Have you ever marched up to someone significant in your life, greeted them warmly, and had them struggle to remember who you are? Well, yes, it is embarrassing for them and you. But primarily for you.
You go away wondering if they are merely forgetful or if the images in your mind are trustworthy.
Worse, in a way, are your fears that your mind, playing in the dark, created everything from a few hints or suggestions. You’ve heard about false memories, and you read articles on how memory can be selective. But to obliterate you from someone’s recollection? And worse, build your recollection of them to such importance?
Later over a brandy, you make the best of the situation. Perhaps you were hypnotized and put under “deep cover” because you’re a secret agent. – “Bond, James Bond” – and your true memories are just starting to surface. But. Alas. I have no idea where I parked the Austin-Martin, and my accent is total New York City, not RP British.
Then a lovely blonde sweeps into the seat next to you. “Charles, Charles? is that you. Oh, I haven’t seen you since the Triple-A meetings in Washington! This calls for a celebration!” Charles, Charles? I can be Charles! I wouldn’t want anyone as lovely as this to question her memory, would I?