A Poet's Plainness

Sometimes I feel as if… I should’ve been more open with them. But these years have been on count for long enough, my love. I deserve some rest, no? 

“Elise?” 

She puts her pen down and looks up from her desk. 

“Marie? It’s 6:30 in the morning… why are you here?” 

“Ma’am, your rehearsal for the JUX Festival is this morning, at eleven. The Festival of Arts? I reminded you last night, do you not remember?” 

“Oh, yes- yes you’re right. My apologies, Marie. I got caught up in talking with my husband. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

Elise hastily stands up from her chair as Marie looks at her watch and begins to close the door.  

“I’ll let you know if anything else comes up, okay?” 

“Alright, thank you," Elise mutters, "also, do you by any chance know if it’ll be cloudy today?” 

“Miss Thatcher?” 

Elise and Marie walk towards a large, dusty orange door, which is being held open by a man with a strange haircut. 

“Am I at the right place?” 

“Yes, don’t worry, the team will be with you shortly. You look lovely by the way.” 

“Oh thank you, I appreciate it.” Elise brushes her skirt down with her hand. She particularly liked matching her pieces; her black pumps matched her velvet top. While thinking of her outfit, she remembers something. 

“Marie, could you thank Elliot before he heads off? He remembered to take the shortcut this time around.” 

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” 

The man kindly smiles towards Elise. “I think that’s your team, Miss Thatcher?” 

Elise looked toward her left, where a small crowd began to stream into the hallway. 

“Yes, that's them. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.” 

He walks into the door, followed by Elise and her stylists. They situate her on a short mahogany chair. The room is fairly big, a bit empty except for the lights and the camera stands. The chair across from her is exactly the same, yet empty. 

“I was told Aaron would be the interviewer?” Elise asks the woman next to her. 

“Indeed I am.” 

She turns around to see a middle aged man with a black messenger bag walk through the same door she came through. He was put together and clean shaven, just as she remembered him to be. She lets her joy show on her face. 

“Oh, it’s so nice to see you, Aaron.” 

He leans into a small but firm hug before stepping a bit backwards and sitting down on the chair in front of her. 

“And you as well. It’s been a bit of time since you’ve come back.” 

“Well,…” She chuckles, “I’m getting old Aaron. I see the sky a bit too gray in the morning and I can feel it in my spine for the rest of the month.” 

Her company cackles, and so does he.

”And your daughter? How is she doing? Last I heard she was starting elementary; it’s been some time since then.”

“Oh yes, it’s been a while. She’s now leaving elementary this year; she’s excited. Daniel too. He’s telling me that Esme is going to get on my nerves once she’s a teenager, but I remind him every time that he did the same.” He smiles fondly. “They’re all doing well.”

“Either way, I’m glad you could make it.” He leans back into his chair, “I see you’ve let your gray grow in.” 

She hums and smiles a bit before touching her head. 

“I think I’ve earned the ability to show it off. Besides…I think it compliments me.” 

Aaron takes something out of his bag. 

"Still the same elegant Elise, I see." 

“Okay, so we’re going to just go over what we’ll talk about on Tuesday in the hall. The team overseeing JUX wanted me to let you know that they’re willing to extend their time limit for you,” He looks up from his notepad and grins, “which I thought you’d appreciate.” 

“Alright then. If they say so, I’m fine with it. Just not too much time, I’m afraid I’ll ramble…” Elise nervously laughs. 

“Elise, everyone there will have paid to see you. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. And either way, this is why we rehearse- just to take some of that anxiety off your back!"  

“Sure. You’re right.” 

“Okay then, are we okay to start right now?” 

“Elise Thatcher, 68 years old, author of fifteen pieces of work,” Aaron whistles a bit before gazing into the air, “You’ve done quite a bit of writing over the course of your life, now that I’m really looking at it. 10 poetry collections and 5 different books of essays.” 

Aaron pulls his chair forward a bit more, and focuses on Elise. 

“This might seem like…an out-of-place question, but even after all this time, do you still genuinely enjoy writing?” 

Elise pauses in her thought. The question does feel a bit sudden, but after pausing, she lets out a hearty laugh. 

“That’s an…interesting question. I surely haven’t been asked that- well I don’t think ever, in an interview.” 

She lets out a small sigh before pondering a second longer. 

“I’d say yes. I see why you ask that though; I have been very open about how I started writing when I was a child, so I can see how someone may think that I feel a bit weary about it after all this time but no. I don’t think I’m tired of it.” 

“Yes, you talk about change a lot in your last collection. You hinted at possible regrets in your life, how sometimes you’ve felt tired over the life you live, yet you’re not sure if you’d change anything if you could. Could you…maybe expound on that?” 

Elise stares a bit blankly at Aaron before responding. 

“I think your question beckons me to…differentiate between being tired of something and having profound regret about something. Doesn’t it?” 

"If you say so. By all means." 

Elise has a bit of disdain for vague responses, but she decides to keep focus. 

