Many afternoons we go out onto the front lawn and play with his bow and arrow. He has these rubber buffalo that he shoots down from across the yard. He smiles so beautifully when he hits them. It's his high. It is the strangest scene. Johnny out on the lawn, the grass a blinding green under his moccasins, his arrow tight in the bow as he pulls back, smiling. He releases it after several minutes of concentration. The arrow seems to move at a slower than possible pace, Johnny lowers his arms, rises onto his tiptoes, and waits... Direct hit. He's in the air, jumping, jumping. Then turns to me and smiles this smile of such excitement.
"Indian!" he exclaims.
I congratulate him on a fine shot, and encourage several more. He is always pleased to do so. I have to do a lot of lines around Johnny, or rather, in the bathroom... as often as needed.
It is horrible when I lose patience with him. It happened once and I felt miserable until I was certain he had either forgotten the incident or had forgiven me.
I will not go into the details, because my behavior was too horrible. To put it simply, I did a convincing as hell imitation of BOB. It was cruel. The ugliest I had ever felt. I made sure to apologize and explain as best I could as soon as it happened. I wanted him to know I realized it and stopped.
I went and scraped up enough out of the bullet and a couple vials at the bottom of my purse, to get high. I could think. It's only hard when I don't have it. That's why Bobby and I are seeing each other so innocently and so frequently. But you don't know about all that, do you? Well, hang on.
I have to open up the bedpost here... and do a couple lines before Mom comes up to tell me I've got dishes, garbage, etc to take care of. Shit, I can't believe how different my life is when I simply walk out the front door of this house.
I'll be back as soon as I can.
Laura
December 16, 1987
Dear Diary,
I'm sorry that it is a whole day later, but Mom and I had a talk in the kitchen while I did the dishes, and it lasted almost four hours. Dad came home and joined us for about forty-five minutes before heading up to bed early.
I guess Benjamin has him working pretty hard on some new plan. Dad just rolls his eyes when Mom and I ask how it's going.
Sometimes I think that my mom and I could be the best of friends. Every once in a while I will look into her eyes and think, I wonder if Mom has ever felt anything that I'm feeling...? I sense that some of my experiences are ones that she would understand, but she comes from a family and a generation that doesn't really like to talk about things that make them uncomfortable.
Maybe BOB makes her feel uncomfortable. Maybe Dad knows BOB, too, but Mom won't let us talk about him because it makes everyone... so upset... ? I don't know.
I guess we had a good talk anyway, because I know she was very happy when she went up to bed. I stayed downstairs for a while, then walked outside and studied the wall BOB always climbs to get to my window. It's amazing he hasn't killed himself, or at least fallen.
The nights I've snuck out, I've always had help getting down. I wonder if I could make it so that he would fall... ? He'd find a way up no matter what, and I still want Bobby Briggs to deliver my blow through that window... have a quickie while my parents are asleep or out.
That's what I wanted to get back to. Bobby Briggs. We are seeing each other like guys and girls do when they're in high school. It's weird. I see Donna more now, and she's with Mike. I guess she's happy, but the two of them remind me of a chewing gum commercial or something. "Happiness and ambition, athletics and academics, rah, rah, rah."
Last week I went through an entire bullet of coke just trying to deal with having a burger with them after the movies. Bobby and I didn't eat. Bobby had eaten a ton of junk in the theater, and I was too high to even look at food. Donna stuffed her face, and I knew she'd pay for that in zits and in the seams of her clothes when she got up the next day. I'll bet she gained five pounds. Mike is a pig. He just kept shoving fries and hamburgers into his mouth, like swallowing wasn't necessary or something. I swear!
I don't like the way he looks at Donna either. I worry about her, because he seems like such an asshole... thinking he's something of a superhero with his letter jacket on all the time. Shit. I don't care. Donna's smart. I just can't believe Dr. Hayward hasn't said something.
So, the reason I'm seeing Bobby this way, going to the movies, dinner, studying at his house, going out to the gazebo and necking, taking his father's car to the Pearl Lakes, etc is because he finally agreed to start selling cocaine for Leo. For me. I had been waiting for him to say he would, but he wanted me to promise I'd act like his girl again. So I do. When I want to, or when I'm out of blow. I really like Bobby, but he could never understand what happens to me sometimes.
The whole reason I go out for the orgies at Leo's, the reason I let him tie me up and hit me sometimes... the whole reason, besides a strange enjoyment, is because I feel like I belong in dark places like that. I belong with sleazy men who are actually crying babies. I tease them and pretty soon they're calling me "Mommy" and burying their heads in my lap crying about their pain... and then I have to tell them what to do. They like it that way. I belong with them. I must, or I wouldn't be so good at it.
I'll tell them what to do to me. Order them to do it. And when they do, when it's feeling nice and I can tell that they are really trying, I start telling them what I'm feeling. How wonderful they are. How they are "good, good boys. Such good boys." I tell them that Mommy is happy. They love it. A child and a man all at once.
All of them, these friends of Leo's and Jacques's (who I must tell you about!), are very nice to me. If I ever needed help, I believe that they would be there for me. I don't know. I've been wrong before.
