Friday June 18 This was a very difficult day. Detective Hoffstedter, you remember him I’m sure, called to tell me that the police retrieved my engagement ring in an arrest in a suspected drug house. He wanted me to come down to police headquarters and formally identify it. I told him I didn’t feel well enough and that he should talk to the jeweler who did the appraisal. That was the coward’s way out, I know, but I just couldn’t face the task somehow. He says they are trying to track down how the ring came to be where they found it, but he didn’t sound optimistic. I don’t want to think about it, so of course it will probably keep me up all night.
Saturday June 19 It seemed like all I could do today was cry. I’ll bet I’ve cried about five gallons in the last month. I also would bet that you’re as sick of it as I am. I guess we’ve both done our share of crying in the last month. Did you know that I had never seen a man cry until this happened? For that matter, I’ve never before had anyone cry for me until you did.
When I was little, the worst thing was the actual physical pain of the beatings. Then as a teenager, the worst thing was the anger, the feeling of powerlessness, and the terrible embarrassment of the whole thing. But as I look back on it, I think the worst thing about it was the certain knowledge of the lovelessness of it. I got up on the mornings after those beatings knowing beyond a doubt that there wasn’t a person in the world who cared that I hurt. It wasn’t a family, it was a cluster of sick people trying to survive, and it was every man for himself. I suppose that living that way for so long contributed to my coldness, my fear of passion And then, after all the years had passed, there were Brian’s tears. I hope I never give you cause to cry again, but know this, dear heart; every tear you shed for me erased a little of the hurt and the loneliness that still haunted me. I think I’d have given up if I hadn’t known how much you cared, how much it would hurt you if I didn’t go on.
Sunday June 20 You know before I had my accident in the snow last year, I never went to the doctor. I didn’t know any doctors. But ever since then, every time I turn around there’s another doctor in my life. First, and best of all, of course, there was you. There were also the doctors who treated me in the hospital after the accident. Then there was Paul. Then there was Dr. McGinnis. Then there was your father. Then I was in the hospital again, surrounded by doctors. Then there was Dr. Whitfield. So I go to church for the first time in weeks and guess what the Gospel reading for the day was? Matthew 9. “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.”
Monday June 21 What a day! I woke up this morning at a decent hour for a change and was busy all morning in the kitchen. Then it dawned on me that it was getting really hot in the house. The air conditioner was running, but the air came out warm instead of cold. In my old apartment I just called the office when something like that happened, but I was at a loss what to do here. I thought of calling you, but that seemed silly. I remembered what you said about the box where you keep important papers, so I looked there, and sure enough, there was the warranty for the air conditioner. I called the company that was listed, and the man came and looked at it. The bad news is that the compressor is shot; the good news is that it’s still under warranty. He is coming back tomorrow to fix it. Of course, it was ninety-two degrees here today, and awfully humid. For a long time I just sat here and sweltered. Finally it occurred to me that the best thing to do was to stay in the bath tub, so I did. I didn’t go to see Dr. Whitfield today because I had to wait for the man to come and look at the air conditioner. It may not seem like a big deal to you, or to any normal adult, but I thought I did pretty well dealing with the situation, and I’m proud of myself for handling it.
Tuesday June 22 Today I made up the session I missed yesterday with Dr. Whitfield. I started off by explaining to him that I had spent the entire morning waiting for the repair man who was supposed to be there by nine o’clock, and that I was in a bad mood as a result. He said this would be a good day to discuss dealing with anger. Dr. Whitfield has rather a dry wit. Anyway, he asked me what sorts of things make me angry. I made a list, and of course it started with people who are late and make me late for things. Also, having to do other peoples’ work because they’ve been goofing off. And being put on hold when I call long distance. And the more things I added to the list, the more I realized that I get irritated very easily. But then he asked me what I do when I get angry, and I said I mostly just fume. He suggested that there are more constructive ways of dealing with anger than that. We discussed it for a while. He says the anger I’ve been feeling about the things that have happened to me is a good sign, a sign that I understand that none of this is my fault, it doesn’t mean I’m worthless.
Then he asked what makes Brian angry, and I couldn’t really think of anything. I said that you disliked being stared at, and that you got sort of annoyed with your mother when she waits on you, but that I didn’t think I’d ever seen you really angry except for the time I disappeared last summer. I told him how frightened I was to see you so furious. I said that you’ve kept your anger out of my sight since then because you’re aware that anger scares me. We’ll have to discuss this sometime, sweetheart.
I hope you’re having a wonderful time up there. I can’t wait to hear all about it.
Wednesday June 23 At long last, today I got my cast cut off. Paul very kindly volunteered to go with me, and he even stayed with me the whole time, bless his heart. That saw they used made the most horrible noise. Anyway, my arm is pretty sore and it looks like something dug up from a mummy’s tomb, but it feels good to get that nasty thing away from me. Now I can walk on the street and not have people look at me. If I ever make light of your self-consciousness about your arm, you should remind me of this summer, as if I could ever forget it.
