You Are Never Anonymous

I’ve been on the move for almost a week now, and today found myself without the internet connection necessary to plan the next and last leg of my journey. I ventured out in the hot Louisiana sunshine to find the city of Shreveport looking like a ghost town. It’s Sunday, and not even the local Super Food is open. I crossed my fingers that I’d find the Starbucks above this sort of self-righteous legalism and I was relieved to find it so. This place was starting to scare me.

I bought my usual grande-nonfat-sugarfree vanilla latte and a scone I didn’t really want, paid for them and asked the two nice young girls at the counter about wifi service. The cherubic brunette provided me with an outdated instruction pamphlet, and I remarked that the Air Force base was still in the dark ages in regards to internet service. They made sympathetic noises as I moved to the condiments kiosk.

A moment later the cherubic brunette looked at me suspiciously and swore she knew me from somewhere. I half-smiled, having heard it before, knowing the next ten minutes of ‘where in the world have you been’ would yield nothing. She mentioned she’s a military brat and I asked if she’d lived in Tampa. No, closest she’s been was Pensacola, near where my brother was stationed. Out of the blue I blurted that she looked like someone I’d known in basic training, but that would be impossible unless she’d actually been IN the military. She stopped and stared, then said she’d been in Air Force boot camp in 2001. The year I went. The time I went. She didn’t remember the squadron, but mentioned she was recycled into a band flight during the last week of basic because of an injury. My band flight. She then washed out of her first tech school four months later into a Fort Meade school. The school where I was finishing up my video training.

I was shocked. I have to admit since I don’t believe in coincidences, this ‘chance’ meeting on Sunday five years later when nothing else was open in a city I’d only stopped in for a day had to be more than chance. She happened to be working in a café clear across town when I discovered I needed their internet service. I happened to mention I was military. She happened to remember my face. I happened to remember her from one single week in basic training. This is the third time she’s been put in front of me by ‘freak accident’ in the last five years.

This is not a coincidence, but I don’t know what else to call it. Am I supposed to do something with this realization? I’m just arrogant enough to think I might be supposed to help her. But maybe that’s backwards.

I gave her my email address, and with much trepidation, my phone number as well. Next time she crosses my path, maybe I’ll be prepared.