Any Leway on That 15 Minutes?

Memoirs are considered narrative nonfiction, so I had to write a proposal. Chapter Outline, Bio, Marketing Plan, Competing Titles, all of it has to stick out among the other fifty proposals a publisher may have seen that day.

My agent looked at it for the fourth time last week and suggested more changes. She wants all the newspaper articles written about the jewelry robberies. I have them on my hard drive, but she wants the originals. So I hopped on the T, right down the street since we moved to Cambridge, alone mind you, without Rara, to visit The Boston Public Library and their extensive microfilm department.

It was easy since Rara took me there a week prior and held my hand through the ordeal. I'm no slouch. I can find my way around. But on my solo mission, proud after finding the articles I sought, I entered the greenline T stop and noticed out of the corner of my eye, that it was outbound only.

Outbound only?

Well, where the hell is inbound?

More to the point, where the hell is Rara to lead the way?

Last time we were here we took the outbound because we headed into Allston for Korean soup.

It was like I lost all my senses at once. I walked aimlessly, trying to think like a civil engineer, "If I were a geek, where the F would I put the inbound train?"

Five blocks later, I realized that the inbound was probably across the street from the outbound.

I was right.

Good thing because I'd probably still be walking aimlessly around town.

When I got home I re-read the articles written at the time of Dad's arrest. I couldn't find the one about me or my brother because Dad got most of the press. My two favorite headlines:

Man Held in Jewel Thefts

Nashua Suspect Accused in Robberies Netting $2.5 Million

and

Mastermind of father-son jewel heist team jailed

Warhol wrote that we all experience 15 minutes of fame during our lifetime. I hope mine wasn't wasted on jewelry robberies. Maybe I can squeak out five or ten more on the NY Times Best Seller List.