Read Online The Interview by Meredith Greene - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Meredith Greene
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“ Take that pair, there…” she said, in a voice just loud enough to be barely heard. Candace looked at the couple on the bench. The woman was reading a book… the man, a paper; they sat a few feet apart. They seemed to be a couple, yet stiff. The young reporter recognized the post-argument posture; even the way the woman turned the pages suggested irritation; once in awhile the man glanced at the woman and then back at his paper with a small shake of his head.
“ It starts with something silly…” the writer continued. “Something very, very trivial… nothing more than a few, hasty words spoken in anger about socks left on the floor, or the toilet paper not being replaced, the car door left unlocked, dishes in the sink… anything, really.”
The words flowed out evenly as the two women watched the unsuspecting couple. “The hasty words stick around; they linger just as the tender ones do. But these are words that no one says ‘I’m sorry' about later… for whatever the reason. That night, the two grow tired and simply go to bed… and nothing is resolved. It becomes a small choice… a choice not to let it go and the next time, there is fuel already there for a slightly bigger blaze. Pretty soon, they’re finding more faults with each other and experiencing less joy; there are less moments of laughter, more fights. Finally, they don’t even like one another anymore; they stop talking and just give up. Sadly, disagreements do not right themselves; they must be worked on… resolved in an adult fashion. But... it’s easier to walk away from something that hurts that much. Most choose the route of least resistance.”
Candace glanced back at the lady writer. The woman sat in sage posture on the bench, her book in her lap. It was difficult to argue with someone who held all the cards.
“ I guess you do know a bit about it…” the reporter said, quietly “So, those psychology classes worked out for you, eh?” The writer chuckled.
“ Life taught me more. There are not many left that do not have some idea of what divorce is like…” Her tone felt like a mother’s, comforting a child that has fallen down and scraped a knee. “I would be remiss not to offer a plausible alternative solution in my books… not a perfect solution, per say—for humans are not perfect--but a solution that is actually attainable.”
Candace felt a smile creep over her face.
“ As you have daily proof of, right?”
“ As I had daily proof,” the lady writer corrected, nodding to herself. “My parents are still married, my grandparents stayed married and devoted, even until death... and then there were my great uncle and aunt, a couple who taught me that marriage can be fun… a lifelong adventure. I was always determined to have something like it.”
“ Then you succeeded. Everyone who has met you and James seems to think you two were meant to be together. I guess it’s natural that you would write that into your story-lines.”
“ Indeed,” the woman said, nodding slowly. “I know nothing of vampires, knights or space aliens, so real romance stories and happy tales of families were always my best option.”
Candace cleared her throat and shifted in her seat a little. Watching her, the authoress smiled; the more prying questions were forthcoming.
“ Some readers, like myself… and perhaps we’re just a bit jaded, but we wonder…. well, it’s hard to believe that like your characters, you’ve only ever loved one man.”
“ Loved? Yes; I have only ever loved James.” The woman in the hat seemed perfectly serious. Inwardly disappointed, Candace made notes, wondering how to dig further.
“ What about a crush?” she inquired after a moment. “Perhaps, in school? Was there ever a boy you liked?” The authoress seemed to consider this a moment; Candace leaned forward, hoping the woman as not toying with her.
“ There was
“ Take that pair, there…” she said, in a voice just loud enough to be barely heard. Candace looked at the couple on the bench. The woman was reading a book… the man, a paper; they sat a few feet apart. They seemed to be a couple, yet stiff. The young reporter recognized the post-argument posture; even the way the woman turned the pages suggested irritation; once in awhile the man glanced at the woman and then back at his paper with a small shake of his head.
“ It starts with something silly…” the writer continued. “Something very, very trivial… nothing more than a few, hasty words spoken in anger about socks left on the floor, or the toilet paper not being replaced, the car door left unlocked, dishes in the sink… anything, really.”
The words flowed out evenly as the two women watched the unsuspecting couple. “The hasty words stick around; they linger just as the tender ones do. But these are words that no one says ‘I’m sorry' about later… for whatever the reason. That night, the two grow tired and simply go to bed… and nothing is resolved. It becomes a small choice… a choice not to let it go and the next time, there is fuel already there for a slightly bigger blaze. Pretty soon, they’re finding more faults with each other and experiencing less joy; there are less moments of laughter, more fights. Finally, they don’t even like one another anymore; they stop talking and just give up. Sadly, disagreements do not right themselves; they must be worked on… resolved in an adult fashion. But... it’s easier to walk away from something that hurts that much. Most choose the route of least resistance.”
Candace glanced back at the lady writer. The woman sat in sage posture on the bench, her book in her lap. It was difficult to argue with someone who held all the cards.
“ I guess you do know a bit about it…” the reporter said, quietly “So, those psychology classes worked out for you, eh?” The writer chuckled.
“ Life taught me more. There are not many left that do not have some idea of what divorce is like…” Her tone felt like a mother’s, comforting a child that has fallen down and scraped a knee. “I would be remiss not to offer a plausible alternative solution in my books… not a perfect solution, per say—for humans are not perfect--but a solution that is actually attainable.”
Candace felt a smile creep over her face.
“ As you have daily proof of, right?”
“ As I had daily proof,” the lady writer corrected, nodding to herself. “My parents are still married, my grandparents stayed married and devoted, even until death... and then there were my great uncle and aunt, a couple who taught me that marriage can be fun… a lifelong adventure. I was always determined to have something like it.”
“ Then you succeeded. Everyone who has met you and James seems to think you two were meant to be together. I guess it’s natural that you would write that into your story-lines.”
“ Indeed,” the woman said, nodding slowly. “I know nothing of vampires, knights or space aliens, so real romance stories and happy tales of families were always my best option.”
Candace cleared her throat and shifted in her seat a little. Watching her, the authoress smiled; the more prying questions were forthcoming.
“ Some readers, like myself… and perhaps we’re just a bit jaded, but we wonder…. well, it’s hard to believe that like your characters, you’ve only ever loved one man.”
“ Loved? Yes; I have only ever loved James.” The woman in the hat seemed perfectly serious. Inwardly disappointed, Candace made notes, wondering how to dig further.
“ What about a crush?” she inquired after a moment. “Perhaps, in school? Was there ever a boy you liked?” The authoress seemed to consider this a moment; Candace leaned forward, hoping the woman as not toying with her.
“ There was
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