i walked up a hill, and in the white van behind me was a family owned “serbian” moving company. through the windshield i observed “the father” and “the son”; they had shaved heads and wore white undershirts. they had grey bags under their eyes.
i reached a red light and stopped walking. the van stopped behind me. “the son” jumped out of the van, ran to the trunk and opened it to ensure nothing had fallen, then slammed it shut and jumped back into the passenger seat. the light turned green and i began walking again. the van followed at the speed i was walking.
at the top of the hill was a high school classmate. her face was smoother, rounder and more tawny than i remembered. her black hair was pulled back. she also wore a white t-shirt.
‘the serbs are her family, and they are helping her move,’ i concluded.
i hesitated as i approached her: ‘should i ignore her, or say hello? would she remember me?’
when i got close enough to make eye contact i said hello. she frowned. “I do not remember you,” she replied.
i walked past her, then turned my head and yelled back, “I’m Jimmy!” she stood in place, facing away from me. i pondered silently for a moment, then yelled “I’m Billy!”