Once, he had told me that strawberries grew on trees. I had contradicted him, citing my memory of an actual strawberry plant I had seen once—and yet, when he had held his ground, I had backed down: it hadn’t seemed important, and my memory itself hadn’t seemed to prove anything. “You’re easy to convince,” he had said. “I was wondering when you were going to stop me,” he had said, another time. “I was wondering how long you would let me keep going.”
