I have been observing people for a while, and as a part time teacher, I believe my observations have become more astute. I regularly depend on my ability to read a dozen faces at any given time and to try to pick up on what is there and what is not. I also walk around a tattoo-less country as a heavily tattoo'd ethnic minority -- I can read a subtle reaction 20 feet away.
For about six months now I have known a girl we'll call S.. When I met her it was a mere exchange of pleasantries on several occasions with mutual acquaintances and I made the mistake of forgetting her name, and thus was slightly embarrassed on what was the third or fourth meeting which was a more formal lunch time drinking session. She seemed disappointed, though in a way it seemed she was not surprised, and I did what any man of worth does: I took special care to seal her name away in my memories. Most other people indeed can be disappointed with name forgetting but her disappointment was different, almost as if my forgetting was some sort of morbid confirmation of something else.
S. is of average height, a little too skinny, none of the curves men look for; she has a soft, youthful face devoid of all healthy color yet also missing the silliness and fatigue that accompanies the pale vampires whose skin is so white due to their commitment to nightlife. She has just enough pimples on either cheek to go noticed but not to necessarily mar her plain looks. She has braces, still, at the age of 20 or 21. Her hair is plain, dyed a subtle color of brown and she has a perm that is an attempt at a classic, timeless look that only serves to remind me of the late 1990s.
I did not see her during the summer break but my second week back I went to a small dinner party where she was at, and after some initial conversation she gave pause for a second and asked me, using my full name, "Do you remember my name?" I said her name, faithfully remembered, back at her and an unexpected smile came on her face and I used the opportunity to talk about how hard it is to remember names, as if to emphasize the fact of my memory of it.
10 minutes later another man arrived and he received the same question at some point, during introductions, "Say, Jinseob, how are you? Do you remember my name? We've met a few times." He did not remember her name. Understandable, really. She is an unremarkable person making typical small talk, the sort of person who usually sits at the end of the table.
Today I saw her in the hall -- I saw her see me and look forward. I knew what she was waiting for. I pulled my earplugs out and bowed slightly, she bowed deeper, I exclaimed her name and she smiled sincerely and warmly with a glow in her eyes I hadn't seen before, and she gave me a bow more befitting a 7 year old student of mine than a peer, and I told her we'd talk later. Really, I should have went over and began chatting with her to savor the moment longer, but I had Nargaroth at a very loud volume.
On the way home I thought about it... There is some sadness to this tale. A very kind, gentle, friendly soul who feels as if she has no name, no place. I imagine she has a beautiful sister or cousin or brother and gets to hear her family fawn over them while she gets questions like 'how is class?' I imagine she is amongst the ranks of women who have never had a "real" boyfriend, and if they had had a boyfriend it was certainly a boy of similar caliber whose name is seldom remembered.
The next time I see her I will get her phone number. She deserves to get text messages at 10:30 PM on Tuesday night, "Hey, where are you? We are drinking!" She deserves to get an invitation every time I decide to roll out on the town, and she deserves to have her name somewhere in all of the stories that my mates and I are making; and if she is quiet, meek, shy, or Hell, if she does not particularly enjoy my company, the mere fact that she was invited is a pleasant gesture.
The least we can do for one another is to remember each others names and invite one another for a drink on a cold winter night.
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