"My life has…always been abstract. Always being on a tightrope- constantly balancing priorities. It's constantly making me tired, but having regrets over something it's…" 

Elise regathers her thoughts. 

"I think that insinuates that there was nothing in that experience, in that time of decision, that you can be grateful for. And well…we're talking about my life. I would be blind and incredibly ungrateful if I were to say I regret all of it." 

"Would you…change it, if you could?" 

Aaron is scribbling down small things here and there. 

"What exactly? Change,...my decision to be who I am?" 

"Sure. If that’s how you take it.” 

“Okay.” 

Elise sits back a bit and looks at the ceiling. She begins to feel a bit of heat in her eyes; it’s been some time since she was candid about this. She tries to not show any remorse on her face, and the small sparks of deep emotion she tries to put out. 

“I think…that’s a bit of a redundant question. The thought of perhaps changing something that’s already happened…it’s already happened. There’s nothing I can do about that.”  

She lets out a small breath. 

“Does that make sense?” 

Aaron shrugs his shoulders, then nods. 

“Not as poetic as I thought it would be.” 

Elise narrows her eyes. 

“But graceful, nonetheless. I suppose-“ 

“No, no,” Elise begins, “This is why we rehearse, correct?” 

She regains the small bit of composure she released before. 

“To spend so much of my time thinking of what if, how should I have, and when could I- it would be for nothing. I’m a writer, Aaron. I thrive off of reliving and relapsing. But all of this penmanship was originally brought to life simply because I wanted a coping mechanism. I write to make sense of what I go through, and to help myself move on. I wouldn’t be able to write about my current experiences… if I was always stuck on the ones in the past.” 

Aaron grins a bit and clicks his pen.

“Thank you. I liked that one a lot better.” 

She glances to the left at the man who is besides the door, the same one with the strange haircut. She wonders why he’s still there, and wonders what his opinions are on her statements. 

“If I’m being completely honest though, Elise, you write a lot more about different decisions you made as a child. When you were first writing, and also about the process of still talking to your husband…”

“Take it easy, Aaron.” 

He looks up, confused. 

“Tread lightly, please.” 

She looks down, and her hand is shaking. She feels the emotion in her stomach ever so slightly tossing and turning. 

He seems to take the hint. 

“Alright, I’ll rephrase. Elise, you’ve been open about coping with loss by writing, or in your words, talking with people you’ve lost through writing to them in letters. Now, in previous pieces, you’ve mentioned you really only have one regret in life. Readers began to theorize that maybe it’s ab-“ 

“It’s not.” 

Aaron stares straight at Elise. 

“It’s not about him. I assure you.” 

He shuffles a bit in his seat. 

“But now that I know what you want, it makes this all the more easier.” 

She takes her hand in her other and lets out a content breath. 

“And I’ve known you for quite some time, so it’ll be here that I say it. Also, I don’t see myself doing any more interviews after this.” 

“I burrow through all my different little worries and anxieties, past and present, in A Hummingbird’s Odyssey. When I published it last year, I knew it might be my last complete piece, so I wanted to tie a few loose ends. That regret though, it’s never been about anybody else. It’s always been about what I never said to myself.” 

Aaron furrows his brow, and sits all the way back into his chair. 

“I liken it to how you… understand a subject better when you pretend to teach it to someone else, or how perhaps we can choose to weep in the mirror to try to make the process of being seen when vulnerable easier. I think it takes a separate type of courage to admit that you need help, and by simply saying “I don’t know”. That in itself; saying “I need to learn how to”, when talking to yourself. My biggest regret is that I didn’t do that.” 

Aaron nods, in a way that tells her to keep going.

“When I first started writing, it actually wasn’t poetry. I tried a diary at first, and I quickly stopped. Something about it wasn’t clicking for me. I went on this way, 2, 3, 10, 22 years into my work, and I finally stopped and thought about it. That night I realized something; poetry was my preferred method simply because it allowed me to write my raw emotions and thought processes beautifully. I could fit them into lines and stanzas- use all the fancy vocabulary and archaic language and make my worst of the worst look dazzling.” 

Aaron raised his hand. 

“Isn’t that what poetry is?” 

“Yes and no; poetry is meant to express,” she started, “but when you convince yourself you have to constantly dress up your purest form, it’s only going to result in you hating your purest form. Which is why halfway into my career I started writing essays, which didn’t gain as much attention as my poetry, but I liked them. I suppose though, that through this process, I formed my one and only regret.” 

“I wish that all those years ago, when I wrote my first poem, I would’ve confessed to myself that just because I excelled with and found a place with the writers doesn’t mean that I can’t be plain in my words. That I can’t be honest using only the vocabulary I knew as a child.” 

She nodded her head a bit before looking directly at Aaron. 

“So the next time you ask me to be more poetic in my answer, think again.” 

He laughed outwardly then cleared his throat. 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind then. Well, it’s been about an hour… I think you deserve some rest, hm?” 

Elise smirked and stretched her arms outward, letting go of her shaking hand. 

“Indeed I do.”