Prosopagnosia

When I was in the sixth grade my sister and I were walking home from Astor School. It was late fall or early spring. Either way, it was unseasonably warm. I remember this because I was carrying my big faux fur coat which I would later use to beat my sister, soundly, all the way home because, well, you'll see ... it was all her fault that I made an utter ass of myself.

We were living on Irving at the time and had made it just past Londa's house, about half way over the little corner bridge (another hysterical story about hubby showing off and slamming into a tree, later) when I noticed a woman going up the stone steps to the house overlooking the road. On this bright, sunny, day I decided to be a bit talkative, outgoing, adult like and give a holler out, "Well, hello there! Imagine seeing you here!"

My sister, two years younger and very afraid of everything (literally thought our dog would tattle on us) squeaked out, "What are you doing?" I patted her arm to sush her, "Its okay, I know the lady." She looked at me like I was crazy, "No, duh, but what are you doing?" I gave her the "big-sister-knows-best" look, chuckled and shook my head. I continued on with my "adult" tête-à-tête.

"So, what have you been up to lately?" I politely inquired. The woman looked at me vaguely bemused and vaguely perplexed. "Oh, not much. Just taking care of my children and now visiting a friend. How was school?" she responded, trying to keep up her end of this conversation that seemed to amuse as much as it puzzled her. "Schools great!" I enthusiastically responded, "I saw your daughter last week at band rehearsals." The woman looked startled at this. I grinned, she didn't know her daughter and I would be playing together? How fun to be able to tell her. "Band rehearsals? You saw my daughter at YOUR band rehearsals? Are you sure it was my little girl?"

Now it was my turn to be a bit bemused. Little? My friend's mom still called her a "little" girl. Oh brother! "Yeah, I'm sure I saw Cindy, we talked for quite a bit. We hadn't seen each other for ages." The woman shook her head, "Dear, my daughter's name is Annie." Did I give up? Did I pause and say to myself, "Self, evaluate the situation. The woman is looking at you funny. Your sister is tugging on your arm. The woman just told you her daughter's name is Annie. Think about this!" Did I say any of this to myself? Oh, heck no! Where's the fun in life if you've got a rational censor like that working when your eleven?

I soldier on, "Annie? Oh well, we call her Cindy at school. Isn't that funny how kids change their names when they're in school?" The woman looked intently at me. "My Annie, my little Annie you saw at band rehearsals and call her Cindy?" I replied with certainty, "Yes, we do. And she likes the name because she always responds to it," I added, fearful that the woman might think we were calling her something she didn't want to be called.

With that the poor woman had apparently had enough of trying to prod my memory delicately, "Dear, do you know who I am?" "Of course I do," I responded, "You are Mrs. Nelson, Cindy, er, Annie's or Cindy-Anne's mom?" I heard my sister breath in a sharp breath and let out something between a bark and a squawk. She swore she wasn't laughing.


The reply left me completely and totally shocked. "No dear, I am not Mrs. Nelson, whoever that is. I am your next door neighbor, Mrs. Stryker, Annie's mother. Annie, the five year old that you girls come over and play with once in awhile?" I think implied was "used to come over before I found out your nuts!" My mouth fell open. I was stunned. My neighbor? My living two houses down from me for the past seven years neighbor? "I am so sorry," I mumbled, "you look just like Mrs. Nelson." "That's okay dear, we all make mistakes. See you back in the neighborhood." And she hurried up the steps.

I rounded on my sister and slugged her in the arm. "WHY did you LET me do that?" I hissed at her. "WHY didn't you SAY something?" She wailed, "I did ask you what you were doing. I wondered why you were talking to her like you hadn't seen her forever and we just saw her a couple days ago." "Then why didn't you just say that?" I shrieked back. She frantically replied, "We watched a film today in school and I thought maybe you had something like that marijuana madness that teenagers can get," then she added in a staged and obviously copied whispered, "or even children as young as eleven or twelve!" and she nodded significantly at me.

I beat her with my heavy faux fur coat from 28th street to 19th street. Believe me, for all the hell she would eventually be putting me through, I am happy I got my licks in while I could.