They Shall Remain Nameless

Please don't feel bad if we've just been introduced and I forget your name. I can't even toss it off these days by saying "I'm having a senior moment." Truth is, I've been this way for years.

Perhaps the most embarrassing instance of this happened when I was of high school age and Mom and I set off one late afternoon to walk to the Gansett Bakery to get some Italian bread for supper. It was a nice spring mid-after afternoon, and we weren't in a particular hurry, strolling down Gansett Avenue, past the Santamaria house and Charlie's hedges, crossing Fiat Avenue where we could see Mom's best friend Mary DiPrete's house one home up from the corner, and heading past what used to be a candy store, which would be followed by Ragosta music, the Twin Florist, the storefronts where Joe's Spa used to be, Marcello's Restaurant, and finally the bakery beyond, next to the cleansers.

We'd just come abreast of the Twin Florists when I looked ahead to see a boy my own age walking toward us, someone whom I had once gone to school with, tall, dark haired, quite good-looking.

And I completely blanked on his name.

I kept silent as Mom and I continued on our way, and he continued walking toward us. Maybe, I thought frantically, he wouldn't remember me.

That hope was dashed when he called out, "Hi, Linda!"

"Hi," I said brightly, as we drew closer to each other.

And then I started to babble: "Hi, how are you? I haven't seen you since you went to Park View! Oh, and this is my mom!"

He held out his hand to my mother and said "Hello, Mrs. Lanzi." Great, he not only remembered my name, but he remembered all of it.

Like I was on strings and controlled by a ventriloquist, I continued to babble about school and the summer and God-only-knows-what for a few minutes and then he had to go, and we had to get going, and he walked on. Mom and I continued on past Marcello's where the delicious smells of bubbling tomato sauce, garlic, onions, and other Italian food for the dinner hour were already wafting out. Mom said, "He looked like a nice guy. What was his name anyway?"

I confessed, "I forgot."

Mom stopped and stared at me. "You're kidding me." When I looked at her mutely, she added, "You know a cute guy like that and you forgot his name?"

"Uh-huh."

She shook her head in disbelief, and finally the bell over the bakery door put an end to the conversation. Saved by the savory scents of lemon squares and fresh-baked bread and powdered sugar!

Yep, I did. And it hasn't gotten any better since.