“She . . . she . . . oh, she likes me!” I looked up at my neighbor and beamed. An actual beam that burst out of my lips, and that I could feel throughout my entire body. I winced as the cat started kneading my thighs, her little claws digging into me ever so slightly, and purring like a machine. I reached out and touched the top of her head, and she nuzzled into my hand and wrist, the wrist where my watch was not. It was the watch! It wasn’t me.
My neighbor walked into the lounge carrying two cups of tea and placed them down on the coffee table in front of me.
“I just realized, I don’t know your name!” I said, taking the warm cup of tea and sipping it.
“Betty,” she said. “I did tell you that once, but . . .”
“Sorry, I’ve kind of lost my memory—well, not kind of, I have. Not all of it, but a lot. I had an accident in an elevator over a week ago.” I reached up and touched my head and her eyes went there. “I only remember parts of my life, and they’re not exactly the parts I particularly want to. In fact, everything I remember is not really something I care to.”
“What do you mean?” Betty looked at me over the rim of her teacup. She was really listening, I could see it, and I liked it. It reminded me of Noah.
“When I didn’t have any memories of who I was I built up this idea of the kind of person I was, and then when I got my memories back and realized who I actually was . . .” I shook my head and placed the teacup down, my hands shaking now. I laced my fingers together to stop them.
“Go on,” she urged me in the kindest tone, which broke my heart a little. I had been so cruel to her over the years and here she was showing me nothing but kindness.
“I don’t like the person I see. And I wasn’t this person a few days ago. I was the complete opposite. And then I came here, and I saw my apartment, and saw how people didn’t like me, saw how the people I’ve worked with for seven years didn’t even know me. That’s not the person I thought I was, and I can’t understand how I got it so wrong.”
“Maybe you didn’t get it wrong,” she offered.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe the person you thought you were when you couldn’t remember is actually the person you’re meant to be.”
I chuckled now and wrung my fingers together even more. “Funny, you’re not the first person to say that.”
“Well, maybe it’s true then.”
“Maybe. But what if it’s not? What if I am this person, the one that lives in a beige apartment and is mean to her neighbors and doesn’t like Christmas parties?”
“So change it.” She reached over and took my hand. The gesture caught me off guard, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I squeezed back.
“Also not the first person to say that to me,” I said.
“It’s never too late to change who you are.”
“You think?” I let go of her hand and stroked the cat when it lifted its head and rubbed it against my arm.
“I know so,” she said.
I thought about it for a while. Maybe Noah had been right. I didn’t have to be this person, but I was almost thirty now and it was clear that I had been Zenobia-Phobia for so long already.
“Sounds like this other person who said the same things to you cares a great deal,” she said.
“I pushed him away.”
“You can pull him back.”
“What if I pushed him too far away?”
“Nothing is ever out of our reach if we just put in a bit of effort,” she said, then took a long, slow sip of her tea in a way that made her seem very wise and worldly. “Perhaps you could start with an apology? I find those, when sincere, go a long way.”
I looked down at the cat for a while. Its fur felt good beneath my fingers. Soft to the touch and fluffy enough that your fingers completely disappeared into it.
“I’m sorry.” I looked up at her. “For being so rude to you and for not accepting your invitations and your food and for not being the neighbor you deserve to have.”
“Thank you, dear. Apology accepted,” she said, with that warm smile again.
“I’d better go. I think I have another apology to deliver.”
