“Hey, Jessica! Good to see you!” the cafe owner boomed from beyond the front counter. His tall and sturdy frame leaned over his staff in such a way that allowed him to make eye contact with me. I quickly looked away and gathered the rest of my things. People between he and I stopped and looked from me to him, and back to me. A look of warm confusion spread among their faces and it matched the gentle atmosphere of the place.
“See ya,” I replied as I made my way out the door. I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to say to the man; I wasn’t sure if he even heard me. He had been so nice, and his daughter, the hostess who took me to my seat and also the waitress who took my order, had been even more kind. Her smile that greeted me at the foyer effortlessly changed to bubbly recognition as she brought me to the corner table by the window. She chatted for a few minutes while I did my best to listen and nod at the right intervals.
The waitress called me ‘Jess,’ a clear nickname for ‘Jessica.’ It’s a common name, one easy to believe in most any context. But I’ve never been called ‘Jess’ in my life, and my name isn’t Jessica. The nice girl who had just taken my order, I had never seen before.
After exiting the cafe, I made my way back the way I came and headed towards the light rail station. As innocent as the mix-up was at the cafe, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. The misunderstanding of who I was was so genuine and complete. I’d never experienced something like that before. Other times when I’d been taken as someone else, a shred of doubt at the start would turn to disbelief and then gradually make its way to an understanding of the mistake. On this hand though, the encounter with the girl who knew me as ‘Jess’ moved in the exact opposite direction. She began with no inclination of who I was and quickly moved to recognize me as someone. Despite my lack of conversation, it seemed that each minute passed further strengthened the belief she held about me.
I thought to myself what about me had captured that girl’s attention. What qualities or features did I share with Jess? We must’ve had the same eyes, for the waitress made no short effort when making eye contact. She saw my eyes clearly and she saw Jess’ eyes looking back. Jess and I must also have spoken with similar accents and styles. She must have been more of a listener than a talker, or else the girl would have been off put in some way over my silence. My medium frame and round face must have been a perfect fit for Jess’ silhouette. Even my hair, which was just cut and dyed a reddish brown not but two days ago, was a stark change from what I’ve looked like over the past three years. But that again must have been part of Jess’ aesthetic choices.
This curiosity spun round and round in my head while I waited for the rail car. So much so that when I closed my eyes to think, my entire body felt like I was rotating backwards. My mind wouldn’t stop thinking about Jess and the similarities she and I must have shared. The connections seemed eerie and strange. It felt unnatural. I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to know who she was. I wanted to meet her.
I stood up and started walking back to the cafe. I don’t know where I could find Jess, but I had a feeling that the waitress could point me to her. The trick though is that the waitress knows who Jess is, she trusts Jess. She wouldn’t trust a complete stranger. She wouldn’t trust me.
So, after a few hours of being Jess, and further exploring this odd and twisting rabbit hole, that’s how I got here. Now you and I can talk for a while. It’s good to finally meet you, Jessica.
“Write from the point of view of a person who, after being mistaken for someone else, decides to be that person.”
1 hour and 15 minutes.
Writing Under the Influence 