Paul and I went to dinner to celebrate my new freedom. We went to that new steak house near the coliseum, and it was very nice. He says he has a new lady friend. His description of her leaves no doubt that the attraction has more to do with form than substance. We have to get that man interested in a real woman, a person with a brain. I don’t believe anyone should go through their entire life alone. Listen to the old-maid librarian lecturing. I’m a great one to talk.
I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating, Paul is rather a dear old soul. They say that women never like their lover’s friends, but I am most especially fond of the tall dark stranger. He works hard at cheering me up, but he never makes me feel like a nuisance. He is insightful, and so kind. We must be sure to keep him near us always.
Thursday June 24 Today in my session with Dr. Whitfield, we talked about sex. I could never have been a psychiatrist. I wouldn’t dare ask the sort of nosy questions that he asked me. He wanted to know what sorts of physical contact you and I have had and who initiated what, and what sorts of conversations we’d had about sex. He wanted to know about every date I’d ever been on before I met you, and how did I handle unwelcome sexual aggression when I encountered it. It was all terribly embarrassing, and I told him so. Of course, he already knew it, and wanted me to confront my embarrassment head on. I have done a good deal of blushing in my life, but never more so than today. When you get back, we can talk about all of this.
Friday June 25 One more week until you get home. It seems like forever since you left. I have a confession to make. I slept in your bed last night. There’s nothing wrong with the guest room, but it doesn’t seem like part of your house. I wanted to feel close to you. I hope you don’t mind.
I spent the afternoon weeding the flower beds. The poor impatiens are about to choke, the weeds have taken over so. You know those pink ones with the white splotches that you like are among the smallest of the bunch. The purples are the only ones thriving.
It is not surprising that so many of the parables in the New Testament have to do with agriculture, the process of growing things lends itself to all sorts of analogies. Some of the weeds in the garden looked like little, puny things, but when I tried to pull them up, I found they had roots that seemed to go
clear to China. Certainly the character traits that I have that bother me most seem like little things until I try to get rid of them and find that they are in fact complicated. Some of the weeds had their roots so entwined with the flowers that to pull up the weed would have also pulled up the flower. My past can’t be undone. I’m going to have to learn to live with what I’ve been through.
After two hours in the garden, I was worn out. I came in to shower, a re-discovered joy since I no longer have to worry about keeping my arm dry, and noticed that I was turning red. Sunburn is such a stupid thing to do to yourself. For weeks now, I have avoided looking at myself in the full length mirror in the guest room, but today I did, and what a sight! Half white as a fish, half red as a lobster, and all scrawny. I have to put on some weight.
Saturday June 26 I spoke to your parents on the phone today. You must have told them I would be here alone while you were in Canada. Your father was his usual sweet self, and your mother danced around the question without ever actually asking it. She wants to know when we are going to get married. I tried to be very diplomatic, but it wasn’t easy. I told her I was in therapy with a psychiatrist, and she was not impressed. I don’t think she’s ever going to like me.
I know you explained to them what happened to me in May. When I spoke to your father today he made veiled references to it. At one point he said, “You must not let one horrible experience scare you into changing your lifestyle into something you don’t want it to be.” I thought that a very astute thing to say, especially since I have tended to do that very thing, staying away from people, staying indoors, acting as if I’m behind the enemy lines in a war. Your mother, on the other hand, acts as if I had a hysterectomy or something like that -- something that isn’t discussed in polite society, something embarrassing. Well, of course it’s embarrassing to be hauled off and raped and beaten and then found naked in the woods, but I can’t go through the rest of my life thinking I’ve done something dreadfully embarrassing.
Your mother is making an assumption that I haven’t made myself, namely that you still want to get married. I’m not sure that I would in your shoes. I certainly don’t intend to hold you to a proposal you made under totally different circumstances. I guess this is something we will have to talk about when you get back.
Sunday June 27 Didn’t go to church. Don’t feel like writing. Don’t feel like anything. Miss you.
Monday June 28 I thought of going back and adding to what I wrote yesterday so you wouldn’t think I was depressed, but I was depressed, so that wouldn’t be honest. I still feel sort of blue, but I know there are going to be times like that.
You know those bumper stickers we see everywhere that say ‘visualize world peace’? I think Dr. Whitfield must have one. Today he wanted me to practice visualizing myself in various settings. For example, he said I should visualize myself successfully confronting your mother about her tendency to ask nosy questions. Right off the bat, I have trouble with that picture. I see myself saying “Mrs. McClellan, I think that’s too personal a question to ask.” Then I see her responding, “Emily, dear, I don’t think you’re getting enough vitamins in your diet, you sound stressed.”
He suggested I visualize myself being intimate with you. That’s not so hard—I’ve been doing that for months. Of course when I told him that it set him off asking all sorts of questions about what kind of fantasies I’ve had. I told him I didn’t want to discuss it with him, that I could visualize myself getting really mad if he pursued the matter. He tried not to, but he had to laugh at that.
It did make me wonder what sort of fantasies you might have. I think I’ll know I’m making real progress if I can ask that question to your face after you get back.
