“I’m okay,” I said again.
He smiled.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Then he walked away.
I assumed that was the end of it.
It wasn’t.
His name was Richard Hale.
He was one of the men who had helped fund the charity that evening.
And over the next few weeks, I discovered that Richard had remembered me.
He came back to another event.
Then another.
Sometimes he spoke to me for only five minutes.
Sometimes twenty.
He never treated me like staff.
He asked about my life.
He remembered small details.
When I told him I had a younger brother who lived several hours away, he remembered his name.
When I mentioned that I was studying at night because I wanted to change careers, he asked about my classes weeks later.
Once, I arrived at work looking exhausted.
Richard took one look at me and said,
“You haven’t slept.”
I laughed.
