Bouquet: Sequel to 'In Full Bloom': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 3) (17 page)

“No.  Not necessary,” she called.  “If I don’t do this, I feel I would fail her somehow.  I want to help, truly.  You are right; it needs to be me.  There is no one else who shares her history.  I must be the voice of her past.”

Picking up the journal, she began:

“September 21, 1977

Samantha Ann Johnson

Mrs. Wilson gave me this book to write down my thoughts.  She said it would help me.  I don’t know how, but I trust her.  I don’t see how writing stuff down will keep my stomach from hurting.  She tells me I have sores in my stomach.  She promised she won’t tell my parents about my problems if I write it down or talk to a friend.  Since I don’t have a friend who I can share with, here I sit.  I don’t want to worry mom or dad.  I will show her that I am writing so she keeps her promise.  I wish I did have a friend I could share our secret.  But, I am not allowed to think about it, so talking about it is out of the question.  Mrs. Wilson told me that nothing should be kept a secret.  But, I must keep it hidden.  It is what they want.  I vowed all those years ago to never talk about it.  I will just stop going to the nurse.  This might work. I feel a little better.”

“She had ulcers at eleven?” Linda asked.

“Sounds like it,” Mark answered.  “The nurse should have reported it.”

“I agree,” Linda affirmed, turning the page.  “She did.”

“September 27, 1977

Mrs. Wilson lied.  Why do adults lie? She called my mother and told her about my visits to her office.  Mom told Dad.  They are worried.  I told them I was fine now.  No more pain.  I lied.  The pain comes and goes.  I am keeping crackers with me all the time.  They seem to help when it gets bad.  I did tell Linda about my pain.  She said she always knew I was crazy.  Oh, well.  I guess I am.  I don’t know what to write in this thing.  School stuff would be boring.  Don’t want to write about my feelings.  Don’t want mom to find this book. Just makes my stomach hurt.  This is stupid.”

“I don’t remember calling her ‘crazy’,” Linda offered.  “But, I cannot deny that I probably did.”

“October 10, 1977

Maybe this isn’t such a silly idea.  I find myself staring at this book almost every day, refusing to open it while I sit, munching on the crackers.  Going through so many of them that dad joked about buying shares of the company.  I used my allowance to buy my own box.  I am avoiding Mrs. Wilson.  Don’t want her to upset my mother again.  Decided to go ahead and write down stuff to see if she lied about it helping me.”

“November 2, 1977

Funny, I feel better just knowing I can pick up this book at anytime.  Don’t actually have to write anything, it is just seeing it that helps.  Down on my cracker intake, so Mrs. Wilson didn’t lie to me.  I think I am just experiencing puberty.  That was the health topic today.  School is weird.  They had the boys go in one room and the girls in another.  Ms. Swan said it was to keep down the embarrassment. Anyway, they told us all the stuff that mom already shared with me about the changes in our bodies.  What I find interesting is the mood swings during this time.  Hormones are to blame.  Could be the reason for my stomach problems, and not the secret?  I am just becoming a woman.”

“December 10, 1977

Wish mom would not make a big deal out of my birthday.  She doesn’t understand that I have no wish to be reminded of this day. Too many bad memories.  No, she has to gather all my ‘friends’ and do a pizza party at a place that has a huge pipe organ.  I told her no, but I had no vote.  I gave up and provided her with three classmates’ names.  During the whole thing, she didn’t even notice that I never talked to any of them.  She was too wrapped up in her own world.  Happy Birthday.  Right!  What a joke. Only good thing was the paints I received from Linda.”

“You are the one who got her interested in painting?” Mark asked.

“Didn’t know she painted,” Linda replied.

“You haven’t seen her work?”

“No.”

“She is good,” he commented.  “I find it hard to believe you have been friends with her that long and you didn’t know about her talent.”

“We didn’t have that type of friendship,” she replied.

“Tell me what type you had,” he directed.

“I told you.  I was a user.  When we were together, I was the focus — my friends, the activities I liked.  I never asked; I always told.  I didn’t give her the option. If she wanted to be a part of my life, it was on my terms.  It took therapy for me to see it; I was unhappy and I wanted everyone around me to be the same.  Drugs, alcohol, you name it.  I was a rich kid.  I had money, car. . .,  “ she informed him.