Tuesday June 29 Today I did something of which I am inordinately proud. I went to see Dr. McGinnis, and I managed to get through the whole exam without blowing any gaskets. I was a little concerned because I haven’t had the urge to clean any cabinets lately, if you get my drift. She said it wasn’t unusual in cases of trauma to miss a month or two, and that I am fine. She re-started my prescription. Brian, you’ll have to admit that you didn’t think I would be able to do that on my own, now did you? I must tell you that you were very helpful without knowing it. I was thinking about some strategy I might use to get through it, and I recalled Dr. Whitfield and his visualization thing. So while I was being examined, I thought about you, and I sort of imagined that it was you that was touching me. It made me feel better about it. And that in turn makes me think that I really am making progress. And that in turn makes me wish that you were here.
Wednesday June 30 Today I must finish this lengthy epistle and get it off to you in the overnight mail so that you will have it before you leave for home. I spent the whole day just thinking about you and about myself. I have made a lot of progress in the last few weeks, don’t you think? Physically it’s wonderful not to hurt anywhere and not to look sick. Emotionally there are still a lot of problems. I still hate being alone at night, I hear noises that aren’t there, and I dream about long ago nightmares. I have trouble visualizing myself being successful at all sorts of things. I want nothing more than to stop thinking about how it must have been to be attacked, but I can’t get those images out of my mind, any more than I can the childhood memories of being abused. I still have a lot of anger about my parents and my whole family. But I feel better about myself. I give myself a lot of credit for getting through the last two months without giving up. I believe I’m stronger than I ever thought of myself as being. Of course, that strength is not my own.
And then there’s you. I know full well that I never would have survived this experience had it not been for you. Whatever it was that I most needed you to be at any time, that’s what you were. When I needed to rely on your strength, you were strong. When I needed you to be patient, you were the most patient person I ever knew. When I had to have someone who cared about my pain, you were there to blend your tears with mine.
I have learned so much from you over the course of our relationship. I’ve learned about kindness, forbearance, faith, and honesty. But more than anything, I have learned from you what it is to love someone with my whole heart, even when I didn’t think I had a heart anymore. I wish that you could see how much I love you. Come home to me, and let me find the way to show you.
Chapter 9
Brian’s plane was scheduled to arrive at the regional airport at nine o’clock Friday evening. Paul happily consented to meet it and take the weary traveler home. He was looking forward to spending some time alone with Brian on the drive home. He was struck as he saw his old friend coming down the concourse of the airport by how well he looked. “The time away has been good for him,” Paul thought.
While waiting for the luggage, they talked about Montreal and the splendors of the city as well as about the beautiful campus of the medical school there. This topic of conversation lasted well into the drive, when Brian finally asked what he had wanted to ask all along, “How’s Emily?”
Paul smiled to himself in the darkness of the car. “I didn’t think you’d last this long without asking. She’s very well, from what I’ve seen. She has bad days, but she’s sticking with therapy and I really think she’s working at it. Certainly she looks wonderful. How are you feeling about things?”
“Well, I was really concerned when I left. But she wrote me the most fantastic letter, she sounded so strong, so secure, I’m much more encouraged. Of course, I recognize that writing is one thing and dealing with me in person is another. I guess I’ll just have to see how things go.” Changing his tone, he said with a grin, “So, tell me about your new lady friend.”
The remainder of the drive was taken up with discussion of Paul’s love life. Brian warned him that Emily appeared to be set on doing some matchmaking, and that she was determined to pair him off with a “real woman, one with a brain.”
Paul laughed, “If I could find one like Emily, I might be tempted. You’re a lucky man, Brian.”
When they got to the house, Paul wouldn’t come in. “You two need some time alone together, I’ll see you Sunday.”
She was waiting at the window and saw them drive up. She met him at the door. Without saying a word, she just stepped into his arms and stayed in his embrace for a few delightful seconds and then backed away to speak.
“Hello, Brian, welcome home.”
“Thanks. Emily, you look terrific.” She did, too. Her skin was a lovely bronze from the sun, she was wearing a pretty floral dress and white sandals that made her look cool and summery. He noticed that her hair was getting long and framed her face in a lovely, soft way. “She’s more beautiful than ever,” he thought.
“I want to hear all about your trip,” she said as they moved to sit on the couch together. She sat close to him, as if there had never been a time when doing so had made her uncomfortable.
For a while he obliged her with a short travelogue on the beauties of Montreal. “You would love it, we’ll go together next time. Right now, what I really want to talk about is you. I read your letter about half the night last night, over and over. It was so beautiful. You’ve been working really hard; you’ve made wonderful progress.” He paused for a moment and then continued, “There was so much in that letter I want to talk to you about, I’m not sure where to start. First of all, I want to set the record straight. You asked how I could forgive you for the things you’ve done in the last few weeks, but you haven’t done anything I need to forgive. You had to express the things you felt, and you had to be honest. I confess I did feel a little shut out, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be close if you weren’t comfortable. Okay?”
Blackberry Winter Page 33