by B. A. Beers
“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
“What?” Linda asked excitedly. “She is back?”
“She is crying,” he replied.
“Sami?” Linda asked, releasing her seat belt and moving between the bucket seats to view Sami’s face.
Mark could only speculate what was happening since Linda was blocking his view. “Anything?” he asked.
“No,” she replied worriedly. “Sami?”
“Is she still crying?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “Why is she not responding?”
“She is,” he offered.
“How?”
“The tears,” he replied. “Give it time. Keep talking.”
Sitting back and redoing her belt, she asked, “About what?”
“Anything. . .any memory that she can connect with,” he instructed.
“Any topics to avoid?” she asked, concerned.
“Good point.”
“How about we talk about you?” she suggested.
“It is not about me,” he answered.
“I think you are wrong. Why the special interest in her case?”
“Your meaning?” he asked, feeling his heartbeat begin to race.
“I am just curious. When David informed me that you had taken her to the cabin, I asked him why, as this is way beyond the normal treatment. What is the story?”
“What did David share?” he asked, feeling violated.
Linda tapped her fingers as she listed the items she and David discussed on the way up the mountain. “He encountered you at her house; you were a psychologist; you were treating her; she had broken her arm while fleeing from Grandma Jo’s house; you asked him for his help since he was a former patient and studying to be a psychologist; she had requested to be taken to the cabin. There is probably more, just I cannot think of them at this point.”
“He is correct on all accounts. What he left out was that the initial contact — her call for help, and the discovery of her condition. The reason for her special care is simple. There were no rooms available at the centers to which we refer patients. I couldn’t take her to the hospital due to her fear of them. I was unable to locate any family or friends. I couldn’t allow her to be left alone in her home. Her home was not adequate to house myself or Grandma Jo, my trusted volunteer and friend,” he informed her.
“I can see the need for a caregiver, but your personal attention is extreme. Do you do this with all your patients?” she asked.
Mark shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he admitted. “I just saw a need. It didn’t feel right to burden Grandma Jo with so much responsibility without help. There was just too much need. It is like the stars aligned. I couldn’t turn my back on her.”
“Which her? Grandma Jo or Sami?” she asked.
“Both,” he confirmed.
“Sounds like guilt,” she remarked.
“Not guilt,” he assured her, wondering where that came from. “It is friendship for Grandma Jo and empathy for Sami.”
“Empathy?”
“Yes, for the loss of loved ones,” he stated. “It is extremely hard to face grief alone.”
“Personal experience?”
“Yes, I lost my wife to cancer a few years back. I, like Sami, had no family, except a dog,” he shared.
“She had me,” she defended.
“I believe, in her mind, the moment you took custody of AJ, your friendship/family status changed. You became the future to her instead of the past and she did not see a future for herself. She isolated herself to cut off the passing of time — kept herself from feeling anything,” he countered.
“How are you going to get her to see the future? To see me or AJ?” she asked.
“By exploring the past. . . reversing her mother’s mistake,” he answered.
“Is that possible? Does she want it?”
“Yes, very much. Opening the locked chest containing Rosemarie’s things was the start,” he answered.
“Rosemarie,” she sighed.
“Share the story of what Sami told you about her twin,” he directed.
“It all started when I commented that it would be cool to have a twin. That is when she told me she was,” she answered.
“Is that all?”
“No. We only talked about it that one time. It seemed so strange to me then. I remember Sami’s hushed tone and accelerated speech. She had not meant to tell me. She said she was born two minutes before her twin. She was quickly disregarded when they discovered Rosemarie’s condition. Everyone and everything was focused on Rosemarie during those years she was alive. Sami told me she felt it was her fault for her twin’s bad heart. . . that her parents blamed her,” she concluded.
“Did they actually tell her that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I do know that Sami believed it,” she reported.
Let’s add parent neglect to the list, Mark thought. “Anymore?” he asked.
“No, she was not willing to talk about her. Like her journal stated, it was a forbidden topic with her parents. She did tell me Rosemarie was always on her mind. . .that she loved her,” she added.
“What were her parents like?” he asked.
“Wow, that is a loaded question,” she replied. “I might not be the best person to ask. I had my ‘time’ with them. Remember, I was a bad influence on her.”
“Try to be objective,” he suggested.
“Okay. Doc Jo was what I would call an o
ld-country doctor. . . real down to earth. . . very caring of his patients. . . very intelligent, but a bit old fashion in his thinking. His health was always a concern; his family had a history of heart problems. He died in his early fifties,” she offered.
“How did she take his death?” he asked, recalling Sami’s journal entry before her wedding.
“It was hard on her, but she had JW to lean on,” she offered.
“Her mother?” he asked.
“June? She did everything for Doc Jo. She was the strength of the family. . . apparently very typical for a doctor’s family. Due to his health issues, she worked for him in the office. Didn’t have a life of her own,” she stated.
“Was she there for Sami?” he asked.
“Yeah. . . ,” she started and stopped.
“I hear a ‘but’,” he encouraged her.
“I believe she focused so much on Doc Jo that there was very little left over,” she said. “Does that make sense?”
“Yes. Did that change after he died?” he asked.
“Cannot really tell you,” she offered, shaking her head. “Our friendship changed when she met and married JW. He took over her life. Her focus was being a wife, daughter and working. She didn’t have time for friends.”
“You resented JW?”
