Clarity
I collapsed on Ford's saggy sofa. From there, I realized the only real things of substance that Ford had in his apartment were all media. Two newspapers were stacked under his coffee table. Bestselling nonfiction books were in random stacks. Magazines were all dog-eared or folded open. His tablet was charging on the edge of the table next to me.
"I wonder how many of these things tell the real truth," I sighed.
Ford raised an eyebrow and sat down slowly on the opposite arm on the sofa. "What do you mean?"
"Online media, print media, it's all just the same. The story is slanted no matter what. The only difference is some people make it go their way," I said.
"Come on, you can't think like that. You're too young," Ford joked.
I sat up and tossed the magazine next to me onto the coffee table. "So, what? That's it? The difference between being a child and being an adult is a working tolerance for dishonesty?"
"Things just get complicated. The older you get, the more demands there are on your time and money and ability to believe," Ford said. He scrubbed a hand over his chin and frowned at his own statement. "What you lose in believing in honesty, maybe you gain in insight to other people's motives."
I groaned and flopped back again. "I don't want messy motives. They're never easy to understand. I just want the facts to work, to tell the truth, and for the people who are wrong to be punished instead of the ones who are trying to do good."
Ford slid onto the sofa and nudged me with his elbow. "The best articles always reveal or hint at the subject's motives. People are interesting but mostly static, motives shift and move. Motives are action."
I leaned away from his elbow, but the sag in the couch brought us closer together. I fought off the gravity that pulled me towards Ford and said, "I'm glad I have a reason to turn down that internship at Wire Communications."
"What reason is that? You're not going to actually list this sideline private college corruption as a reason to decline one of the most prestigious internships in media arts, are you?" Ford leaned in to study my face.
"Why not?" I asked, "Then they won't have to guess my motives. Maybe it'll make a great subject for whomever takes my place."
Ford scrubbed his stubbled chin again in a sign of exasperation. He was so close I could smell the faded traces of his cologne. "Don't give up the internship," he said. "I'm not saying that success is better than honesty, but don't you imagine that sticking with this internship is the only kind of revenge your father really wants?"
In order to push my shoulder away from his, I had to press my knee against Ford's thigh. Immediate heat flooded from where our legs touched all the way up to my cheeks. "I don't want to be there," I said. "No matter how far the internship lets me go in my career, I'll always know where and how it started."
"No." Ford turned to me, our legs pressed tighter together. "You're a great journalist. You can make it there without letting it taint you. Just let things like this slide right off of you. They won't be able to touch your integrity unless you let them, and I don't think you will."
His words set fire to my mind as his proximity was heating every inch of my body. I forced myself to inch away and shook my head. "I'd make a terrible journalist. I'm not willing to play games or spin the truth. Let's be honest, I should quit pretending," I said.
The thought of quitting was an ice cold bath over my senses. I jumped up from the sofa and squeezed my eyes shut. My whole carefully planned life had a fatal flaw. One little thread got pulled and the whole thing came apart. Without a career in journalism, I didn't have a writing career based in current events, facts, and concrete styles. Suddenly I was completely
at a loss and the feeling overwhelmed me.
A gentle hand reached out. "Clarity?"
I pried one eye open to look at him. Ford was hesitant, leaning over the coffee table, but he brushed his hand up from my arm to my shoulder. This time I did not flinch or pull away. I felt like any movement might cause me to fall over into a deep abyss.
Ford must have felt it too because he cleared his throat. "Clarity, you don't have to rethink your whole life. Everything will work out the way it's supposed to," he said. He came around the table and cupped my cheek in his hand. "You're taking too much of this on yourself. Your father didn't want you burdened with any of this and everyone would understand if you took a step back from it. Your life is allowed to go on."
He dropped his hand as I met his gaze. Ford's movements were jerky, as if he were unsure of every millimeter he moved. Then I saw his eyes. Ford's stormy-blue eyes were deep with concern, but his face was rounded in an expression of restraint. He wanted to comfort me but knew I might think his physical touch inappropriate.
I glanced around the empty, Spartan apartment, then threw myself into his arms. "I just feel like everything has changed," my voice wavered as I pressed my cheek to his strong chest.
Ford's arms closed around me. One hand trailed up from my waist to smooth down my hair and the repetitive motion lulled me to peace. "I know how you feel," Ford confessed. "When I had to leave Wire Communications, I felt like my whole life had been stopped and rerouted."
I nestled closer in his arms but couldn't help my question, "why did you have to leave?"
"I found out a truth that no one wanted revealed. When I threatened to publish it anyway, I was discredited." Ford gave a self-deprecating laugh. "By the time they were done making their point, it was a definite rout."
I leaned back and look up at Ford. "That's what I don't understand. You keep talking about retreating and playing it safe, but nothing about you personally tells me you would do that? Why? Why did you give up in your fight?"
He traced a finger down my arm and then clasped his arms around my waist again, not ready to release me from the hug. "I tried at first, but there was no way around it."
"Couldn't you have pushed the story to light some other way? Did you consider taking it to a rival media outlet?" I asked. My ideas made me step back, anxious to see if there was a way out of the situation that Ford had not noticed.