Mar 23, 2017 4 min read

Twice in my life, someone has told me I look more like a Betsy than a Beth. That’s not much of a stretch, considering both names are shorter versions of Elizabeth, and besides, Betsy has that wholesome, country-girl vibe that tends to go with chubby cheeks, which I’ve always had.

I’m ambivalent about my given name, as many are about their own. I’m actually Mary Beth, a name I never thought much about until I became a TV reporter and decided it was both too long and too “little girl” and lopped off the front of it. Beth is short and to the point.

But I sometimes wonder if I’d be a different person if my name were something else. Something elegant like Alexandra, or exotic like Tatiana. Would I look different, or have different interests and skills? I know for sure that name would have required different parents.

Yesterday, I realized there is a place in which a girl can try on a new name, if even for a few minutes. I was in line at Starbucks, waiting my turn to place my coffee order, when I heard the young man at the register ask a customer her name, so he could write it on her cup. And that’s when the idea came to me. Who said I have to give my real name? I was paying with a gift card, so the worker wouldn’t see my name on a bank card. I could be someone else for a moment.

Waiting my turn, I scrolled through my options. What names have I always liked? There’s Grace, but that’s my daughter’s name. If I was going to lie to the coffee guy, it had to be something really different.

Amelia is pretty, so is Emily, but people didn’t name their daughters that when I was born. We were all Kathys and Cindys and Karens. I don’t think I could pass for an Amelia. I’m too old.

Soon it would be my turn, and I still hadn’t decided. Erin was a possibility; or how about Laura? Christina? But then again, Amelia really is pretty.

“What can I get started for you?” said the handsome employee at the register.

“A grande breve latte with a half pump of sugar-free vanilla,” I said.

And then it was time.

“Your name?” he asked.

I still had not decided, and so I blurted out the last name I’d thought of: Amelia. Except in the confusion of the moment I chickened out. What came out of mouth was a garbled combination of my own name and my fake name.

“Bamelia,” I said.

He asked me to spell it and, sweet man, didn’t laugh. I’ll bet I was the first Bamelia he’d met that day. I thought of correcting to either Amelia or Beth, but what would be the point? So I went with it. If I was going to be a different girl, I had to own it.

Two minutes later as the barista handed me my steaming latte, there it was in bold black marker.

BAMELIA.

I took my coffee to a corner chair. As I sat there sipping from my cup, I wondered if others noticed the name. Could I really pass for a Bamelia?

I finished my coffee and headed for the door. As I passed the trash can, I thought about keeping the empty cup as a memento of the 20 minutes I was someone else. I tossed it. As I headed to my car, I noticed I was walking a little straighter. We Bamelias are proud ones.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.