Is this really a memoir? I’m no expert on publishing categories, genres, descriptions, etc. but this reads like creative nonfiction, or a creative nonfiction memoir. That’s a thing, yes? It’s not a criticism but more a pointed observation: this book, more times than not, reads like fiction. The quoted conversations especially. If you’re quoting in a memoir, aren’t you implying those exact words were said? Maybe I’m being too literal.

That aside, there is no way you remember all these conversations as presented, is there? I shouldn’t presume your memory works like mine, or like anyone else’s. I sure as hell don’t remember our exact conversations from almost thirty years ago. Or, I suppose, that’s not wholly accurate. I remember our many and varied conversations, and I cherish most of them, but what I remember is the information shared with a vague sense of when and where it happened. I do not remember our talks as exact quotes with an accompanying nuanced give-and-take. Not sure why that line about me asking if you wanted a lift really sticks out as something I would never have said, but it bothers me.

Eh, I guess it’s not a big deal—yes I doth protest too much. My portrayal in these pages—at least in this introduction to, ahem, “Mercy”—stings a little, cuts too close to the heart. I come off as aloof, strange, and kinda mean, and socially awkward, too, different than your shade of awkwardness, of course, in which you wallow and celebrate. I always encouraged you to not care what other people think about you as a blanket social survival philosophy, but valued friends are not included in that “other people” category. I cared and care deeply what you think of me.

Even though you have me saying and doing things there’s no way I said or did at the time or in the manner you described, I cannot rightly claim you’re inaccurate in how I pushed you around initially. I am sorry for that, but, frankly, it was necessary. It’s complicated.

This was a long chapter. You might consider splitting it up. A few more thoughts, going in order:

I was right about Def Leppard. The Pallbearers Club logo on your flyer was essentially the same as DL’s, so it didn’t take ESP to figure out you were a fan.

I’m weary and leery and all the -earies as to why you gave me the name Mercy Brown.

I did not take a photo of Tom Jones’s body during the ceremony. I took it well before we started.