The second I saw him, a feeling in the air convinced me of our prior encounter. Clearly not someone I’d actually met before, much less someone I’d normally associate with, he acted with utter naïveté regarding any past association. Now, I’m well aware that some people are poor representatives of cognitive recollection; being that they poorly retain names, faces, dates and images. This represents a vast swath of the populace, so as to be an entirely moot point. But sometimes, a lack of recognition owes itself, apparently, to an individuals lack of memorable qualities or features. This happens, especially often when one meets another under lax social circumstances. Often times, a party environment leads to casual acquaintances which, even when reminded of an individuals name, draw total blanks from either individual. Yet a familiarity remains. While this is a genuine condition - often owing to society’s yearning for nondescript features and lack of standoutishness (if you will indulge my verbio-genesis). Yet this condition is precluded by the supposed idea which states that each human being, while perhaps near-identical on a genetic level, is unique. This also flies in the face of identical twins, who are often perceptibly and even distinctively different, which also chafes with the notion that some people have familiars - even doppelgangers - in both near and far vicinities. Another common circumstance is dissociation through the suppressive power of the mind. Being that sometimes our minds choose to forget an associate for various reasons, though typically because of unpleasant circumstances.
None the less, I’m a fairly distinctive individual, and this has nothing to do with egomania. As a younger man, I fancied myself a serious shit-kicker. Associating with a raucous crowd, I frequented seedy establishments (and still do on occasion) and often wound up on opposite ends of indistinct and distinct aggression. This left me with a distinguishing scar the left side of my face, along my jaw. As such, I find it difficult to believe that I blend entirely into the bulk of humanity.
Why the hell is that guy gawking over at our booth? Is he checking out my wife? Is he checking me out? He doesn’t seem like he the homosexual type, what with that hardcore wannabe ex-cholo look - minus the dew rag - and that nasty-ass scar along his chin. But you can practically bandana tan lines along his face, the ten year old ring of matted-down his hair. He looks like some of those old metal-heads that went to high school with me. Shit. He isn’t some old classmate who I never liked and never associated with is he? I hate it when people just assume that because we went to high school together, we’re now best friends. He keeps glancing over at me every ten goddamn seconds, like some hyperactive gecko or something. The only way he could be any creepier is if he was staring, continually, at my wife’s tits with those glazed airport-Moonie (religious cult?) eyes. But no, he’s staring at me. Why the hell does everybody always stare at me; think they know me? I mean, do I look that completely commonplace? I mean, sure, I’ve got a friendly face; my eyes are that cool, welcoming blue which most of the pleasant people of Scandinavian descent have; my nose might be a bit schnozzy - also owing to my Norse descent, but I don’t look like some everyday, average Joe. I have a lot of interesting facial characteristics. At least I think I do.
But still, there is something eerily familiar about that rubberneck. Maybe he went to college with me. Of course, my graduating class at University of New Mexico had nearly ten thousand people in it, so that really narrows down the field.
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