Whenever I leave for an extended amount of time,
there is some sort of override that takes place in my brain equipping me with a
set of virtual and physical memories needed to function on arrival in these new surroundings. NYC
override pretty much clears out everything else for awhile.
So when I got back to Berlin and I was walking around the
neighborhood, I kept running into people who I kind of recognized but couldn’t
place. This week it’s all coming back to me. That man on the bike at Sudstern
was a former colleague and we ran in last year’s company relay in Tiergarten. The
other guy on Kottbusser Damm was my former German teacher, not a very good one,
but the fact that he would use personal stories like being involved in a cult once(hasn’t everyone? he asked) to liven up conversation was somewhat endearing. And I do know that girl who was headed to the bathroom at
CineStar last night.
I think the Berlin module is back at full strength.
Unfortunately over the weekend, I was still a bit confused. Around
Schlesisches Tor, I caught a glimpse of this girl crossing the street on a bike.
There were many reasons why I was convinced this was a French girl named Virginie. The
hair, the glasses, the skin tone, the facial structure, the skeptical scrunched
up face she made when I forced the person driving to honk at her in the middle of
the street and I yelled out of the window, calling her someone else’s name. (I
guess the last part would have been a clue) I was really sure it was her. I got
new glasses recently and I’d even used this girl’s ID one night in Oxford (England, not
Mississippi) to get into a really bad club. There were probably many reasons
why I should have been convinced this person wasn’t a French girl named Virginie. The main reason: the girl I
was thinking of moved back to France over a year ago, making it unlikely that
she was riding her bike on a Friday night in the middle of her old neighborhood
How embarrassing. If I was that girl, right now I’d probably be writing
about some crazy woman with new glasses yelling at me in French on the street.