It is not every day that we get to turn ourselves back into a stranger. Indeed, for many the only opportunity they have to do so is when greeting an old friend who, having been bludgeoned in the head by some sort of rock or stone, has come down with an acute case of amnesia. I had just finished up my shift at the local Sand Pit and decided to cash out a bit of my company scrip for the local currency. With ten or eleven green pieces of legal tender in hand, I made my way out of the bunkhouse with my company-branded handbag. I received it only two weeks prior as a show of contrition from Human Resources. They made a typo and changed my first name in the system to “Elizabeyh” instead of “Elizabeth” as written on the Employee Gender Reconfiguration Form 826L-G that I had submitted.

A few weeks back, a coworker of mine told me that he’d had a wonderful piece of a local delicacy known as “Fishman’s Woe” at a local diner, The Orange Peeler’s Ossuary. I happened upon a local map at the company library and spent three hours of my night committing the location to memory. I had a somewhat decent three-dimensional memory, but it never hurts to be absolutely certain about where you’re coming from and where you’re going. By the time I emerged from the high wooden walls of the Sand Pit, my knowledge was so clear and distinct that it was as though I was simply retreading old ground despite having never walked this way before. I didn’t even look at any street signs. Any obstacles I came upon, be they a group of people hogging the sidewalk, a post office deposit box, an out of place pile of gravel that had somehow found its way onto the sidewalk, it did not matter. I was a river and everything around me was but a stone in my stream.

I arrived at The Orange Peeler’s Ossuary about ninety minutes before closing time. See, Sand Pit workers worked long hours in those days. It was a lucky break that the place was even open at three thirty in the morning. I took a seat at the bar. There was one other occupant. A man just two seats down.

“What can I do 'ya for, doll?” A waitress greeted me. She was chewing a piece of gum. Her jaw went up and down, up and down. I hadn’t had gum in years. I requested a glass of water and one Fishman’s Woe. She simply nodded her head and walked away. I looked around and took in the atmosphere of the place. The walls were painted in some hue of sea foam green. Portraits of telephone switchboard operators hard at work sat above each booth. It was a little kitschy overall, but I let it slide. If the food was good enough, they could have a little kitsch. I looked down the bar again and examined the man. In one hand, he held a strange food item. It was basically two pieces of bread with a whole bunch of stuff in between. I wasn’t familiar with it, but it looked like it might have tasted alright. He held a magazine in his other hand. There was a photograph on the page he had open. It looked like some kind of chrome-plated robot doing a little dance. I couldn’t quite make it out from where I was sitting. I really, really had to know what that thing was.

I stood up and walked down to the man. He was making like he was about to turn the page. “Hey, wait, wait! Can I see that picture there? Just for one second, please.” I took the seat next to him and pointed at the magazine.

“Oh, uh, sure. Here you go.” He slid the magazine across the counter and turned to face me. And that’s when it hit me: this wasn’t just any old random asshole sitting around in a diner just before the crack of dawn. This was Samuel Miklenraster from high school. He still looked exactly the same..... I recalled the time we both got sent to the principal’s office after climbing a tree and dropping boiled eggs on the bald head of our gym teacher. That was a fun day.....

“I’m Sam, by the way.”

Sam? He went by Sam now? Talk about compromising to the unwashed masses..... We always used to say “Never accept a nickname! Be your full name or be nobody at all!” In hindsight, was that a childish ideal? It’s too soon to say..... Wait a second, I thought to myself. The reality of what had just occurred finally dawned on me. He’s introducing himself like he’s never met me before. I looked up at him again. My head was spinning so quickly that I hadn’t even had a chance to look at the magazine. This guy doesn’t recognize me at all. Not even a little bit.

“Huh? Um, I’m Elizabeth. Pleased to meet you.....” He extended his hand, palm facing up. I placed mine on top and he gave a gentle shake. This is too good, I thought to myself. Jabbing myself in the thigh once a week with that UniHealthOne Motorized Auto-Injector really has paid off it seems. He released my hand and returned to his food.

“So you from around here, Elizabeth?” He picked up his food and took a bite. I really wanted to know what was in that thing. Definitely some meat, maybe some cheese, some green stuff. I couldn’t make it out. Shoulda asked for a menu.......

“Yeah, yeah. I grew up here. Went to school not too far from here, actually.”

“Oh, really? Me too! Which one?”

Oh fuck me. Why did I go and say that? I conjured an image of myself in my mind and made her punch herself in the head. We can still play this off, don’t worry.

“Chesterling Catholic.”

I once again summoned an image of myself and had her wring her own neck. Saying the name of the actual school you attended together is the opposite of playing it off.

“Shit, me too! But, hm, I don’t remember you.......”A plate clattered in front of me. The waitress walked away without saying a word. I looked down and saw the head of a fish surrounded by little multicolored bubbles arranged in a sort of spiral pattern. They were largest right next to the head and got smaller as each trail went on.

What the fuck is this shit? I really shoulda looked at a menu..... I looked at Sam’s food again. I should have ordered whatever the hell that thing is.

“But, then again,” he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before continuing, “You’re definitely younger than me. What were you, class of ‘19, ‘20?” I felt my face grow red. Our birthdays were only three weeks apart and here he is asking me if I’m two or three years younger than him. I laughed and tried to pierce one of the bubbles on my plate with my fork. It curved out of the way. The tines hit the plate.

“Class of ‘20, right on the money!” I tried to scoop the same bubble up, but it rolled off the fork and plopped back onto the plate. “So what do you do for work?” I figured changing the subject would work in my favor.

“I work at the Gravel Pit down on the south end of town. I crunch the coarse gravel into finer pieces.” He parted his lips and showed his teeth off. All metal. Amalgam, probably. “Company-issued. I could bite through this plate right now if I wanted. How about you?”

“I work at the Sand Pit off of Briarwood.”

“No kidding!” His eyes widened as he turned toward me. “The Grainworks one?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Though I don’t do any crunching like you. I just eat sand.”

“Well, not to brag, but some of that sand is my sand.” A little smirk lighted upon his face. He was all too proud of himself.

“Shit, no kidding. So the shipments of Pebble Commander’s Finest?”

“That’s right, that’s my team. See, people think Gravel Pits are all about Gravel, but we do sand sometimes, too. People don’t know about that.” I finally gave up, grabbed one of the larger bubbles off of my plate, and popped it in my mouth. I popped it between my teeth. It tasted a little sweet, but it was nothing special. “Actually, we have a lot of sand coming in these days. My workload is like sixty-twenty sand and gravel.”

“I had no idea, honest. We only do sand at the Sand Pit. There’s just so much to go through and the stomach can only hold so much, you know?” The waitress reappeared and handed each of us a receipt. I looked around for a clock but didn’t see one anywhere. It was probably about time to go, though. I popped another bubble in my mouth. Still not that good. I put down enough to cover my bill plus a little tip. “Well, Sam, it was nice meeting you, but I gotta head back now. I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. First shipment comes in at six in the morning, and that sand ain’t gonna eat itself!” I stood up from my stool and made for the door. “Be seeing you!” I waved goodbye to Sam, my old and new friend. He waved back and grabbed his magazine back from where I had placed it

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck! I forgot to look at the picture! I glanced over my shoulder. He had already turned the page and gone back to reading. I was taken so far aback by this guy I knew for years as a child not recognizing me anymore that I had completely forgotten to look at the magazine. It would be way, way too awkward to go back in and ask. Just.... Just keep walking. I meandered back through the streets of the city and returned to my bunkhouse. Soon after, I drifted off to sleep...... I dreamt of sand.