Yesterday while waiting at the bus stop at Park and Salmon, across from the Arlington Club, waiting for the bus home this fellow said to me:

"I recognize you from Reed College."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, from Reed. What was the name of that band you were in?"

"Meisterbänd."

He chuckled.

"Named after Meisterbräu," I said.

Thus far I was only obliquely engaged in the conversation; I was trying to match this guy's face with anything in my memory. Out-of-the-blue chancings across old friends or acquaintances are rare for me, but when they have happened I've always at least remembered the person.

"I knew it was Meister-something. I met you once," he said. "You were kind of a jerk."

"That's entirely possible," I said, still trying to recall meeting him, not concerned yet with the alleged offense I might have once given him. The population of African-American males at Reed during my time was no more than a half-dozen, surely, and I believe I knew half to talk to and the other half by sight. Not this guy.

"Yeah, I saw you there and I thought, hey, it's that guy from Meisterbänd who was a jerk."

"Ah."

"You're John, right."

No, I'm definitely not John, I thought. Though feeling I understood who might have insulted this guy if it hadn't been me, I was still trying to recall ever meeting with him.

"No, I'm Gryff. I think you might be confusing me for John Foster. He was the real asshole in the band."

An aside: all apologies to John, in the unlikely event that you ever read this. But you really were an asshole.

"Really?" he said.

"He was the singer. I was the bass player."

"Does this happen a lot?"

No, I thought, as the bus arrived. Two pale blond Irish-white guys, but John and I didn't look alike at all beyond that.

"What was your name again?" I asked.

He chuckled again. "Chris," he said as he gave me a weak handshake.

He then recognized a friend of his and struck up a conversation with her. As I sat down on the bus he passed by in the aisle, patted my shoulder, and said with a smile, "Don't worry, you're not really a jerk."

Now I really don't care if I was a jerk to someone almost two decades ago. It's very possible I was. More likely, if it was me and not John who he was remembering, is that I came across like a jerk unintentionally. An friend at Reed once said that before we became acquainted she used to think I was an aloof, arrogant asshole, but then realized I was just shy.

Anyway, I just cannot for the life of me recollect any conversation with such a guy as this Chris. Not that it mightn't have happened. But now there has been posited an encounter that I cannot recall, and to add to the frustration this encounter may never have occurred. It's as if someone else has written an episode in my life but never allowed me a read-through. And if it's a case of mistaken identity, what if I suddenly remember the guy from back then?