I sprained my ankle two weeks ago and had to go around on crutches for a few days. I was on my way home from the physio one evening, and got on the 99 - it was my right foot so I couldn't drive - and as I hopped to my seat a concerned-looking woman asked me if I was okay. I said I was. A few stops later, she asked the bus whether we would stop at MacDonald, someone said we would. "Thanks," she said, "I'm from up north so the city seems big sometimes." Because she had been so kind when I got on the bus, and because having my injury tended to put me in mood of receptivity, I asked her where she was from. "Haida Gwaii."
We chatted more - I found out where she lived in Queen Charlotte. "I've been to that area," I told her "four years ago - I was visiting friends who were housesitting." As we kept talking I suddenly had a feeling that it was her house I had stayed at, and her garden I had tended - perhaps because she said she had a sister, perhaps because the owner had been away in Vancouver at the time.
I wove the conversation round again to that visit. Yes, she knew my friend Chris. He took care of her garden! Was he staying in a place with a sauna? It all fell together. I thanked her, and we talked about how beautiful her home is. Then she got off at MacDonald, and walked away into the night.