Damn it. Who is she?

I was sitting down in the social and behavioral science building on campus, minding my business, doing some writing on my laptop, when a girl came up to me, all excited.

She was wearing shocking tight blue jeans and an orange shirt bursting with images of tribal huntsmen. Her black-brownish-though-dark-purple-in-the-light hair was tied back so that one streak of hair ran down her face, as if it wanted to stand out from the rest of her hair. Her eyes were surrounded by dark brown rectangular glasses that were light brown on the inside. She carried a laptop, two skinny purses (I doubt she had anything substantial in them) and a purple jacket with fur hood, on her person, as well as a skinny ring on her right ring-finger.

She came to my empty table, smiling almost out of breath, like a cute little puppy. “Hi! Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you; it’s been a REALLY long time!”

“Um, hello. How’ve you been?” Damn it. Who is she?

“Oh, it’s been rough. I changed my major to the other one we were talking about way back when.” I couldn’t help it. I was extremely confused and she sensed it. “You know, the day when we were ‘just walking’. We didn’t have anything else to do that day.”

“Oh, of course I remember. Yeah, we were walking.” I DON’T RECALL ANY OF THIS. I closed my mouth shut to make sure I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I was trying to glean any information about who she was and how I was connected to her by focusing on this ensuing conversation and raking my brain for any memory, any recollection of her.

“Yeah.” She seemed like she was just beating around the bush. She really wanted to talk about something else. Suddenly, this burst out of her mouth: “Why didn’t you text me back? No message or anything!”

Now I’m in trouble. What did I do with her? I honestly can’t remember her in any part of my past. I mean I only have a very vague picture of her in my head, like the unbelievable shadows of de ja vu or a memory that you can tweak to the point where something totally false seems absolutely true after much time and thought into it. Or vice versa. Such vagueness leaves you unsatisfied and curious. I mean, to a point though.

Apparently we had exchanged numbers. Did I meet her during orientation when I was a freshman at Stony Brook? Was she in my high school? What kind of a relationship did we have? Were we really tight? What did we talk about when we were ‘walking’ and why did she seem to emphasize ‘walking’ as if it were a euphemism for something else?

And now, how was I supposed to respond to her? Why didn’t I text her back or something? How am I gonna get myself out of this one!?

“Um look,” – wait, what’s her name? – “look, I didn’t mean to not text you back. I think my phone broke and I lost all my contacts, including yours. I’m so sorry.” She gave me an angry face and seemed to be looking for answers. I couldn’t help but think, well, hey, you, so am I, whatever your name is! Yeah, that’s right, I’m just trying to figure out your name at this point! You don’t seem to have it written on any of your folders or anything you’re carrying!

Her face was heating up to a dark pink mixed with her brown skin. I saw it and suddenly felt bad that, while to me this encounter seemed like a guessing game, to her, I was affecting her emotions. Yes, the me of the present and the me of our past are placing an emotional toll on her now over-heating body. She pressed on. “But how about that letter I gave you the last day?”

Letter??? What letter? What was in that letter? Ok, now I was just about to give up. I was beginning to think she’s got the wrong person, but . . .

She continued. “Don’t tell me you lost the letter, Bernadette. You better make sure no one finds it.”

She knows my name – so we really DID have a history together. My God, what on earth did I do with her? What did she write to me in that letter? I hope it isn’t something people really shouldn’t see.

She was REALLY angry. I didn’t want her to make a scene. So I started shhh-ing her as politely as I could and asked if we could talk about this somewhere else.

She yelled back. “Bernadette Tinio! Don't you t try to leave me this time! Not without an explanation! You owe me that!”

I was scared out of my wits. So she knew myfirst and last name. Quit saying my name woman -- you're freaking me out!

Still, I really felt bad for her, for whatever wrong I did. I started to think that I’m a bad person. To hurt a girl? Me? Wow; I didn’t know I had it in me. But what the hell did I do??

This is what was going through my head:



1. She knows my name, which means she knows me. There aren’t too many people around Stony Brook named Bernadette. And certainly not Bernadette Tinio. But, she wasn’t using any nickname of mine. That means that we didn’t know each other long enough for her to adopt one of my nicknames. That could actually be my fault because I supposedly left her.

2. There is a letter involved. The contents of that letter are to be private. I have no clue what’s in that letter. Maybe details of a conversation we had? Details of something we did? She also said she gave me that letter on the last day. Last day of what? Last day of school? Of which year?

3. We walked all day together one day. Maybe the letter disclosed what we talked about during the walk? I have no idea where we walked, only that we had nothing else to do. Based on her body language, the walking might actually mean something else. Again, I wouldn’t know what that something was.


I didn’t want to fess up. No, I was too proud to give up my face. I felt like I was in this situation too deep. So confused but still rolling along, I told her, “Look, I’m really sorry for leaving you hanging last time we met.”

“No message, no text, no call!”

If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that sometimes, I’m really stress-intolerant. I mean this was just too much for me. And she was pushing it.

“I know, I know, I know. Again, I’m sorry. But I really have to get to class.” Did I really have class? Hell no. But I wanted to get out of there. I packed my stuff and was about to leave. Of course she wasn’t gonna let me go without one more outburst.

“You’re leaving again?!! When are you gonna learn?”

I was walking past her.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” She put her hand on my shoulder. I continued to walk away. Just like what all those teachers in the past told me to do when facing ‘dangers’ like this. Just walk away. She surprised me with her grip though; she had the grip of a true mad girl. I mean mad, as in crazy. She was actually able to stop me, and walk in front of me so that her face was in front of mine. I braced myself for whatever verbal lashing she felt I deserved for always finding the right time to leave her.

Finally she said to my face, “FINE BERNADETTE, LEAVE AGAIN. F*** YOU!”

OH LORD. I looked around and people were staring. I didn’t care. I wanted to punch her. I REALLY, REALLY wanted to bash her head in -- not that I'm a violent person, but you'd want to bash her head in too if you were me at this point. But I held in my anger, which was fueled by her over-the-top annoying insistence of our shared past. Instead I just walked out of there making sure she heard the slam of the door.

I hoped to God I wouldn’t encounter her again. What on earth did we do together? And after this storm, I still don't know who she is! Who are you?? Well it doesn't matter 'cause I'll never know now. I just know that to me, she is my enemy and apparently, I am hers. And you know, come to think about it, I'M NOT SORRY for whatever it is I did. Maybe you deserved it -- I wouldn't be surprised, whoever you are!