So Bobby sells the coke around town, and Leo sells his usual stuff to people across the border, over in Canada. I always get at least an eight-ball free, and then each time I see Leo, he fills my bullet or a vial if I can find one. Bobby makes really good money and everybody's happy. That's the whole point of life, right? The only thing that pisses me off is that the other day, when I went with Bobby to get the drug money from my safety deposit box (I wasn't going to hide thousands of dollars in my bedpost!), he said that Mike was going to start helping him sell.
I threw a fit and told him that if he did-and Mike ever told Donna-I would never, ever speak to him again. Donna would tell her father. I know it. I wouldn't be able to handle that. Dr. Hayward being disappointed in me... that would kill me for sure.
Bobby said he wasn't sure about it yet. But I made him promise anyway, and he did.
After that, we went out to the tree where the empty football is buried, near Leo's house. The money and drugs are exchanged through the buried football. Leo always makes fun of Bobby for his choice of hiding places. "The football hero," he calls him. Bobby is a football hero, though. At least the school thinks he is.
Jacques said that he used to play football, until he found out that you didn't have to ram yourself into a herd of huge guys all day to make good money. Jacques lives deep in the woods in a cabin with his bird, Waldo. Waldo talks and has learned my name perfectly. Jacques, Jacques Renault, works across the border at a casino somewhere. He's a big, fat guy, but he can really turn me on sometimes. He's the little-baby/big-man type, too, except that he knows a lot more about a woman's body than even Leo.
I went out to Jacques by myself one night, and we got super high and played all sorts of amazing sex games with each other. It got to the point that all he had to say was "Show me, little girl... show me," and I was reeling!
Waldo repeated almost everything we said all night and into the early morning. The whole way home I kept hearing Waldo say, "Show me... Show me... Little girl... Little girl." That was the morning I realized that the orgies with Leo took place in front of Jacques s cabin. There was the chair... I sat in it for a minute, and knew.
I'll write again soon. I have plans for the night.
L
December 21, 1987<
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Dear Diary,
Christmas is almost here. I'm starting to look for another job, something with a real paycheck every two weeks... real money. Mom is beginning to worry about how little I'm eating lately. I love it. I swear I've never liked my body before. I still have nice breasts, and curved hips, but no fat there like before. None of the guys I've been with have said anything but great stuff about my body.
I need a job in order to have more money, and also to be able to tell Mom that I ate while I was at work. I can't force another dinner down my throat like I've been doing.
Leo and Jacques gave me a few issues of Fleshworld magazine the other night. I opened the pages and did some of the poses for them, did some dancing, a few things for myself... and let them watch me until all three of us came together.
I know it sounds dirty, but I am only doing what I am suddenly used to doing... Creating a show for other people to look at, while inside my head, I go into a dream. A whole audience, at least a hundred people. (I do that because the more people there are, the more it seems like it is okay, and not a hidden or bad thing.) All of the people, men and women, watch me. They watch how I move, how little sounds come out of my mouth when I begin to feel warm inside... I dream of a man or woman, sometimes both... and how I see them in the front row, the quietest of all. Let's say it is a man for description's sake.
So I come down to the level of the audience, and I'm wearing something black and see-through, and I take him by the hand and make him come onto the stage with me. He doesn't want to, but I promise him I won't embarrass or hurt him. He believes me and we go up into the lights.
I tell everyone in whispers that this man is beautiful to me, and I tell them why. I describe him so that he becomes confident and aroused all at once. The audience loves him now, just like I do. I usually change the dream each time, but it always ends up with me and my chosen partner making love in front of everyone. I get a high sometimes when I think that BOB will see me in this dream and realize he should finally set me free.
So I have these magazines, and people send their fantasies in sometimes and they get printed. I told Leo and Jacques the night they gave them to me, and we played around, about some of the fantasies I have sometimes. Both of them said that I should send one of them in, maybe more than one... and see if I can get one printed. They said that if I do, they will create the printed fantasy just the way I write it. Just the way I want it.
I think I will. I like the idea of a special night, planned ahead of time, all for Laura Palmer.
Maybe I'll write the fantasy in here, too, so that you will know exactly what will be planned if it gets printed. I'll think about it.
Some of the pictures in the magazines are so... dirty. Almost too dirty for me, but I see why some people get turned on by them. They are mostly pictures about people being someplace, or with someone who is totally a fantasy person. There is no tomorrow or yesterday. No hours or minutes or rules or parents or mornings or anything to worry about. I like that part, but some of the photos are of women being captured and taken away by these men. I don't really like those too much, because for some reason... I don't know what, they remind me too much of BOB's visits. The women are too young or innocent or something.
I like being taken by someone, but I like being teased and given little dreams and ideas. I don't like fears or lies or yelling, and that is what some of these pictures are like. Darkness in sex is okay, as long as it is strange, mysterious darkness, and not the darkness of hell or nightmares or dying.
That stuff isn't for me. I like the good stuff. Almost really bad, but just teasing with the bad, not taking its hand and pulling it inside.
