Who the f*@k is Alice?

I might have vehemently denied it at all times in the past [I still do and forever will], but if truth be told I have some [a little] mutated gene of OCD. I prefer [read as written: prefer] my shirts in a certain order in the wardrobe - hung with hangers facing a particular side; the tracks in my iPod have to [have to, have to, have to] be in a cut & dried arrangement; the contacts in my iPhone are stored by first-names. No exceptions preferred [read as written: preferred; I didn't say unacceptable].
But the motif of this blog isn't about my preferences [sic]; it's not about me either; it's about the contacts in my iPhone.
The other day, I couldn't find a phone number of a friend in my contacts and was very annoyed [with self]. How could I not have a number I wanted while I had so many numbers I didn't need any more? I set myself a task to organise my contacts/iPhonebook at the earliest opportunity.
Today was the day - I sat with the Old Monk for iPhone spring cleaning, but got stuck at "A" itself...when I saw one of the contacts - 'Who the f*@k was Alice Johnson?*'
My mind took a while to find its way through the labyrinth - she was the business analyst when I was working on project X; what a fantastic time we had; what fun and learning...wonder where she would be now and if she ever thought about me? Will we ever meet again? I thought about giving her a call but stopped halfway after dialling - what if her phone number had changed [it's been five years]. And even if it hadn't, what would I say after I say hello? There wouldn't be much to talk [shy as I am] about. Why subject her and myself through a miserable [How's you x 17 times, with nothing else to say] conversation? I smiled and disconnected [Please note - she made me smile]. Nah - I couldn't delete her - we had such a good time.
I scrolled down and got stuck on another one [A. K.*]. I jogged my memory to ferret him out and it was a case of repeating decimal - the guy worked for me in Benetton and we had some great time together - again I didn't know where he was; the possibility [not probability] of his telephone number being the one listed in my diary [after 12 years] was contrary to any reason. I smiled as his name took me more than a decade back. I couldn't delete him...!
And then it dawned - your contact book isn't just that - it is a diary [full] of memories - memories that have been latent for some time; times you've enjoyed and forgotten not because they aren't worth remembering or cherishing today, but there's so much else going on in your life that the past inadvertently takes a back seat [it's like an old movie you've seen years ago - a month back, accidentally, while switching channels I saw Erich Segal's Love Story being screened and I didn't (read: couldn't) move for the next 90 minutes].
No, I could not erase those unuseful numbers from my contacts. It didn't matter if I won't need them anymore. I know I wouldn't call some of the people in my contacts ever - but I cannot erase them. I cannot black out the good [or bad] memories associated with those names.
Try your phonebook...it will make you smile. Or, maybe I am a sentimental fool.
*Names changed.