The Debate: A Claire Mitchell Vignette

**This post is the last of three that introduces Claire Mitchell, the protagonist of my upcoming book The Pain You Seek. Each installment presents a different part of Claire’s backstory, a peek behind the curtain at an event that happens before the opening of the novel. My hope is that you will become intrigued enough to read how she later navigates the perils of her investigation into Medea’s world. As a final preview before the novel is released, I will post some considerations that you can use as a guide through the novel or as discussion after you complete it.

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Claire took her cell phone away from her ear and pinched the bridge of her nose. She exhaled deeply and looked towards the ceiling, then grunted under her breath. Grayson, one of her roommates, looked up from the sofa that they discovered in a thrift shop, upholstered in a riotous floral pattern. Depending on what any of them wore on a given day, they could disappear into it.

“Not great news?” she asked but already knew the answer.

When Claire had picked up the call, Grayson could hear it was the editor from the Commonwealth Chronicle that approved her pitch for a story about the landlords that preyed on Commonwealth students. Based on the first words out of Claire’s mouth—Are you fucking kidding me?—Grayson knew it was not good. She had turned off the TV in the common area of their dorm room, then put in her earbuds and started the music stream on her phone. Medea’s “Funhouse Mirrors” had been the first in the queue and gave way to song after song while Grayson waited for Claire to be done so she could find out what got her so angry. Now that the conversation was over, she wondered just how bad it could be.

Claire tossed her phone onto the large orange ottoman that served as a table between them, crossed her arms, and sat deeply into the chair across from her. She looked at Grayson with incredulity burning in her eyes. Grayson was happy to let Claire start.

“So, that was Trina from The Chronicle.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out,” Grayson interjected. C’mon, let’s get on with it, she thought.

“Well, after all I did to write about how those bastards were taking advantage of our students—all of that shit—nothing has changed. Not a damn thing has changed.”

Claire was breathing heavily through her nose out of anger and disbelief. What else do I need to show them? she thought. The company kept their security deposits for bullshit ‘cleaning charges’ that were nowhere nearly as expensive as the amounts they retained, they ignored complaints or dragged out the repairs until after the leases were up, not to mention the fact that the company controls over twenty buildings through different LLCs to isolate itself against lawsuits. Each time she uncovered a new injustice, Claire told her and her two other roommates about it. They are taking advantage of students who don’t understand what they are signing. The owner knows they don’t want to live in the dorms. They are cashing in on the parents’ money. And every time, Claire reminded them they were lucky to get one of the coveted campus dorm quad-rooms reserved for seniors. Grayson and the others could recite the script.

“So when you say nothing has changed—” Grayson started.

“The city inspector keeps signing off on repairs even though some are obviously superficial—”

“Well, you can’t expect—”

“And remember all the students who complained and went to the rallies in October?—yeah, many of them renewed their leases anyway before the end of the semester.”

Grayson bit her tongue. She had seen Claire like this before. It did no good to try to soften her temper with logic. “What did Trina say?”

“Trina said these things happen sometimes.”

“So, not because of your writing—”

“She kept telling me it wasn’t that, said, ‘It’s a solid piece. You can’t make people change if they are happy doing what they are doing.’”

Claire glanced out of the window at the bitter blue late January sky and shook her head.

“And you don’t believe her.” It was Grayson’s turn to cross her arms and fix her gaze intently on Claire. She tightened her stomach and prepared for the inevitable debate. They had been down this road before.

Claire pulled her eyes from the window and returned Grayson’s stare—really, this is what you are going to say to me right now?  Her friend sat there, eyebrow cocked as if taunting her to answer.

Claire fired the first shot. “I showed people how they are getting screwed, and they didn’t care. Obviously, I wasn’t good enough.”

“They are deciding what is most important to them. Like Trina said, you can’t force them to do something they aren’t willing to do, no matter how you write it. Change is hard.”

“Bullshit,” Claire snapped at Grayson’s argument. “Many of them wrote to the city, inundated the campus housing office with complaints, and staged a sit in.”

“You see—they acted. What more do you want?” Grayson wondered if Claire would admit that it was enough for people to read the article and respond. There were no guarantees even of that.  

“Do more. Don’t just get fucking angry. Stay the fucking course. Keep at it until there is real fucking change.” Claire leaned forward in her seat and waved her hands, punctuating each sentence with exasperation. Go ahead, Grayson, refute that. The challenge burned under her skin.

“Whether they will actually commit to something depends on them and not on you. All you can do is give it your best shot. You did. Some people looked for other apartments. Marcus and his friends. They didn’t renew. Take the win.”

Grayson ended each of her statements with a slight nod and savored the calmness of her rebuttal. Claire looked around the room as if contemplating the rationale. Grayson was happy for the moment of silence. Maybe this time, she thought, Claire will just let it go. Miracles sometimes happen. When Claire looked back at her, resolute and defiant, Grayson could tell that was not going to be the case.

“It’s not enough,” Claire said as if stripping away all pretenses. Grayson recognized the tactic—she was settling the matter, as if they were closing statements in court. “Those landlords are still getting away with it, and they shouldn’t. The university is not doing enough. They haven’t even removed the company from the list of off-campus housing options. They can at least do that. That’s not too much to ask, right?”

Grayson pursed her lips at the question. This could go on all night, she told herself. She knew Claire would never concede the limits of her influence. I need to end this. Amber and Holly are going to be back from their afternoon classes soon.

“You are right,” she answered, hands up in surrender. “That is not too much to ask.” Then she brought them together and motioned gently at Claire. “Just like I think that it’s not too much to ask you to realize that once you write something you have to trust the people reading it.”

Claire sat back and turned Grayson’s words over in her mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The reader should trust me, she wanted to say.

Grayson closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. You know what it means. Stop being bitchy. She opened her eyes and spoke. “It means that not everyone will react the way you want. But some will. That’s who you’re writing for.” She gave her words the weight of finality. Of honesty. Let her believe her work is influential to the ones who matter the most. Perhaps this time it will be enough.

Claire sat back and turned again to the window. Her eyes moved restlessly among the sky and buildings and clouds. The winter sun was already low on the horizon, and the shadows were long and blue in the streets. She receded into those corners and conjured the memory of emerging from the elevator in the university’s office for student housing to see dozens of students lining the hall, sitting. She wound her way past them to find even more on the maroon carpet of the office lobby. A pair of campus security guards hovered at the periphery. No one was shouting. No one was chanting. There was only the undercurrent of energy and anticipation that something might change for the better. Three student representatives stood at the receptionist’s desk asking for the director of student housing to help them convene a meeting with the owners of the apartments. Claire watched quietly. A few people recognized her and waved. She waved back and smiled.

She never could have guessed the elation she felt at that moment—I did this—would melt away under the difficulties of inconvenience. Far too many who sat there on that day would return to the very apartments that were leaking or were without hot water or claimed attic storage rooms for bedrooms. They did not find the true cause in her words.

But some will, Grayson had told her. The next time, it will be more, she promised herself.