A memoir is not The Truth

Why do we keep expecting it to be?

That’s me on the right, with my best friend Maria. After picking strawberries in Connecticut we rode home in the back of my dad’s pickup truck. We ate strawberries the whole way, tossing the tops out as we went. Wait. That might’ve been a different time I went strawberry picking with my friend, Brenda. And maybe this wasn’t in Connecticut. It might’ve b…