Full Scene Replay at Table Nine

Deja vu is supposed to be a spark. Mine, at my sister-in-law's fortieth, was a broadcast.

Somewhere between the starters and the toast, the feeling clicked on and stayed on — three minutes minimum, I checked afterwards against the videos people took. Everything that happened at that long table, I had the sensation of having already sat through: not vaguely, but shot for shot, line for line.

Uncle Reza stood and tapped his glass and I knew his toast would begin 'I promised not to tell the pony story' and then be entirely the pony story. It was. My nephew dropped his fork and dived under the table, and I knew he would surface wearing somebody's napkin as a bandana. He did. The waiter, refilling glasses, would say 'careful, this vintage is older than the birthday girl — barely,' and the table would groan; I mouthed 'barely' with him. My wife noticed that. Her face changed, and part of me registered even that change as remembered.