By Daddy X
I’ve often been tempted to write a memoir, but afraid to because it might hurt people I know and love. Not that I would say things particularly negative about friends and lovers but it could bring to light issues that some people don’t even know exist. If it sounds like past lies regarding past indiscretions would catch up with me, that’s a good part of it.
None of us gets through life without hurting others; it may not be our intention, or our particular bent. However, in the course of living there are those little betrayals, those mini-lies and tiny omissions that affect a certain convenience at the time but could now be construed as suggesting more serious connotations to our relationships. The braver-than-I Anais Nin goes into this in her diary.
In fiction, our literary efforts are drawn from a melding of past experience and fantasy. We can shape the villain, the hero, the heroine to what we want or need for the story, but when writing about real people we have to get it right. Is our memory skewed by our individual perspective? Another person’s experience of the same incident won’t be the same as ours. Put it down on paper and you may have an argument on your hands. Or a lawsuit. Or lose a friend.
Maybe I’m just chickenshit, but I don’t want to write about people I’ve known. And then again, if I were to write about someone famous (unlikely ‘cause I’m too lazy to do the research) I’d likely get lots of flack on all sides of any issue or detail in the recount. If anybody read it at all. :>)
Wait a minute! I just remembered I did write a piece about something and someone real. Not much chance of this ever getting back to Hattie, and it didn’t really happen, but it could have:
Reunion What If
“Hi Tom. Still the long hair, huh?”
“Not much left now; gotta wear a pony tail and a hat.”
“Boy, did I chase you in high school.”
“I think the first time you asked me out was in seventh grade. Middle school, they call it now.”
“I asked you to all the dances way in advance. Worried you’d ask another girl first, or somebody else would invite you.”
“Ha! Yeah you did.”
“Was that the reason? Why we didn’t- Was I too forward? Too needy?”
“Nah, it just worked out differently. By the way—sorry, I heard when your parents passed.”
“Both within two years.”
“I remember how they trusted you. When you threw parties at your place, they’d go out and leave you in charge. They really knew you, didn’t they? I remember the only time I ever touched you, you cried your eyes out.”
“You were the first boy ever to make me cry. I was really mad when you met Frannie. I thought she was such a slut. Then you two got married.”
“Actually, we were both virgins until the prom. Took me six months to get into her pants. We still love each other dearly.”
“Really? Wow. You think maybe if…”