Character Interview - Grace Sinclair

CHARACTER INTERVIEW – GRACE SINCLAIR

The following was originally written last night. I wrote it longhand in a notebook while I was staying in a hotel room during a business trip to Montreal. It took up ten pages in a notebook otherwise reserved for business notes...

Drove to Montreal this morning for a day of work on the new design, so I had about two and a half hours to ponder about my book.

About 30-45 minutes into the drive, I had a sudden inspiration regarding my main character. It finally allowed a lot of loose puzzle pieces to fall into place.

Ever since conceiving of this novel several years ago, I've known who my main character should be. Unfortunately, she seemed to be the least well-formed of all my characters, including the very minor ones. She was just a young woman with no particularly interesting characteristics, while everyone else was colourful, intriguing and compelling (I hope!).

The blinding revelation I had this morning about Grace is that she's a true misfit. As much as or more so than her creepy cousin Cyril. The reason this works so well is because it make her transformation even more inexplicable to those around her. She starts out as this shy, timid creature and becomes a real “vamp” (not vampire), completely confounding those close to her, especially Jasper and Cyril.

I hope I can remember all the things that flowed through my mind while driving this morning. I should invest in one of those digital voice recorders for when I'm driving – I always seem to have such good ideas then.

Interview with Grace Sinclair – July 13, 2005

PM: Hello, Grace – it's wonderful to finally meet you!

GS: Thank you. It's nice to meet you too. (she speaks in a very quiet voice. I have to strain to hear her over the air conditioner).

PM: So, it's been so long since I started trying to get to know you. I'd like to just dive in and start asking questions. Is that okay with you?

GS: Sure. Okay. (her eyes are lowered and dart around the room, anywhere but into my face. She's perched on the edge of her chair, as if preparing to flee, but her ankles are crossed and her hands are folded politely in her lap. She frequently spins a ring around one finger, fidgeting.)

PM: Well, first, why don't you tell me where you were born and that kind of thing.

GS: Ok. (pause) Well, I'm 26 years old. I was born on June 14, 1979, right here in Hunter's Corners.

PM: Here? But there was no hospital here then, was there?

GS: No, there wasn't. The new hospital was just built a few years ago. There was a clinic for a long time, but when I was born we didn't even have that. Just a couple of local doctors who didn't even work here – they'd drive into the city every day to work. When my mother went into labour, she couldn't reach either of them, so my aunt Mabel bundled her into the back seat of her car and tried to make it to the hospital in the city. But that was more than an hour away.

PM: Oh my! Did they make it??

GS: No. (ironic laughter) They only got about ten miles out of town before my mother started giving birth to me. Mabel was screaming at her not to push, but I guess she couldn't help it. I was born in the back seat of Mabel's Chevrolet just as they were passing that old bog out there. From the way she talks about it, I guess Aunt Mabel was pretty upset about the mess in her car.

PM: But what about your mother? Was she okay? Did you get to the hospital eventually?

GS: Eventually, yes. But Mabel was so freaked out about her upholstery that she just wanted Mother out of the car. She drove as far as Mamzell's Bar and got them to call an ambulance. She had a couple of bikers carry Mother and me out of the back seat and put us in some little room behind the bar to wait for the ambulance while she went at her precious upholstery with paper towels from the ladies room.

PM: Sounds like you're not too fond of your aunt.

GS: (she looks me in the eye for the first time.) No. Not at all. (then she goes back to fiddling with her ring. I decide to come back to this later).

PM: But everyone was okay, right? You got to the hospital eventually, etc.?

GS: Yes. We got to the hospital. But it had been quite some time since my mother had been “all right.” Like, nine months.

PM: Do you feel comfortable telling me about it?

GS: (Grace shifts in her chair, uncrosses her ankles, re-crosses them. She starts to get that look again, like she might bolt. But then she takes a deep breath, stills herself, and begins to tell me about her mother.)

My mother was raped. That's how I was conceived. (she stops there and studies my face for a few moments, trying to gauge my reaction. As shocked as I was, I managed to keep my reaction to sympathetically widened eyes and a slight parting of my lips. I said nothing. Evidently, this was the right approach, for she continued.)

No one's really sure exactly how it happened, why she stopped her car out by the bog in the middle of the night. Mother doesn't talk about it. (sardonic laughter). Mother hasn't talked about much of anything since it happened. Just a few words now and then. Occasionally something will get her worked up and she'll string together a few words. Even a sentence or two.

PM: What does she say?

GS: (This is a VERY sensitive question. Grace struggles mightily to keep her composure.)

PM: I'm sorry – that's too personal. It's okay, don't answer...

GS: No...I want to answer. I promised myself I wouldn't hide anything from you. I need you to tell my story. (She takes a deep, shaky breath and continues slowly...)

She says, “get...” (clears her throat) “...get out...go away. I don't want you to be here.” (Grace pauses for a moment, then continues.) It's the same every time. It's like she makes this huge effort to speak, and all she has to say to me is “get out.” (Grace accepts a tissue from my hand and rubs it absently over her eyes.)

PM: Did she always say that? Didn't she ever say anything else?

GS: When I was little, she'd sit in her chair crocheting and watch me play. Sometimes I could swear she was smiling at me. Now and then I heard her say my name... “Gracie”. She's the only one who's ever called me that.

PM: What else would she say?

GS: She'd pray a lot, under her breath so you couldn't really make out most of the words. One time I snuck up behind her and listened. As soon as she realized I was there, she stopped. It hadn't sounded anything like the prayers Aunt Mabel used to go on and on with all the time.

