“No I am sorry I think you've mistaken me for somebody else”

When I was in my last year of high school I hung out with a
girl who had a sister who was three years younger than us. One night I was
staying at this girl’s house and her sister had a friend over too. My friends
parents were going out for dinner that night, so the younger sister’s friend’s
Mum popped in to say hi check on us. This girls Mum was and still is a local
bus driver.

About eight months after I met this lady, I met her again as
I was getting on a bus after a long, looooong day at work. I was tired. The bus
driver might have said “hi Becky”. I was so tired that I just registered the “hi”
and I said hello back and found a seat. I thought about it on that ride home. Did she call me
Becky?

I told myself “Oh well next time if you are certain she says Becky, just
say actually it’s Nicole”.

A few weeks passed and I saw her again on the bus. She didn’t
say my name, but we had a big, quite in-depth talk about her kids, and her job and what I was doing
with my life. It was a nice chat. As I stepped off the bus and on to the foot path she called out “See you next time
Rebecca!”

I cringed. I turned to correct her. The doors closed and the bus pulled away. I just stood there
on the curb, feeling like twit.

 I didn’t catch the
bus as much after that. Not because I was avoiding her, but Brad and I usually drove to uni together or I bummed a
ride with his parents.   

Four years passed
by and I am now back catching the bus. Every now and again I see this bus
driver. And she always greets me with “Hi Rebecca”, or “Good Morning Becky”.

Now it is awkward. 

It has gone far too long for me to tell
her that my name is not Rebecca.  

Hasn’t it? 

If I tell her now, she will be the
one left feeling silly. Well that’s not entirely true, she won’t be the only one.

So the other morning I’m standing at the bus stop, and I see
the bus come around the corner, and this particular driver is in the driver’s
seat.  I said to myself, “just tell her”.
I said it in my head over and over “actually, funny story, my name is not Rebecca,
it’s Nicole”.  I play over the awkward
silence in my head. 

The bus stopped. 

The doors opened. 

I got on.

“Morning Becky, where are you off to love?”

“Just the station Thanks”.

I guess I will have to continue on being Becky. At least for
the twenty minute drive on occasional mornings.