Recognition

By T. Perran Mitchell

“Linda?”

A wave of adrenaline crashes over my body, leaving a chill in its wake. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and avoid turning. It’s probably not me. No one knows I’m here.

“Linda, is that you?”

Ignore the words; just keep pushing your cart down the aisle. Assume they are talking to someone else. Linda Powel is dead.

I stop and get some oatmeal off the bottom shelf, feigning as much normal human behavior as I can.

“Oh, my god, Linda Powel! I’d recognize you anywhere.” The voice brings forth a name: Janice Jaworski. She sat behind me in every English class from 10th grade on. I think it was because I was a full foot taller than she was. She thought it kept the teacher from noticing she was sleeping. It didn’t, but she thought it did.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” Ignorance is my new best friend.

“I can’t believe you don’t recognize me! It’s Janice, from Robinson High.”

“Oh? I think you have me confused with someone else. Never went to Robinson High. I’ve actually never heard of that school. I’m sorry.”

“Oh Linda, you can’t fool me. I spent three years staring at you every day.” Janice beams. “I could never forget your face.”

Ugh. How the fuck does sleepy Janice have me memorized? “I’m sorry, my name isn’t Linda. It’s Maria, and I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“Okay, Linda, this isn’t funny. I know you. I…” She bites her lip, and a look of genuine hurt crosses her face. Damn, I didn’t fake my own death in a fiery car crash to be found out by stupid Janice. The old burn scar on my left leg starts to itch at the thought of the crash. I barely leapt out in time. The heat still did its damage. Oh, shit, is she going to cry?

“I really am sorry that I’m not your friend. I’m guessing she meant a lot to you.”

“You’re really not her?” Her eyes are wet around the corners now.

“No.” A harshness creeps into my tone.

“Oh, I was so hoping. I mean, I never said anything back then. It was…it was different back then. I’m…you know how society was…and in the suburbs…. I mean, you just didn’t have those feelings. You weren’t supposed to, anyway. I…I never told Linda…and I saw you.” She sighs with her whole body.

“You really do look just like her. I thought....” Janice trails off, a cavalcade of emotions ran across her face.

“I thought maybe now was my chance, you know? Maybe…. It’s dumb. And you’re not even her.”

God, I feel like shit. Like a real piece of garbage. And it’s about to get worse. “Well, I wish I could help, but I’m not her, so — anyway, I need to finish shopping. My husband is waiting for me to come home and start dinner. It was nice meeting you….”

“Janice.”

I ignore her outstretched hand and wordlessly push my cart in the opposite direction. I can’t give her any reason to suspect it’s me. I have to crush her heart and stay silent. She needs to want it to not be me. It’s the only way to stay safe. Even though everyone thinks I’m dead, when you take that much money they don’t ever stop looking for you, not really. Any rumor that I was seen and they would descend on this town. That would be trouble for everyone.

“Billy.” I nod to the cashier. He’s the owner’s kid, and knows what’s up. He rings up my $52.68 worth of food and I hand him an envelope of five grand in cash. It stings knowing I’ll never see any of it again. Normally, before today’s incident, I’d get half of that back tomorrow in my weekly paycheck. Jack, the owner of the Shop n’ Save, is a great launderer. Hell, he saw to it that I even got money back in taxes every year. It’s going to be a real shame to lose this setup, but by this time tomorrow, I’ll be halfway to Reno. Like I said, I can’t be found out.

I fit the last bag neatly into my trunk, and I see Janice pushing her cart to a greying station wagon. The back tire is going bald and needs to be replaced soon. The guilt is unbearable. She looks so sad. Her posture – it’s like she’s lugging a backpack full of bricks. Damn it, Linda, get it together. You survived this long screwing people over; you’ll survive breaking stupid Janice’s heart.

Janice slowly heads to the cart return. Ah, fuck it. I run over to her car and see she’s left the hatchback open. I scribble on an envelope and toss it into the wagon. The simple white envelope contains 2 grand in cash, and one word is written in block letters on the front:

SORRY.