PM: How so?

GS: Well...I think they were Indian prayers.

PM: Indian? Was your mother a native woman?

GS: Not...I don't know. I know nothing about my family history. Of course, Mother never told me, and my Uncle Wilson ran off and then died of alcoholism before I was old enough to be interested to ask about things like that.

PM: So where do you think the Indian prayers came from?

GS: The only thing I can think of is that there used to be this really old man who did some gardening around our house. Sometimes he'd come up on the porch when Mother and I would sit out there in the summertime. Billy Sam was his name. (Grace smiles at the memory of this man). He'd pull a chair right up close to Mother and lean over and whisper in her ear. I think he was a native man. Mother always seemed so peaceful when he visited her. I used to think he was telling Mother stories to make her happy. I'd ask him to tell me stories too, and sometimes he would, but somehow I always got the feeling they weren't the same stories he told my mother

*** Author's note: Later in the book, we learn that Billy Sam visits Marie to help her pray for Grace. In one critical moment, he tells Marie that Grace is not a curse, not a punishment for being raped, but rather a blessing, a gift, given to Marie by the spirits to comfort her and care for her after such a traumatic experience.... only thing is, I have to make this work with the real reason Grace came into the world.***

Aunt Mabel would get really mad when she caught Billy Sam up on the porch talking to Mother. She'd run him off the second she saw him. Mother always got really red in the face when that happened. I think she was mad at Aunt Mabel.

PM: So...when did things change?

GS: That's easy: it was the day I got my first period. I was 13. I knew what was happening because they'd taught us about it in health class. I was really pleased – I wasn't a little girl anymore. I rushed to my mother's room to tell her, but when I did, she got all crazy. She started crying and moaning and flailing around. My cousin Cyril came to stare...

PM: Cyril?

GS: Aunt Mabel's son – my cousin. Freak of nature. I'll tell you about him later.

PM: (freak of nature. That ought to be good!) Ok...go on.

GS: That was the first time she told me to go away. I was so hurt. I thought I'd done something bad by getting my period. Cyril sneered at me. Aunt Mabel came in and gave me hell for upsetting my mother and pushed me out of the room and slammed the door.

PM: How awful.

GS: It was. And worse, it continued. It went on and on for months, every time Mother saw me. Finally Aunt Mabel couldn't stand it anymore – and I was getting more and more upset every time it happened – so she shipped me off to live with her mother in the city.

PM: Your grandmother?

GS: No, Mabel's mother. I don't know what that makes her to me. Great-aunt, I suppose. I called her Aunt Bea – her name was Beatrice. See...Mabel wasn't my mother's sister, she was Mother's sister-in-law. My Uncle Wilson was Mother's brother. Mabel's family weren't blood relatives. But Aunt Bea was good to me. She didn't really have a clue what to do with a teenager though. She'd never married and had lived alone since her own parents had died. She kind of just let me do whatever I wanted as long as I came home every night by ten.

PM: Sounds like a great situation for a teenager!

GS: I suppose.

PM: It wasn't?

GS: I don't know. As weird as life in Hunter's Corners was, it was home, and I never really fit in with the city kids.

PM: Did they tease you?

GS: No, nothing so dramatic as that. They just ignored me, that's all. I wasn't cool enough to fit in, I wasn't weird enough to stand out enough to bother tormenting. So they pretty much left me alone.

PM: Well, that doesn't sound so bad.

GS: No, I suppose not. But sometimes I found myself wishing they'd pay attention to me, even if it was to tease me. But they never did. Every now and then some geek from the chess club or something would screw up his courage and ask me out. I guess they didn't find me intimidating. I'd go out with them and we'd spend an awkward evening slurping sodas or trying not to let our legs or arms brush against each other in the movie theatre.

There was one boy I dated in my senior year. Gavin Dewey. He was brilliant, actually. He was a year behind me in school, which our classmates found odd. Senior girls just didn't date “below” themselves. I didn't care. It wasn't as if their opinion had ever mattered to me before. They'd never paid enough attention to me to bother expressing it. In fact, I kind of liked the negative attention we received. Most of it was directed at Gavin – he really was a classic geek. Thick glasses and all. But...this is going to sound weird...catching the overflow taunting they sent his way at least made me feel that they were finally acknowledging my existence.

PM: That does sound a little odd on the surface. Most high school kids would do almost anything to avoid that kind of attention. Why do you suppose you felt that way?

GS: I know. It's strange. I'm strange. Always have been.

PM: (I'll butt in here and say that the young lady before me seems anything but strange. At least not for someone her age and social bracket. She has dressed all in black, and one gets the impression she usually wears all black. Her shoes and accessories, while a little offbeat, are by no means radical. The only surprising feature that is visible is a tattoo peaking out from the inside of her right wrist now and then when she moves her arm. I'll have to ask about it later.)

GS: I've had a lot of time to think about it, and all I can come up with is that I felt ignored all my life. Aunt Mabel had as little to do with me as she could get away with without attracting the attention of the neighbours. Appearances were everything to her. She probably would have preferred to put me up for adoption when I was born, but what would the neighbours have thought?

My cousin Cyril was eight years older than me, so as far as he was concerned, I was a gnat. I always had trouble making friends and could never get involved in school activities because I was expected at home whenever I wasn't in school to help take care of mother and housekeeping and stuff. I was the Incredible Invisible Girl, so I guess when those kids at school teased me a little while I was dating Gavin, I didn't feel quite so invisible anymore.