What’s Her Name

I woke abruptly after seeing her face in a dream. I don’t believe I’ve thought about her once since the last time I’d seen her 13 years ago. She was not some colleague that I passed in the hall or chatted with at office parties but someone who was a partner in my many outdoor excursions and part of my daily afternoon coffee circle.

Why can’t I remember her name?

I am aware that I have set this up as some nostalgic look at a lost love but it is more of a buddy story. She was a dancer from The Netherlands working with me at Son Amar in Mallorca. She was the type of woman that seems to not be popular with other women or maybe she just preferred the company of men. I hardly ever thought of her as a woman except occasional glimpses of her femininity; her,  vulnerable and crying after a phone call fight with her mother or her, stripping nude out of her hiking clothes in front of me to change into her bikini at a deserted cove.  (Don’t worry, I’m a giver. I changed in front of her as well)  Somehow we were allowed to spend much time together without the usual jealous protesting from my wife so the assexualness of our relationship is definitely not a lapse of my memory.

The strongest memories I seem to have of her were the many hikes we did together. I remember very clearly that we spoke very little during these hikes as if we didn’t want each others social company as much as just a walking buddy, a kindred member of a herd with whom to amble over the rough, Mediterranean terrain. I do remember us speaking like normal folk (which would be abnormal for us) during moments of great elation, usually after having destroyed our feet in search of the reward of remarkable vistas of landscapes far below or of sandstone monoliths on some jagged shoreline viewed through a wonderfully salty sprays.

I also remember a stressful, yet successful teamwork effort by us to keep the Caipirinhas flowing at a big party. I remember her clipped, angry remarks that probably rubbed many people the wrong way but didn’t seem to bother me in the least.

What is her name?

I can think of no other such important person from my past that I’ve managed to forget to this degree.

If you are out there, Whatsyourname I apologize.

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4 responses to “What’s Her Name

  1. Isn’t it weird how our memories work? How we can remember so many details and even still feel the weight of a person, their significance for us, but be missing the most critical identification of all. I know this. If someone was going to either remember my name, or remember this kind of stuff about me… I’d pick the stuff.

    • Yes, I’d pick the stuff, too! I was worried that this post was pointless reminiscing so I’m happy you found meaning in it.

  2. I bet you’ll remember her name at some point… but what great memories. I remember everyone I hike with… when are we hiking? 🙂

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