I was pushing the stroller across the big street down by the reservoir when one of the cars stopped at the red light rolled down a window and someone began to yell "Niobe! Niobe! N-i-oooobe!" I looked into the car and saw a guy about my age, big, balding, wearing scrubs, the steering wheel in one hand, a blackberry in the other.
"You don't know who I am," he said.
"Of course I do," I lied. "It's, um, been a long time."
"Twenty years," he said. "No, more than that. But I'd know you anywhere. You're just as beautiful as ever. You haven't changed a bit."
He asked for my email address and I gave it to him and kept walking. It was cold and it was going to rain and there was poison ivy twined around the reservoir's chain link fence. I stopped trying to remember who he was and considered what he'd said. And, true or not, it was what I most wanted to believe. Everything was different now, everything was gone or altered past all recognition, but I was exactly the same.