A Conversation Between Two Fighters

This is a story about man-woman relationship and different understandings of words. Hope you enjoy my first work!

Jannie Goldstein and Charles Marcus ran into each other in Mrs. Clarke’s house. Unknown to the hostess, who brought her guests together to celebrate the New Year Eve, was that Charles and Goldstein had not talked for four years. Embarrassed, Charles forced a smile when he was arranged to sit near to Goldstein, whose expression was so calm that the former almost felt that she had forgotten him.

However, Charles understood politeness was important and an awkward conversation was inevitable. As a gentleman, he asked how Goldstein had been.

“Not bad. What about you?”

Charles was not expecting her reply, considering their secret breakup was as violent and offensive as a fight.

He was silent for several minutes; Goldstein had turned her attention to where it was demanded. She smiled as Mrs. Clarke showed Goldstein her newly bought tea set. The hostess, however, believed that her wonderful selection of the tea set deserved more than a smile. When Charles called out her name, Goldstein displayed the very same tranquility.

“Sorry if I interrupted you. I just want to say that I'm fine.”

She smiled, “I'm glad that you are fine.”

She paused for a moment and asked, “Is there anything interesting that you would like to share with me? I believe I've paid enough attention to Mrs. Clarke's furniture.”

Charles chuckled at her comment, amazed and alarmed at his sudden relaxation.

“Bear with me if I bore you with my philosophy. I've been experimenting something new with words. As you know,” he paused and then continued, “I'm an editor.”

“How disarming her witticism is! How come I never noticed it until now?” Charles murmured.

“It fits my criteria perfectly,” Goldstein ignored the man's mumbling, “and I would offer the most pleasant criticism you shall ever receive.”

Charles was the main editor of The Vague Clarity, a magazine in which Goldstein had few articles published on thinking and writing. They were, in numerous readers’ opinions, very well written. He still remembered that she always refused to be an editor. “Charles, I put my words to where they want to go, not to where I feel they should go. Being an editor for your magazine does not give my words enough freedom.”

For some reason, the man picked up his former lover’s saying, “What I’ve doing, actually, is trying to put my words to where they want to go.”

Goldstein looked at him with surprise; perhaps she never thought that Charles would agree with her. However, she could recall only his disapproval, not his justification for it.

But Charles was not paying attention to her. He was again silent, wondering for what madness in his mind caused him to mention their past, at least something that was tied to their past. Not to mention that uttering such words was to admit defeat to whatever nonsense that he had always detested.

“Jannie Goldstein,” he recalled his serious expression, “you are not so good a writer if you cannot control your own words! Your reason is so ridiculous that I do not have to be an editor to see it.”

Why he was so mean Charles did not understand. Was it Goldstein's careless attitude towards writing that infuriated him? Was it her disobedience? Did he just happen to be in a bad mood? Why the past came back Charles did not understand, either. Was it seeing Goldstein that reminded him? Was it that his comment was essentially wrong? Charles quickly dismissed the last possibility, but then he remembered Goldstein's expression after his criticism, which, four years after, started bothering him again.

“And what do you think?” asked Goldstein suddenly. The young woman could not hide her curiosity.

Charles failed to respond. Of Course. The poor man was struggling with the whole concept about words and whatever it might lead to. Mrs. Clarke was calling her again, but this time, Goldstein decided to wait.

Eventually, the man spoke, but not to answer her question, “What do you mean? What do you mean when you showed that face? Why were you pitying me?”

Goldstein was disappointed and understood immediately that Charles had not changed at all. He was still the man she broke up with four years ago, the man who could not appreciate words.

“Charles, you never try to follow your words, do you?” she sighed, “I was hopeful when you said you did. I often think to myself that maybe one day you will understand. You know, words lead people to write and writers’ words lead others to be led. When you write, you seek control over your words. When you formulate your writing into a list of necessary components, you focus on the structure so much that you lose the meaning. Unfortunately, you impose the same idea upon others. You probably forget that all the corrections you wanted me to do before I published my articles.”

“But you refused to do so,” Charles said, "and published your writing unpolished.”

Goldstein looked at him but did not say a word. Charles sensed some sort of storm was coming, not simply because of their understandings of words, but something deeper. That something had been lurking in the dark for a while. Exactly how long he had not the slightest idea, but one thing Charles was sure: that something was the underlying reason for their break-up.

The woman opened her mouth. Just when Charles was ready to start a nasty fight, Goldstein closed her mouth. A beating heart, sweaty hands, stiff muscles, and weird facial expression. Charles was not recovered until a few moments later.

The dinner was finished and the party began. Other guests teased them for being too busy staying with each other. Both were embarrassed and did not dwell on the topic any longer.

Two days after Mrs. Clarke’s party, Goldstein received a card from Charles.

“Dear Miss Jenny Goldstein,

I apologize for troubling you that evening, but I was glad to see you.

Sincerely,

Charles Marcus”

Goldstein did not take the message seriously; she was clever enough to know Charles was being polite. She laughed when she realized suddenly that the best quality in that man was politeness. And she laughed even harder when she noticed the “Jenny Goldstein,” for such politeness was unable to cover his carelessness.