Do you ever have days in which everyone you see resembles someone you know?  Half of my time is spent bumping into people now and at least half of the time I have no idea how I know them.  There are too many options now – did we go to high school together? Graduate school?  Did we date? Did I sit next to you on an Amtrak going to that writing conference?  Did our kids take pottery class together six years ago? Are you a fan? Another writer?  Are we married?

The list goes on.

But every now and then, all falls into place, strangers don’t look familiar and I recognize those I’m meant to.

And then, every so often, I’m in an antique store checking out a tiny painting that I’m sure I can get for a song and the voice inquiring about the massive work of art above my head sounds familiar.  Sounds like it’s read me a story.  Or rescued me from evil.  Or something.  And when I look and see the face all I think is – Did our kids go to preschool together?  Did you used to have cook-outs with my parents?  No.  No…that’s not right.  And then the smile and I go back to my little art piece which turns out to be an opera, not a song, so I can’t even begin to buy it.  But the voice and the laugh, the lulling tones.  I look again.  Yes, you taught me in college.  Poetry?  Then why the visions of you in a robe?  Good lord, tell me we didn’t make out.

No.  We didn’t. I could not have kissed someone who…carried a sword?  That lights up?

No.

You are Hands Solo.  Harrison Ford.

And I need to get some sleep.