“You pulled Sami with you?” he asked.

“Yes.  I didn’t realize until college it was only part-time for her.  Away from me, she was a different person. I didn’t see it.  I was too self-absorbed,” she answered.

“She did the drugs and alcohol?” he asked.

“Yes.  She never complained or gave me grief about it,” she answered, looking at the books next to her. “I now know what a very bad influence I was on her. I told you I didn’t want to travel down this memory lane. I guess I have always known I was her only friend.  I had no idea that she was different away from me until college.  Tell me how she was able to do that.  How can you be two separate people in one?  That is why I asked about the split personalities.”

“At first, I thought as you — thinking she had Dissociative Identity Disorder, the professional term for split personalities, but I believe that is not the case anymore.  She is a player, and she adapts to the situation. She is not a different person.  The journal’s entries will not be helpful since she stated that writing about her feelings made her stomach hurt and caused her to fear that her mother would find them,” he offered.

“She could have changed her mind,” she offered, placing the book back on the stack.  “Should I try a later year?”

“You could try, but I doubt it will change,” he stated.  “I feel we would learn more from your memories than those journals.”

“My memories?” she asked.  “I have already shared them with you.”

“You told me how you controlled her, how you got her to follow you, but nothing about your memories of your time together,” he stated.

“I would rather read her journals,” she countered.

“I understand.  You see them as a safe topic, but open up.  Tell me,” he directed.

“What do you want to hear?” she asked, glaring at him in the mirror.

Mark sighed.  “Do me a favor?” he asked.

“What?” she barked at him.

“Focus on Sami,” he urged, “her actions, not yours.”  Seeing Linda ease, he continued, “She told me she attended Central High School,” he offered.

“Yes, I graduated from East,” she informed him.

“Not about you,” he reminded her, wanting to hear about an event they experienced.  “She shared that she cruised Central Avenue.”

“No, not with me.  Cruising Central was too dangerous and was banned in the mid 80’s.  Police sent them to Metro Mall,” she informed him.

“Really?” he asked, confused at the misinformation.

“Yes, but I cannot say she didn’t do it without me. During our high school years, she was grounded from me — lots of times.  Bad influence, they told her.  Her father was pretty strict,” she confided.

“Okay, so when you were together, what did you do?”

“I told you, I was an eastsider with my own car. We did boonies’ parties,” she shared.

“Desert parties?” he asked, seeing her nod.

“Less cops equaled better times,” she informed him.  “We were party girls.”

“How did Sami relate with this group?” he asked.

“We were known.  I was dating the local dealer,” she shared. 

“Not we, Sami,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, she was with me.  She did what I did,” she stated.

“She made friends with them?”

“Hell no!” she declared.  “I wouldn’t allow it. Those people were users, like me.”

“You protected her?” he asked.

“Never thought about it,” she replied.  “I guess maybe.  Or, I didn’t want to lose her is more like it.”

“Lose her?”

“My power over her,” she confessed.

“You felt responsible for her?”

“Not that.  I did not feel responsible for myself, let alone her,” she stated.

“I doubt that.  You stayed together.  Something more than control was there,” he offered.

“Yeah, my power-rush,” she agreed.

“Your discovery in therapy?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Why did you continue in the relationship after your discovery?  Most people would turn from it,” he stated.

“I turned from my loser friends, but not Sami. I owed her too much,” she answered.

“That is not a basis for a friendship,” he informed her.

“I know, but at the time I started ‘giving’ instead of ‘taking’, and I realized the bond between us — the history I could not allow myself to run from.  It opened my eyes to see what a true friend she was to me.  I was her only friend, her only contact to the outside world. . . me, of all people.  I left the party scene, which was not an easy task, and focused on giving back to Sami.  Had I not taken this step, I would have never been open to Rick, my husband.  He was the complete opposite of the people with whom I ‘hung’.  I told you; my friendship with Sami saved my life.  I never thanked her for that,” she said.

Mark looked at Sami’s face and saw the tears running down her cheeks.  “I believe you just did. Welcome back, Sami,” he said. 

***

SEVENTEEN