Dr. History never mentioned the incident again and, as I never took another history class, I only saw her in passing a few times before I graduated. We never acknowledged each other, and I figured she'd forgotten me. I more or less forgot her, too. Sure, I occasionally looked back and chuckled at my youthful foible – what a rascal I'd been! – but I never gave much thought to the fact that Dr. History continued to exist outside my memory of that one moment.
Then, last week, while waiting tables during the lunch shift at a local eatery, I looked up from taking an order to see Dr. History being seated a few tables away. I maintained my outward cool, but my mental emergency alarm began bleating like a sheep on speed.
My God, I thought, she never forgot. She kept her rage bottled up, and now she's finally snapped; she means to kill me.
How else to interpret Dr. History's sudden appearance? For one, I didn't usually work the lunch shift – I was filling in for a coworker. For two, why was Dr. History eating lunch at a restaurant in Saranac Lake, a good 75 miles from St. Lawrence, by herself? For three, what was she hiding in that rolled-up newspaper she'd pulled from her coat? A firearm? A dagger? A firearm glued to a dagger?
Dr. History was (of course) sitting in my section, and I approached her table grinning like a clown on speed. I decided I would act as if I didn't know her – if she wanted to call me on my ancient indiscretion, I wouldn't give her an opening. I greeted her, and she smiled and nodded, giving no indication that she recognized me. And, anti-climactically enough, the rest of our encounter proceeded just as uneventfully. Sure, I flinched when Dr. History opened her newspaper, but it turned out to be just a newspaper, not a cache of deadly weapons.
And while Dr. History's failure to attack me was a relief, I also found it oddly disappointing. I kind of liked the idea that my behavior had slowly driven her mad, and that she'd seen fit to hunt me down and assassinate me in spectacular fashion. That Dr. History's reappearance in my life was likely the result of pure chance only confirmed my status as a non-entity – a forgettable bit player in what Dr. History surely considered the epic movie of her own life.
Dan Leonidas makes shallow observations. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or myspace.com/lastminuteconcerns.