he couldn’t help her, no one could.
We began the interview.
“I don’t want to die,” she said, “but I don’t want to live either, not without him. . . He was my one true love. . . Life doesn’t seem worth living.”
I asked her to leaf through albums of her husband during happier times. Tears rolled down her cheeks. I wanted to hug her but I couldn’t—not my job. I swallowed deeply, as if that might halt my own tears, then excused myself to get a tissue, which I crinkled into a ball while I tried to focus. Get in the game! We need this story. I was frustrated by my less-than-bulletproof exterior.
My phone buzzed mid-interview. “This is urgent,” I heard from the speaker. “Tasha’s friend Mindy is coming over. I need you to interview her too.”
“All right.” I checked my watch. It was already 5:30. There was no way I would be back in the office by seven.
“Write this down. Ready?” Corinne said hurriedly. “I need you to get Mindy saying that she can’t be Tasha’s friend anymore. That Tasha is pushing everyone away, ruining her life and her friendships.”
“That true?” I said, unable to imagine someone not wanting to be Tasha’s friend.
“Yeah, that’s what she told us.”
“Okay.”
“Call me if she says anything different.”
“I will.”
“Oh, and is she talking?” Corinne asked.
“Yes, she’s great.”
Tasha was an excellent subject, completely willing to expose her sorrow for the camera. After the interview, we worked through the shot list and got creative with rack focuses and candles while we waited for Tasha’s friend.
When Mindy finally arrived, she looked frazzled. “I really don’t want to do this,” she said as she dove for Tasha.
Tasha cupped Mindy’s hand for support. They appeared to be the best of friends.
“Oh, it’ll be great, really,” I said, holding my hand out to introduce myself. “We just want to ask you a few questions about your friendship. Our goal here is to help Tasha. Nothing else,” I said, trying to put her at ease with the idea.
“I’m not comfortable with it,” Mindy replied, shooting me a suspicious look, which was almost a first. Most people liked me, at least at first.
“I understand, but this is for Tasha. And it’s the only way Ricky Dean can get a handle on her grief. That way, he’ll know what he needs to do to help her.”
Mindy stared at me. She wasn’t convinced.
“Really, it’s the only way we can help her,” I pleaded, smiling sincerely.
Tasha whispered to her. I couldn’t hear them and purposely began a conversation with my crew members to give the two friends the cover of privacy.
“Okay,” Mindy sighed, looking at her dear friend, “I’ll do it.”
Tasha nodded with approval before leaving the room—all individual interviews were standardly done in private.
I began Mindy’s interview with gentle questions about the suicide, her reaction, and how Tasha had changed since the tragedy. After a 10-minute warm-up, I launched into the meat of it:
“How has his death affected your friendship?”
“How hasn’t it?” she said.
“In a sentence, please.”
“Ron’s death has affected our friendship in every way imaginable.”
“Are you closer than you were before?”
“Of course.”
“In a sentence, please.”
“Tasha and I are closer then we’ve ever been. I’m totally here for her. I’d do anything to help her. She’s a wonderful person. And she didn’t deserve to have her husband leave her in such an abrupt and hurtful way. No one deserves that.”
Bloody hell, I thought to myself, glancing at my notes. What do I do? Corinne said Tasha was pushing Mindy away, “ruining their friendship.” That’s not what I’m hearing!
“Um,” I started up again, nervous I wouldn’t get what we needed and afraid of how they would react at the office. “What will you do if Tasha doesn’t recover, if she doesn’t come out of her depression? Can you handle being friends with someone who can’t, or won’t, help herself?”
“I’ll just stay by her side. I’m here through thick and thin.”
“But, what if she won’t help herself. Then what?” I prodded.
“Then nothing. She’s my best friend.”
“Is she pushing other friends away?” At this point, I’m hoping she’ll throw me a bone.
“I can’t speak for them.” No bone.
“But are her other friends pulling away because she’s unable to help herself?”
“Not really. I’m her closest friend. No one except me really knows how sad she is. This beautiful woman is dying emotionally. I just want her to be happy again.”
Just as we finished, my phone buzzed again.
“Hey, it’s Corinne. Did you get it?”
“Just a minute.” I looked toward