She Who Must Be Named

In pursuit of a personal identity

“Vanessa?” said the bartender, reading my name off the card that I had given her. “Anything else for you today?”

I briefly wonder if it’s worth it to correct her. I haven’t gone by Vanessa in about 20 years. It almost doesn’t seem like my name anymore. But, my banks, HR managers, and apparently bartenders know me as Vanessa, not knowing to call…