Her Face

            As I entered the hotel lobby, briefcase in hand, I glanced around to see where exactly I was heading first. I didn’t want to go directly to the check-in desk just yet, so I decided to wander around the lobby, aimlessly for a few minutes. I wandered over to the luggage carts, getting expectant looks from a bellhop or two, and then meandered in the general direction of the bathroom before they could decide to engage me. I wasn’t very familiar with this particular hotel, but most of them have a very similar layout, so I had a good idea of which direction to head before I made my way to it.

            I was about three quarters of the way to the bathroom from the luggage carts when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. Who would know me here? I thought to myself.  Surely I’m merely a traveller in their eyes, they won’t know me here. I turned around, expecting to hear “Oh, wait, no. I’m sorry, you look just like my friend from behind.” But, instead, I found a sharply dressed woman with an intriguing hair braid. Just one braid that started on her forehead, and went in a straight line back, the rest of her hair was completely straight. She looked like she knew who I was, which completely contradicted my expectations.

            “Fancy meeting you here, stranger!” She said, smiling expectantly.

            “Oh, hi! This is kind of out of the way for you, isn’t it? What are you up to?” I did my best to play along as though I had a clue who she was. I wracked my brain as I asked that last question, and listened to her response. Who the hell is this? Have I ever seen her before? I took a close look at her face, which is good to do when they’re talking, I’ve noticed. They like it when you look into their eyes, usually. No, I’ve never seen her face before. I hope she saw me while going to an urgent meeting, I thought to myself.

            “How is Artemis doing? I haven’t stopped by your house in ages!” She requested, honestly seeming to be curious.

            How does she know my dog’s name?! My brain scrambled frantically to try and figure out who knew about my dog, and which of those possibilities could be right here, right now, talking to me in a successful-looking dress. I was drawing a blank, still. “Oh, she’s doing great, thank you! Just great! She had fleas a few months back, but we got that taken care of pretty quickly, thankfully.” Then, an idea hit me. “Hey, do you have time to stick around and catch up?”

            She thought for a second, “Sure! That would be nice.” With that, we walked over to the bar in the back of the hotel. Time to play the alcoholic, I thought to myself, trying to suppress a smirk.

            After about an hour of both of us throwing back drinks and running up my tab at a frantic pace, I settled back in my chair and took a long, though wavering, look at her. “Are you some sort of stalker? You remember an awful lot about me.” I said, trying to play the question off as a kind of joke. I even managed a playful smirk.

            “Oh, right! Yeah, I do that! Childhood friends always stalk each other, right?” she said, laughing. Good, at least she bought the joke bit, I thought to myself. She still knew much more about me than I knew about her. She knew my name, and I didn’t know hers at all. Well, rather than her drunkenness, I could play up mine. There was one more tactic up my sleeve.

            “Yep! I would have stalked you, if we weren’t friends. You’re Abby, right?” I exaggerated my wavering as I asked that question.

            She looked hurt immediately. “No.” She said, flatly. “It’s Sara.  You don’t remember me. That’s fine, I’m sorry to bother you.” She got up immediately and left.

            “That backfired, didn’t it?” I asked myself. “In a way, yeah, it did.” I answered. With a sigh, I had a few more drinks, paid my tab, and finally checked into my room for the night.