But hey, both of us were stupid kids, and we were both all kinds of weird and wrong back then, weren’t we? Clearly, that’s why we hit it off so well.

I was so convinced that after finding the photo you’d call me later that day or night, I waited by the phone for a few hours. Or a few minutes, at least. But you didn’t call. And not to put too fine a point on it, that bummed me the fuck out. I’m only human, after all.

In retrospect, and reading our exchange all these years later, I think I was probably too harsh with you, given how emotionally and physically vulnerable you were post-surgery. I was honest, though, and did not exaggerate how rough you looked. If anything, you are underselling how thin you were after your surgery, guy. Seriously. It was scary and hard to watch from the basement and sometimes from the backyard, through the TV room’s windows. And not for nothing, I don’t know how it took you that long to find me in your house, not that you actually found me. I got sick of waiting to be discovered so I stomped around, and when that didn’t work, I knocked on the basement door and called out to you. That’s not exactly finding me. How could you not hear me rattling around that whole week? How did you not smell the weed? Yeah, I smoked in your basement. I’m not proud of myself on that count.

Regardless, you didn’t call me. So, I didn’t call either. Neither of us blinked in that standoff. When we did finally blink, how many years had passed before our paths crossed again? Too many. Way too many.

Before I continue reading your book, I’m going to drop this here: For this novel to work better, maybe you should change my character name. “Mercy” is fun, but I think it’s too on the nose. Also, the use of the name might lead to a plot issue: how is THE Mercy Brown a punk Polaroid devotee when her heart was burned and its ashes consumed? You wrote in the intro that you changed all the names, and maybe that’s the reason why you’re staying away from my REAL first name. If I am really who you say I am, shouldn’t you name me to protect others? Maybe you’re saving my name as a reveal for later in the story. I get it; you can’t give everything away too early. You’re smarter than you look, Art Barbara.

Art Barbara. Enjoy: I say that name out loud when I read it. I read it dramatically and I read it with various accents I’m capable of producing. It makes me smile and it makes me think of you, even though you aren’t him.

No Reservations / Back from Somewhere