Forgetting A Soul

When I was in high school I wasn't as shy as I am now. But I was still very shy, and as a result I tended not to talk too much. I wasn't a particularly memorable person. This always bothered me. Part of my beliefs includes the concept that when you die, your soul lives on on the earth as a part of all those who remember you. When people forget you, you start to fade away. I know this sounds weird to most people but it's just how I feel. But this means that being remembered is important to me.

One day senior year I came home crying, because I knew I was supposed to get teacher recommendations for my college applications and I couldn't think of a single teacher who would remember me well enough to be qualified to write such a note. The lack of the recommendations didn't bother me nearly as much as the fact that I would leave at the end of the year and no one at that school would remember who the heck I was. I tried to confide in my mother, and she gave me a spiel about living for yourself, and doing good for yourself, not to be remembered, but she never understood my faith. But my Latin teacher had me for four years and still forgot my name, so I thought, there's no way anyone will remember me.

There's a point to all of this. My sister went to visit her high school math teacher yesterday, to talk about student teaching, and she called me afterwards to tell me that the teacher at the front desk had seen her write her name to sign in and said, "There's been a lot of X's that have gone to school here. Are you related to anyone I might know?"

"Well, my brother is [The Brother]," she began. "I don't know him," the teacher replied. "My sister is [Basiorana]," Shrewd offered. "OH! I know HER! She had the COOLEST jewelry! You have to tell her Ms. J says hey!"

Ms. J was my art teacher. And while it seems my actual artistic skills didn't make that much of an impression, apparently my jewelry did. So I guess I won't be forgotten after all. Or at least my accessory choices won't be.