After spending over a decade away from the itsy bitsy town in which I grew up, I'm still not accustomed to the small world that it is.
I still get a fleeting thrill when I see a local license plate before I remember that I'm actually home and they're more than common.
Last night, a nurse floated to our unit and, because it was relatively quiet, we got to chatting. She had just moved from Atlanta but, like me, grew up here. Oh, we went to the same high school! 84?, I graduated in 96. Did you know ___? What's your last name? Howe?!!! You're Franny's granddaughter?! Kathy's daughter!???
It turns out her father was a close friend of my grandpa's and my mom used to babysit her. We both, in our giddy, not-used-to-small-town-relations way, laughed and shared anecdotes all night until, like a pin in our bubble, two of the other nurses related how they discovered that they were cousins in an amazing story of medical drama and common relatives.
Humphh. Small towns.