.
I say [quite meekly almost on purpose] – “Jeff.”
He does not hear me. But I spot a birthmark.
I lived in an apartment with Jeff and my ex-boyfriend in Stockton, California for 3 months one summer in the 80s. I know that birthmark.
We cross the street. I am 99% sure now that this is him. I have the courage to make a fool of myself. We walk about ten feet past the corner and I tell husband to stop. I will say something.
I turn around.
He is gone.