Fewer Degrees Than I Thought

How many degrees of separation are there?


And, how close can you come with an offhand comment?


Well, today I may have a better idea of what the answers to those questions may be.


Janet, an instructor in the department, and  I were just talking about one thing and another.  I mentioned that I'd gone to the vigil for Amanda Gonzalez-Andujar.  


"Where was it?"


"Ridgewood."


"Really?  Where?"


I mentioned the street where Amanda lived, and died.  Janet's eyes widened.  "How do you know the neighborhood so well?"


"I wrote for the Ridgewood Times,"  I said, "which, of course became the Times-Newsweekly.'


Her eyes widened.  "Then you knew Michael Rosario."  


I thought for a moment.  "Yes.  He was the circulation manager."

 "And soon he's going to be my ex-husband."


She then recited all of the names that would have been on the newspaper's masthead at the time my byline was appearing in it.  I recalled most of them.  "Practically all of them were at our wedding," she recalled.


"Wow."


"Now I understand something."


"What's that?"


"Well, when I found out your name, I thought it was familiar.  Now I know why:  I saw it on your articles."


"Yes, you would have."


"And now I know why i thought your name was Nicholas before you changed."


"That's because it was.  My byline usually read "Nick Valinotti."

 Now I have to wonder:  Of the people who know me now, how many knew me then?  I wonder now whether Janet knew Nick, even a little bit--and whether he or I knew her then.