Free London Harmony: Small Fry by Erik Schubach

once.  The look on her face was almost painful to me because it was a look of embarrassment.  Why the hell was she embarrassed?  She can't help that she has an affliction, she isn't defined by it.
    She always acted like she didn't recognize me at first because she literally didn't.  She couldn't. A cruel twist of genetics robbed her of the ability to store and recognize faces.  That portion of her brain was sort of short-circuited, and she had to use other indicators to distinguish who people were.  Like, hair, voice, the way thy dress or move.
    I said, “I'm sorry.”
    She stiffened and started to rise to walk out.  “I don't need your pity.  I'm doing just ...” I chuckled and she paused and glared at me.  “This is funny to you?”
    I shook my head and stood with her and looped my arm through hers, capturing her as I started walking us toward the door.  “I'm not apologizing because of you affliction.  Being face blind is nothing you can help.  I'm apologizing for changing the way I dress and putting my hair in a ponytail.  It must have made it hard to know it was me until I spoke.”
    She paused mid-step and I stopped with her.  She closed her eyes and took a calming breath.  Then opened them and nodded. “I was wondering who the bitch was that took my friend's seat.”  I gave a surprised chirp of laughter that made her grin.  Then she sobered a little and said, “But your shoes...”
    I looked down at my sneakers then nodded.  Then she asked, “Why the radical change in looks?”
    I shrugged. “I've been trying to figure out who I am the past few months, wondering if the clothes were just a product of the atmosphere I am immersed in or really me.  Then sourpuss Whitley belittled me, calling me a thug and not respecting people.  So I tried dressing the way he wanted, to avoid any further chastisements.”
    She looked down and pushed some hair behind her ear then shook her head.  “I thought they were you.  They... I don't know... fit you?  You shouldn't change who you are for anyone.”
    I grinned and said, “I'll take it under advisement.”  She smiled back and I tilted my head and asked, “I'm not well versed on Prosopagnosia.  There was just a short entry on it in a book I read once about cognitive disorders.  But you keep reacting to facial cues like smiles, you can differentiate facial emotions?”
    She looked down and seemed to make a decision and nodded once and said in a quieter tone,  “Emotion recognition is in a different portion of the brain.  When I look at your face.  That is the only face I know until I look away, then it is gone.  I know you are pretty when I am looking at you but I can't hold onto that image of your face.  But I can tell when you are smiling, or sad, or pensive, and I can hold onto the facial emotions.”
    She reached up and touched my face, closed her eyes, and traced my smile with her fingers as we walked.  She said, “And I can remember the feel of your face, touch memory is a different portion of the brain as well.”  She opened her eyes and grinned.
    Then she stopped at an intersection of the hall and she looked down both directions of the crossing, furrowing her brow.   Then she took her arm out of mine and looked at her hands and wiggled her right hand then looked down the hall to the right.  Then she looked at me. “My next class is that way.”
    I sighed and pointed ahead. “I'm that way.”  She seemed extremely shy suddenly as she looked down and she started bunching her sleeves.  I asked quickly, “Lunch?  Cafeteria at noon?”
    She brightened. “Okay.  See you then Fran.”  She gave a tiny wave and almost ran off.
    I nodded with a smile and called after her, “See you then Tash.”
    I almost skipped to my next class.  I was in such a good mood for some reason.  I pulled my hair out of the ponytail as I walked and shook it out so it could fall down my back and over my shoulders.  That would be closer to how she