She sometimes had trouble remembering her own name. Usually this happened when someone
unexpectedly asked what it was. She’d be at a boutique, getting the sleeves of a dress altered, and
the saleswoman would say, “Your name, Ma’am?,” and her mind would go blank. The only way
she could remember it was to pull out her driver’s license, which was bound to seem weird to the
person she was talking to. Even if she was on the phone when it happened, the awkward silence as
she rummaged through her purse inevitably made the person at the other end wonder what was
going on.
She could remember everything else. She never forgot the names of the people around her. Her
address, phone number, birthday, and passport number were no problem at all. She could rattle off
her friends’ phone numbers, and the numbers of important clients. And when she was the one who
brought up her name she never had any trouble remembering it. As long as she knew in advance
what to expect, her memory was fine. But when she was in a hurry or unprepared, it was as if a
circuit had been broken. The more she struggled, the clearer it became that she couldn’t, for the
life of her, remember what she was called.