Hoopy

Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshitohshit. Ohnononononono.

Is that her? That can't be her. I looked at her for a really long time, but I didn't think she saw. I mean, she did see, because she looked at me too, but is she SAW (if she recognized), she's either waiting for me to be surprised and fake-happy first, or she's going to pretend she didn't see me at all.

She looks . . . I dunno. Like an alternate-future version of herself. Things are exaggerated. Her hair is so blonde it's white and it's ultra-spikey in the places it's not fashionably matted down, like there in the front where it sweeps across her forehead and deftly clears her eyes. She's wearing a long tannish coat that looks familiar, but surely if this is her, and if this is alternate-future her, she would have bought a new coat since last winter. But then maybe she dug it out of the closet specifically for this evening, in this part of town I would not expect to see her in (but then, why not? It's expensive, it's trendy), but wouldn't be all that surprised to find her in either. The coat, the tannish one, it matches her pants. Her pants! They are tan and bell-bottomed, not something I've seen her in, not even close, but all the same they are a logical progression of her fashion wants as they evolved while we knew each other.

The earrings are the kicker, maybe moreso than her hair. They're big and gold (fake gold) and they're hoopy. Those earrings, yes, I have them before.

She passes me and I do not look. If I look and I'm right, if I look and it's her, there has to be a RE-UN-ION. What're you doing, what're you up to, how've you been? I'm sexy, I'm happy, I'm going to dinner!

I do not look. If she does, and if it's her after all, I will never, ever know.