Predicaments in Memoir: Dangerous Reconciliation
We're going to laugh about this one day, right?
In my published memoir piece “Wish You Were Here,” I adorned someone as the villain in the most unbiased and compassionate way possible. Don’t laugh. I tried, and it’s quite beautiful.
But now I face a new conundrum: I’ve painted someone in a dark light–all true events for which he is responsible–but he’s come for reconciliation.
And I allowed him in but with only morsels because I like my secrets and celebrate my triumphs in isolation.
But I let him vomit his pain and depth because I–well, I don’t know.
Fortunately/unfortunately, he has never read my writing. I could send out anything about him into the online abyss, and he will never click a link or ask about my latest pieces.
I desire to keep it that way.
I gave so much, so I took something.
The narrative.
But a new predicament tests my writer’s ethic. The rights for the flash version of “WYWH” revert to me on June 27, 2023. I wrote a longer, more gut-wrenching version that had my grad school classmates, friends, and husband respond with admiration of my strength and the unworthiness and disdain for this person, who we will call “Villain #2.” (I’m always Villain #1.)
I’m in love with the longer version, titled “Wish You Were Here, Side B,” because it includes essay segments and the ending between me and Villain #2, which is no longer the ending because he keeps returning and I keep opening the door.
With the paramount growth derived from constructing and editing “Side B,” it needs to go forth into the world. I want to record myself reading it, maybe post a revised video. I had to do one for class and enjoyed spewing out my heart. Euphoric release!
And in the most coddling baby-you-know-you-want-this seduction, I want to ram the piece down his throat.
What if I made him read it the next time we’re in person? (Ha, if that happens!)
No, no–what if I read it to him?
That’s why I’m willing to let him come back and vent. I crave his vulnerability.
As a memoirist, I’m always the one splayed out at the buffet of the human condition. Very few allow themselves to be carved, sifted, and ladled for the hungry and curious, those complaining about the main course offerings, but still content to take large portions.
Is it cruel to crave his discomfort, recognize his deep breathing, examine his face for signs he’s worried about how the piece will end?
Like I said, I’m Villain #1.
I should bake cookies or do something angelic right now.
To be continued…