I have to go shopping for Christmas presents tomorrow. God, I have no idea what to get anyone. I suppose it's bad for me to wish for coke for Christmas.... A ton of white, fluffy snow all over me.
More later, Laura
December 23, 1987
Dear Diary,
Remember the night that Leo and Bobby and I went out to Low Town to buy coke? Remember? I stole the kilo and everything went crazy and we had to make a run for it because everyone started firing their guns? I just had a dream about it.
I never even really thought about the fact that Bobby probably killed that guy when he shot him. Bobby actually shot him, and I watched and didn't care! I think I just told myself that I was dreaming or something, but I know that's a lie, completely.
I just called Bobby at home and talked to him about it for a minute. At first, he was okay, and we were trying to whisper and talk about it at the same time so that no one would hear... and he started to cry, I think. I couldn't really tell for sure, but I think maybe he had lied to himself the way I did. I don't think either of us realized what we'd done.
I was on the phone in my room, and I just stared at the bedpost while Bobby was silent on the other end of the line. I think I am in over my head with the coke, but I just can't stop. It has been the only thing besides Johnny Horne and all sorts of sex that has kept me going... I wonder if the dream I had means I'm going to hell. Me and Bobby Briggs in hell, side by side, doing coke with the devil. I know that isn't funny. It isn't funny at all.
In the dream, the guy Bobby shot stood up after the bullet went into his chest, and he said that death had given him sixty seconds to tell us our future.
He said, "You, with the gun... watch yourself. Those who die this way memorize the face of their killer, and tell Death about the face. Death comes looking for you. Takes your friends, or a parent. Death takes what you have allowed it to. Murder is just a way of shaking Death's hand and telling him, "What is mine, is yours."
In the dream, Bobby looked at me and back to the guy he shot. The guy said, "You watch that girlfriend of yours. Someone down here is saving her a seat."
And it was over.
I told Bobby about the dream, and he said he had to go. He didn't say where, he just said he had to get off the phone and go.
I bought Bobby a pair of his favorite boots for Christmas. They were expensive, but I had saved a lot, believe it or not, from my sessions with Johnny. I guess I started to feel like it was bad to use that money for coke. I haven't needed it lately because Jacques and Leo have been into getting me high and playing games.
I don't even have to call them anymore. Jacques calls me, and if Mom or Dad answers, he says he's calling back about a job I applied for. I always know it's going to be a wild night when Mom says that the phone is for me... "Some gentleman calling about your application...?"
I should get a real job. Somewhere that I can dress up a little and be high and pretty and paid.
Diary, I hope that my dream was just a nightmare memory, and that if the man in Low Town is dead, that he is somewhere nice, or that at least there is no pain for him. I'm afraid that if he had pain now, that somehow Death would save a seat for me. Death would probably let BOB hold that seat. I don't want to think that.
I'm going to take a shower and do some blasts. I need to finish Donna's Christmas present. Did I tell you about it? No, I guess not... I don't see it above. Well, I was feeling like I should do something a good friend would do, and I wanted to give her something that would take her mind off all the ideas she has about how much trouble I might be in. That's my business now.
I called Dr. Hayward, talked for a while, and had him sneak Donna's blue-jean jacket to me when she wasn't home. I went to the crafts shop in town and bought all the beads, patches, and embroidery-thread colors she likes. I have been up for the past few nights sewing everything onto the jacket in neat designs. I know she has wanted to do it herself for ages, so I hope she likes this. I need her to stop worrying. It only causes trouble.
See you later, Diary.
Love, Laura
December 23, 1987
Dear Diary,
I finished Donna's jacket, and it is now 4:20 A.M. I can't get to sleep and I'm thinking about going to Jacques's or Leo's to look for some pot, or maybe Jacques has one of those Valiums he gave me a coupl
e weeks ago. That was great. Maybe I'll call first. I don't want to walk through the woods without good reason.
Be back in a minute. L.
Back again, and so glad I didn't walk all the way out there without calling. I'm not sure if I told you about the night I got lost, and so afraid in the darkness of the woods, that I just sat down and cried until the sky got light enough to find my way home. I was offered a ride home, but I was afraid that Dad would be home late, and I would pull up with Leo or Jacques right when he got to the house. He likes his little girl the way she used to be... maybe still should be... No.
Anyway, I talked to Leo first, and he said he missed me. Shelley was back from her aunt's funeral, and the inheritance he thought she was getting never came. She might have to go back in about a week because her aunt left her a lot of the stuff.
He asked if I had sent in my fantasy. I told him I was thinking of working on it, but I needed to come down a little. He laughed a little and said that Jacques had something to tell me.
Jacques came on the line and I told him I was sorry to call so late.
He said he'd only be mad if I hadn't called, then he called me his "sweet baby" and I smiled, but didn't say anything. He said Leo told him why I had called, but that he was already prepared for this to happen. He told me that in the bra I was wearing the other night, the white lace one, he had hidden one of my Christmas presents.
I asked him to hold on so I could get it, but he said Leo needed the phone.
Shelley was waiting for him to call from some truck stop somewhere out of state. I guess he doesn't want to be around her right now. I hung up and searched through my drawer for the bra.
The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer Page 11