My Freakish Memory

I remember everything. Well, everything after the age of. . . let's say four. I know, that seems a little bit early, but I'm telling the truth here. I have a freakishly accurate collection of memories, just waiting in the back of my mind for someone to say the magic word and open them. This generally serves me well in arguments when someone is trying to tell me that the thing being argued never happened, or was completely different, or that they did/did not say something they did not/did.

But usually, this weird. . . ability, if you want to call it that, manifests itself in one of two ways:
1) when watching a movie or a show with someone, I can spout off pretty much every leading actor, supporting actor, bit part, extra and cameo without breaking a sweat, which seems to annoy or astound everyone around me (depending on who I'm with)
2) I see/hear about/randomly run into someone I met years and years ago (which a normal person, with a normal memory span, wouldn't think twice about or even notice) and remember every minute I was ever around that person.

About five minutes ago I was reminded of this second fact, when I scrolled down my Facebook updates (herpderpFacebookherpderp) and saw that my friend Chelsea had recently become "friends" with a guy with a very familiar and somewhat unique (or at least it seemed so to me) name.

I know. You're all just hanging on the edge of your seats.

Upon even seeing this person's name, I was forcibly, viscerally launched headfirst into memories of my gawky awkward self at twelve. I attended the YMCA during the summer because my mom worked, and I met this kid there. I immediately had this like totally huge crush on him. We became friends, and at some point I hid his glasses, knowing he couldn't see without them, and used this opportunity to gracelessly grab his face and try to kiss him.

What a charming kid I was, right?

I also remembered that after I came back from my annual summer Boston visit, he didn't want to be my friend anymore, and was a super-jerkface to me about it.

I haven't thought about this in. . . years, honestly. And yet the mere sight of a name remarkably similar to the name I remember was like the proverbial number 19 opened this Pandora's box of hilariously uncomfortable awkwardness and weird feelings I had no idea what to do with.

This happens all the time. I'm not even joking.

Hanging out in the student lounge at school one day, a couple of years ago, I noticed someone really familiar. He'd put on quite a bit of weight and didn't look as birdlike as he used to, but I recognized him all the same. David Mayne, my first boyfriend. I mean holding hands to slow-skates at Riverside arena, back when all-school skate nights were still a thing. I remembered everything from him telling me his eyes changed color with his shirts, to his home phone number, which I haven't dialed since I was twelve.

I've seen him a lot since that first initial weird-out, since we apparently run in the same circles now, but I haven't said anything about it. Because what are you supposed to say? "Hi, I know that any normal person wouldn't remember this, but I sort-of-not-really-dated you in middle school. You got me pizza and we played Area 51 at Riverside. One day we went to the park and you got mud all over your clothes, so you had to wear mine for the rest of the night. Wasn't that fun?"

I've also seen Joe (yes, that same Joe) down in the student lounge a couple times, which you as my readers should be thankful for. I didn't think about crazy Mrs Cooke's meltdown once after it happened, until I saw Joe in the Waterman. After that it was just lodged in my brain.

Again, I never said anything. Because, again, what am I supposed to say? "Hey Joe, it's me, Kelli Renas! We had detention in middle school together? I gave you twenty bucks to beat up your friend for making fun of me, and you totally did it? Your favorite band was the White Stripes. I bought Elephant because of you! Remember when Doug Raymond and his stupid friends were throwing everybody's art projects into the fan, and you saved mine and yelled at them because I was crying? You were so awesome! Man, we had some good times. Some GOOD TIMES. Anyway, here's my number! Call me."

Yeah. That wouldn't say I was a serial killer, or anything. He wouldn't be creeped out by that at all. No sir. Especially, you know, if it actually didn't turn out to be him. Just someone that looks almost exactly like a guy I remember from grade school.

It's no wonder, with all this stuff in my head, that I come off as crazy to people who don't intimately know me. ON OPPOSITE DAY.



EDIT: If you're curious about Joe at all, I've just looked him up on MySpace (I know, right?). He was an amazing musician even back in middle school, and it seems like now he's getting the recognition he deserves. Hats off to you, Joe! :]