Of my list of lovers, here was the one casualty of my awful memory sitting right next to me.

We all have drunken moments that we barely — or can’t — remember. I had an entire night like that two years ago, and it was brought up again recently.

I was at a bar the other night, chatting with this cute guy. He looked a little familiar, but I go out a lot, so I thought nothing of it. I was flirting with him just a little when someone said my name, and I turned. When I turned back, the cute guy was staring at me.

“Wow, Devon. I never would have recognized you if someone hadn’t just said your name. You look so different.”

Different from what, when? Do I know this guy? Does he know me? My mind started racing and I asked what he was talking about.

He told me he travels a lot for work (from Green Bay) and was down this way two years ago. He told me my hair was way different the last time he saw me, and I wasn’t living in the city at that time. Well, that would be about right, but how in the hell does he remember me?

I asked him how it was possible that after meeting once, two years ago, he would remember anything about me. He took another shot and told me. We’d had a one-night stand on that one night he was in town. I don’t remember at all. I asked him if he was sure, and he looked at me like I had two heads as he replied, “uh, yeah.”

How is this even possible? What are the odds? I thought about my list. You know, the one with the names of everyone you’ve had sex with written on it. The last time I looked at that list, there was one name I didn’t recognize. The name didn’t bring up a face, time frame, place or circumstance. This bothered me at the time, but I soon forgot about my forgetting someone.

Of my list of lovers, here was the one casualty of my awful memory sitting right next to me. I started to ask him about himself. Part of me wanted the information to trigger the memory. The other part felt bad about not remembering and thought that if I appeared interested, it would make him feel better. He was a really nice guy, kind of quiet. I really enjoyed his company.

I started to chastise myself. Of all the assholes I have dated or slept with over the years, why would I forget this guy? He’s cute, nice, has a job and if the sex had been bad, I would have remembered.

So we set up a time to meet the next night. I went home confused, but content. I had met (or re-met) a cute guy, and had figured out the mystery of the one name I didn’t remember.

The next night, we met up and talked again for a while. At bar close, I thought of something.

“Hey, we have already had sex, right? So you count as someone I’ve had sex with, but I don’t remember. I’m getting cheated here. There is only one way to solve this problem. We will just have to do it again!”

So we did.

It was good; I wished I could remember the first time. Afterwards, I had to go home as I had to wake up early the next day. He fell asleep as I was getting dressed, and I left him a note. It said, “Have a good day. Call me if you get bored. See you later, Devon.” I put my number in there as well.

This was Thursday night, and he was heading back to Green Bay on Saturday. I had hoped to see him again before he left. I am not looking for a relationship (especially halfway across the state), but it would have been nice to see him one more time before he left. Didn’t happen.

Now, I hardly knew him, but it was fun and spontaneous. The least he could have done was called to say that he was heading home.

Here’s some advice: if you forget someone you have had sex with, there is a good reason. Even if it’s not obvious, you suppressed that person for a reason.

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