Page 20 of Hello Stranger

The stranger leaned in a little. “What about what?”

“What about all of it?”

We blinked at each other.

And that’s when something impossible occurred to me.

This total stranger… was talking like she was my best friend, Sue.

I cannot describe the intense cognitive dissonance of suddenly knowing those two opposite things at once. But there was no other explanation. I was clearly sitting across from a person I did not know… and she was clearly saying things that only Sue could say.

It’s fair to saythatgot my full attention.

Up until that point, all the other people who had moved throughmy room had been background noise. I’d taken them all for granted as I focused on postsurgical adventures like taking my meds, healing my incision, and shuffling back and forth to the bathroom.

I guess everything at the hospital had been just…as expected.

But then in came this person talking like Sue. And forced me to notice that she didn’t look like Sue. Which forced me to try to figure out what she did look like.

And that’s when I realized that I had no idea.

I mean, this lady in front of me had facial features. I could see them if I tried—one at a time. Eyes. A nose. Eyebrows. A mouth. They were all there.

I just couldn’t snap them together into a face. Any face at all. Least of all Sue’s.

“Sue?” I asked.

“What?”

“Is it you?”

“It’s me,” she said, like it might be a trick question.

“What did you do to your face?”

I saw her lift her hand to it. After a second, she said, “New moisturizer?”

“No. I mean—”

“Do I look weird? I switched multivitamins.”

Did she look weird? I mean, the components of her face were like puzzle pieces spread out on a table. So yeah.

But I didn’t exactly know how to say that.

I was just staring at her pieces, trying to Jedi-mind-trick them into clicking into their proper spots, when one of those nurses in the pink scrubs walked in.

And I realized that I couldn’t see her face, either.

I mean, “couldn’t see her face” is not exactly right. I could tell there was a face there. In theory. It wasn’t just a blank slate. I could zoom in on eyebrows and laugh lines and lips.

It was just that the pieces didn’t fit together right. They didn’t make a face. It was a bit like looking at a Picasso painting.

I couldseeit, I guess. I just couldn’tunderstandit.

It reminded me of that game you play as kids where you lie upside down and watch someone talking where their lips are flipped, top to bottom. Everything suddenly looked so funny. And disjointed. And cartoonish.

I felt a rising comprehension. Had I been like this all week?

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