The other night at The Guy's business Christmas party, a group of us were sitting around a table when a guy came up, plunked down and said "Bronwyn, do you remember me?" His question was met with a resonating silence as I racked my brain.
Finally, I had to ask his name. Nothing. His last name? Nothing.
He looked crestfallen. I felt bad. I considered lying, but really, by then I'd been caught having no clue, so I couldn't even fake it. With a few questions I determined that he was in my brother's grade -- two years below mine. I quickly texted my brother who knew the name and remembered him, but said they hadn't hung out much then. Any clues my brother could offer didn't help me one bit.
When I was in high school, I was pretty sure no one saw me. I had a few friends and tried to weasel my way into other peer groups but never really found anywhere I jived. I was miserable, unhappy, bitter, self-absorbed, and completely hormone crazy. In short, I was like every teenager ever.
I just assumed no one knew who I was. If they had, wouldn't they have loved me? Wouldn't they have sought me out to hang with? Um... no Teenage Bronwyn, that's not how things work.
I feel badly that I didn't pay more attention to people in high school. In my graduating class of 350, there are numerous people I could pass on the street and not have a clue we went to school together. There are people I have no recollection of at all. A lot of them. And I wonder what the heck I was doing that I never noticed?
I guess I just assumed that they were as busy not noticing me as I was not noticing them. It is a weird and surreal moment to meet someone who throws that theory to the ground.