Maybe you’re Karen

I hate losing touch with people. Feels like I’ve drop the ball. The cosmic ball, I suppose. Maybe your name is Karen, and your last name is Roberts or Robard or Robards or Roberts or something else entirely, and you went to school in Evansville, Indiana, and drove a huge brown Cadillac and we watched Audrey Hepburn movies and were glad that she was skinny because so were we, though she wore it better — let’s be honest — and you had big sunglasses before they were really ubiquitous. You were a terrible driver, it was like the car was too big for you and was actually doing the steering, while you had to battle to keep it in line; you always threw out the “mom arm” at quick stops — and you had a boyfriend that you drove back to Indiana to see every single weekend, and you lent me books on Buddhism that helped keep me sane when living in Cincinnati, Ohio. I think you were an English major. We interned together at F&W Publications in Cincinnati in 2000, the summer I was pretty sure that life after college was a death sentence. Apparently my memory holds many facts about that summer but your last name isn’t one of them. And the facts I’ve got aren’t coming up in Google.

3 thoughts on “Maybe you’re Karen

  1. I went to junior high and high school with a Karen Roberts. We were in orchestra together and she was my stand partner in chamber orchestra the year we played at Carnegie Hall. But she’s too young to be the girl you’re looking for.

    I also was recently looking for someone I hadn’t thought about in years. My cousin, whose name is Ashley Jackson. Much too common of a name, but I managed to find her on Facebook. If she didn’t have a picture, I don’t think I ever would have found her. I haven’t seen her in about 15 years and she hasn’t heard anything from this side of the family in that time as well.

  2. Just an idea, but how about the masthead from the publication you worked on at F&W? Did you guys make it on the masthead as interns?

  3. Love this post…especially because I worked with a girl at my first newspaper job out of college, randomly in Cinci, the year after graduation and I can’t even remember her first name. She was an intern, I was a newbie. We had lunch at subway everyday. Our salaries couldn’t even be qualified as pathetic, and it helped that she was still in college and her parents could help supplement our lunch money.

    Maybe Cincinnati is a pool for lost co-workers and friends. Or at least our brain cells. Hope you find your friend. I’m going to look back at my journals and find mine!

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