Believe in Me--Reissue by Jessica Barksdale Inclan

Please believe me.

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Memory is a fragile creature, even when you think you still have one.  I've been watching an email conversation between several people, one in which they try to recapitulate a conversation. The emails have said something to the effect of:

"You said X on Wednesday and then Y on Thursday."

"No, I wasn't there on Wednesday and you said X and then Y on Thursday, not me."

"It wasn't X or Y but A and B, and it wasn't Wednesday at all but Thursday for both."

Somehow, I have managed to stay out of this conversation because even if I were able to produce a recording of the conversation, the people involved in the conversation wouldn't be able to hear that their version of the truth wasn't accurate.  There would be even more argument about who said the words "charming" or "fine" or "promise," even if we can hear the speakers on tape.

I have a dear friend who one day assured me that a certain high school in Concord was on a particular street.  She knew it!  She'd driven past it constantly on her way to a store.  She'd seen it five million times and was certain, down to the bone.

I, having grown up on that side of the tunnel, knew that she was wrong.  I couldn't argue with her about at any more than I had, but we made a bet and then I went home and sent her a google map with the high school clearly on the street I knew it to be on.

She didn't believe me or the map.  I tried yahoo maps.  She barely accepted that.  I told her to call.

Finally, about three weeks after we made the bet, she paid up, still not willing to believe me.

"Here," she said over breakfast.  "Here's your five dollars."

How anyone manages to convince a jury that it was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick is a mystery.  No one remembers anything correctly.

And besides, he said X on Wednesday and Y on Thursday.  No question.

Jessica