I’m squinting, reading it over and over. It’s my name and apartment number, but I couldn’t have put this here. Could I? I open my notebook, flipping through the pages, finding nothing. My face hardens with the idea that what I can’t remember is separated by such a thin veneer. “Who put this here?”

I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until a boy beside me says, “The woman who bakes all the time.”

Standing beside him is a girl whose mouth hangs open. She closes it enough to say, “Yeah, isn’t that your mom?”

My feet root to the floor. My mother? I want to flip through my notebook, figure out why there is a flyer for guitar lessons with me, why this girl is talking about my mother, but I am numbed by too much information to do anything more than stand in place.

“I think it’d be cool to take guitar lessons,” says the girl with the blonde Mohawk. She reaches up and tears off a small sliver of paper that has my name and number on it, then looks at me, eyes narrowed. “But you can’t remember Anthony, and he talks to you every day.” Her head moves to indicate the boy beside her. “Can you actually teach guitar?”

I’m speechless, face hot with embarrassment, confusion, and a strong desire to leave. I tear the flyer from the board, crumple it up, and throw it into the trash can by the front door. “No, I can’t teach ever again.” A buzz from my phone.

“On your way to the market, Ms. H.?” The boy shoves his hands deep into his pockets, gives me a small smile that I think looks sheepish, maybe embarrassed. For me? I wonder, but not for long, because he’s right. My phone buzzes. Market: tomato soup, canned peas, pasta, and spaghetti sauce.

“Bye, kids.”

“Um, Ms. H.?” The boy shifts his weight, looks unsure of himself.

“Yes?”

“My mom and I will be there tonight.”

With a town as small and contained as Whittier, we have quite a few community events, everything from movie to craft to trivia nights. So despite the fact that I have no idea what he’s talking about, I nod and smile because chances are it’s an event I usually attend. “Great. See you then.” I turn from the kids, grateful to let the interaction melt away.