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“There I was, in the funeral line,” says David C. Fischer, recalling the evening of Wednesday, the twenty-eighth of November, 2012, “when I realized that the long-haired, skinny-assed woman in line just ahead of me looked familiar. I puzzled about it a moment, but I could not guess where else I might ever have seen her.” He’s told this story, or has listened to the long-haired woman’s version of it, many, many times, always upon request, in these several years since. “I touched the lady on the elbow, touched, that is, the elbow of her winter coat,” Fischer told me, “and when she turned, I said, ‘I should know you.’ Without hesitation, she answered, ‘No, you shouldn’t!’”
Well, it turned out that Fischer and the woman had indeed been introduced to each other, briefly, a little more than a year earlier, in the home of one of the woman’s neighbors, but they, Fischer and the No-You-Shouldn’t woman, did not figure this out until a few weeks after their encounter in the funeral visitation line. It further turned out that Fischer and the woman, both of them well up in years and neither of them in a romantic relationship in 2012, ended up getting married, on a Friday, two years to the day after their funeral parlor conversation. The wedding was, if my math is right, seven years ago today.
Fischer or the No-You-Shouldn’t lady could tell you more about their conversation in the slow-moving line, or about their two-years-plus-seven together, but you would have to ask them. I myself would not presume to report it here.
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