“No, not at all. I was too involved in my own affairs at the time. Life became busy for both of us,” she answered.
“It happens,” he stated. “The honeymoon stage. How long did it last?”
“It never stopped,” she stated.
Add co-dependency to the list, Mark thought. “So, your contact with her, her only friend, was gone during her years with JW?”
“Not gone, but limited. Very limited,” she answered.
“What can you tell me about JW?”
“Don’t get me started,” she chuckled.
“That good or that bad?”
“You nailed it with that question,” she offered. “The thing with JW — it was all or nothing. He was a product of the foster-care system. No family. A rebel, in my opinion. However, he could be very charming. When I first met him, I was shocked to my very core; he was nothing like I had imagined for her. But, I saw how deeply Sami loved him. I just didn’t have the heart to hurt her.”
“Did he not return her love?” he asked, recalling the love letter JW had written on the cruise ship.
“No, he loved her. That was plain to see, but I don’t think he learned how to show or share that love. I feel he treated her like a possession, not a wife. Come to think about it, his love for her had to be deep,” she offered.
“Why?”
“He got June in the deal,” she smiled.
“What an odd thing to say,” he remarked.
“It is true,” she laughed. “June and JW were very needy. It had to be hard on her to balance those two people in her life.”
“It makes sense. Her focus was on them, so she didn’t have time to think about herself,” he offered.
“You do know she blames herself,” she informed him.
“For what exactly?”
“For everything,” she replied.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Did she say to me, ‘I did it’? No; however, when I found her in the fetal position, she was repeating, ‘My fault’,” she answered.
“Survivor guilt,” he reasoned. “She shared with me that she felt her life ended that day. I cannot remember the exact word she used. Give me a minute. I will come up with it.”
“MOLET,” Sami’s voice offered softly.
Mark turned to view Sami. Her eyes were focused on him. “Yes, that’s right. Your acronym for ‘my own life ended today’,” he responded, smiling.
“Sami?” Linda gasped.
***
EIGHTEEN
“Hello, Linda,” Sami greeted as she turned in the seat to view her friend.
“Been with us long?” Linda asked, undoing her seat belt to lean forward to hug Sami.
“Never left,” Sami replied, seeing Mark shake his head over Linda’s shoulder. Releasing Linda, she stated, “I wasn’t playing possum again, Dr. Stevens.”
“Didn’t think you were,” Mark responded.
“You heard everything?” Linda asked, still leaning forward and wedged between the bucket seats.
“Yes. I wanted to respond to you, but my body would not allow me. Not being able to control my body frightened me,” she answered.
“That fright kept you locked inside,” Mark informed her.
“I figured that out when I wet myself,” she said, blushing.
“What brought you back?” he asked.
She looked intently at him. “Your remarks about my focus being only on my mother’s and JW’s needs. I felt my body tingle all over.”
“Why didn’t you say something then?” Linda asked.
“I didn’t know what to say,” Sami replied honestly. “Don’t get me wrong; I was screaming at you in my head for most of the time, but when I knew I could respond, I couldn’t find the right words.”
“Understandable,” Mark offered. “How do you feel?”
“Physically or mentally?” Sami asked.
“Both,” he directed.
“Drained, enlightened, confused, focused, happy, sad . . . Do you want me to go on?” she asked.
“How about raw?” Linda suggested.
Sami looked at Linda. “You always could find the right word,” she replied, smiling.
“It is the way I felt during therapy,” Linda stated.
Sami nodded. “I am also extremely tired. Not physically, but emotionally,” she added.
“You would be. You have been in emotional overdrive for a very long time,” Mark offered.
“I don’t want to think or feel anymore,” she stated, gazing at the road ahead.
“Sorry, not an option,” Mark informed her.
“Is there any way I could just cruise for awhile since I am unable to turn-off-the-engine?”
“That is easy,” he answered.
“Easy?” Sami questioned, looking back at him.
“Yes, reverse course. Stop driving like a bat out of hell, away from the past,” he directed.
“I cannot do that,” she stated, glaring at him. “I cannot reverse time.”
“Did I say reverse time?”
“That is what you implied,” she replied.
“No, what you need to do is face it. Stop running from it,” he directed.
“Not possible. Look, you said it is history and cannot be rewritten,” she reminded him.
“Rewritten, no. But, forgiven, yes,” he offered.
“How do I ask for forgiveness when they are no longer here?”
“Therein lies the problem,” he stated.
“I don’t understand,” she cried.
“You will never heal if you are seeking forgiveness from others. You need to make peace with yourself; forgive yourself. Stop placing others before you. Honor thyself first. Others play roles in your life, but it is you who must live it,” he shared.
“You want me to be selfish?” she asked.
“Yes, but not in the negative way you are thinking,” he stated.
“I don’t know any other way,” she admitted.
“Think of it as self-worth, not selfish. You need to strengthen your self-worth. Don’t base your worth on how others respond to you,” he offered.
“You are right. I do that very thing,” she confirmed. “Why do I?”
“From what I have gathered from Linda’s account of your past, I believe you were set on this path from the very beginning. Your twin’s illness was everyone’s focus, even yours. You assumed the role as caregiver before you established your own self identity. You place others before yourself. You feed off them — even assuming their identities, like Linda. I believe we have yet to see the real Sami,” he deduced.
“Are you saying that I isolated myself all these years because I had no one to ‘feed off’?” she asked.