In Search Of Mr He Knows Me – Short Story by Tom Ryan.

There is something I have been trying to figure out for a long time; just who actually is He Knows Me?

Every time I return from work my neighbour tells me this person called, with urgency scrawled all over his face, enquiring as to my whereabouts.
When my neighbour asks “whom should I say called”, the reply invariably is: “He Knows Me.”
I never really take those three words literally. Would you if you were living near a large town and working as a news reporter?

So, I guess it has to be some trendy person whose parents would not settle for some humble name like Mick, Con or Pat for their much adored offspring.

Maybe they saw, at this mysterious person’s birth, the light of genius and immortality shining out of the baby blue eyes of Master He Knows Me, and so decided this gift to humanity should not be saddled with any ordinary plain name. And, figuring their baby was inevitably going to be a celebrity, they christened him by the rather august name, ‘He Knows Me’. That was one name that would sure stick in peoples’ minds, these proud parents probably reckoned.

At any rate, I have never once met Mr He Knows Me, and my curiosity is only bursting to find out his identity. Could somebody help me? If you ever see a person called, He Knows Me, do send him up to my house immediately. Tell him I have been seeking his acquaintance for years without any success.

And if we don’t see him soon, perhaps over a cup of tea, to discuss all those millions of things he called about over the years, I shall feel my living has been totally in vain.

You see Mr He Knows Me is as integral a part of my life, as are the wild cinnamon cats in the back garden, the dog beside the fire, or the lucky black cat in the children’s hobby-house, positioned on the tree beside my kitchen window sill.

Somehow, I feel Mr He Knows Me might think I am ignoring his company. Really, if I knew his address I would probably send a greeting card at Christmas, or St Patrick’s Day or even at Easter. But presently as for Mr He Knows Me’s age, name, address, background, hobbies and interests, romantic associations (if any), I remain completely in the dark. It’s all so perplexing; almost as perplexing and infuriating as that other person who calls to the house on the odd time.
He too has a rather uncommon name. He’s called “I’ll See Him Again”, which I can safely say that I never do. But that’s quite another story!

[Tom Ryan, ”Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.]