I noticed her as she was emerging from yoga class—mat rolled up underarm and tight sweatpants on. I walked swiftly past, mumbling something barely acknowledging her presence as I crossed her.
A few years ago, I knew her name. And that’s not all I knew.
Today, all I could remember about her was that she was “that guy’s wife.” It’s almost as if nothing else mattered, and this was her defining characteristic.
Ergo, it’s more ironic that I’d forgotten his name too. All she was to me was an unknown’s wife.