by Robyn Carr
“Some,” BJ said. “There are groups available and I’ve dropped in a few times, but the best thing for me right now is to feel I’m taking care of my kids on my own. That really works for me. I got a lot of support in prison. In fact, I was kind of an orange jumpsuit celebrity—there are a lot of women in there who fantasized about doing what I did, whether they were justified or not.” She smiled contritely.
“I’m sorry,” Gerri said. “I wasn’t going to ask a lot of questions. We have so much time to talk. About both our lives. Because no matter where you go next, I’m not giving you up.”
“It’s not going to be Mill Valley, Gerri. This place is too expensive. I’m thinking of leaving the state. Going someplace with a lower cost of living, but I want to be close to family if I can. I haven’t figured anything out yet—but I should. If you have any suggestions, I’m open.”
“I’ll work on that. Selfishly, I’d like you to stay close. I’ll use my connections, look into options.”
BJ tilted her head and her eyes glistened. “One more,” she said, her voice a little raspy. “One more question, then we eat this sushi and I have to go back to work.”
“How’d you have the courage?”
BJ had to purse her lips tight and her nose turned a little pink. She glanced away for a second to gather her composure. Then she looked back at Gerri. “It wasn’t courage,” she said in a whisper. “All I had was fear and desperation. It was him or us. We were absolutely and truly down to that, I swear.”
Gerri was quiet for a second. Then she said, “God bless you, sister.”
* * *
BJ knocked on Sonja’s door that same afternoon, after work. “Hi,” she said when Sonja answered. “Still digging?”
“Can’t stop myself,” she said, but she smiled when she said it. “Wanna see?”
“I’d love to.” She stepped inside. BJ didn’t drop in on the women in her neighborhood. She mainly saw them in passing, outside. She rarely saw Sonja at all these days.
“How about a glass of wine?” Sonja offered.
“Gee, you can’t drink wine, can you?” she asked. “I mean, with all you have going on?”
“You mean medication, lunacy, depression and marital disharmony?” she asked with a laugh. “I’m not exactly cleared for alcohol yet—and besides, being the health nut of the neighborhood, I’ve always been a spare sipper. But I keep a bottle of chilled white in the fridge for Andy and Gerri and I admit, I’m really looking forward to when I can join them. I might chug it.”
“When do you suppose that’s going to happen?” BJ asked, watching somewhat distractedly while Sonja breezed into her cheerful kitchen and poured a small glass of wine.
“I’m thinking about a year,” she said. “Dr. Kalay says the antidepressant and antianxiety drugs are probably temporary for me. We’ll see. I like having a full head of hair so I’m not going to argue about it.” She handed BJ the glass.
“Thanks. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in years, till I met you girls. I wonder if you’re all a bad influence.”
“I figure if Jesus could turn water into wine at a wedding, it’s probably not the worst thing. Come out back,” Sonja invited, leading the way.
BJ stepped out onto the patio and felt almost assaulted by the depth and color that surrounded the yard. On all four sides, against the house and three surrounding fences, were beautiful plants and flowers. She saw plants, six feet deep. Roses, lilies, gladiolas, daisies, bougainvillea, ferns, snapdragons and a multitude of unidentifiable blooms and stalks in every color. “Good God,” BJ said, shocked.
Sonja laughed and went to sit down in a patio chair. She had a couple of chairs turned toward the yard, a small redwood table separating them. BJ noticed there was a water glass there. Sonja had been enjoying the view of her hard work in the early evening sun.
BJ sat down next to her. “You did this all by yourself?” she asked.
“When I get going, I can’t seem to stop,” Sonja said. “It’s probably going to require another pill of some kind.”
“Sonja, landscaping companies can’t pull this off in a couple of months,” BJ said. “And there’s no mess! Like it was all just dropped down from heaven!”
“Oh, there’s a mess on the side of the house. I have a routine. First thing in the morning I throw away the empty containers—rocks, weeds, sod, junk—and start digging, planting and cultivating. Then at the end of the day I rinse off my tools and wheelbarrow and go to the nursery to get plants and supplies for the next day so I can start again. I finally had to buy patio stones to weave through the gardens because it all got so thick. But I never get rid of plants unless they’re doomed and dying—I just relocate them very carefully. They’re kind of like babies.”
“How can you do this?” BJ asked. “It’s just amazing.”
Sonja shrugged. “No family, no husband, no job, no children...”
BJ was quiet. She finally asked, “Sonja, are you ever lonely?”
“Hardly ever, anymore. I just found out something so bizarre—I was lonelier before, when I had all those things and people in my life—the classes, the co-op, the little consulting business I did, George...not to mention all the meditating and endless work at keeping things perfectly balanced and serene. Like a cocoon. I could hear each twinge in my body and knew exactly what herb or vitamin would soothe or strengthen it. It was like I was insulating myself against feeling things, because if you let the feelings in you risk one that hurts sneaking up on you.”
“And now?” BJ asked.
“Well, now I’m forced to take a look at all the scary feelings I worked so hard to keep out. Blech.” She grinned at BJ. “They’re every bit as bad as I thought they might be.”
BJ smiled back. “Then why are you smiling?”
“Because. It had to happen. Keeping it all in makes you sick and nuts. It turns out to be correct—the truth sets you free.”
“Just let it out, huh? Is that the prescription?” BJ asked, sipping her wine.
Sonja laughed at her. “It’s not that simple. First you have to have a major meltdown, then lockdown, then the drugs they give you loosen up all the dams you’d worked for over twenty years to put in place and under the right god-awful confrontational circumstances, you’re a sitting duck. First it’s a trickle, then it’s a stream, then it’s a goddamn flood, pouring out of you—and there’s just no stopping it. And then you have to suffer! Because once the secrets are out, you have to live with them. Probably the place most of the depression started was almost thirty years ago when my seventeen-year-old brother, Todd, was killed and my parents shut down. They were lost in such a horrible black hole, I couldn’t express my own grief. It was like I lost my entire family on one rainy night. I was thirteen. So, when I got to that little gem of knowledge, revisiting that time of my life, I sobbed for days. Cried and dug in the yard and cried some more. My shrink said, “I can’t think of a better place for your tears to fall than on the flowers.” And then she turned slightly glistening eyes toward BJ.
BJ was speechless. Entranced. This was the most intimate conversation she’d had with another woman since leaving Chowchilla. She swallowed, trying to keep back her own tears. “You’ve really gotten good at it,” she said, her voice catching. “You got this from therapy?”
“Group therapy, the bastards. They’re relentless. And now, as revenge, they’re programming me to do it to other people. We have a new woman in our group—a real nutball from the state hospital who probably needs to unload. Damn, I hate to do it to her—I know what’s coming.”
“Sounds kind of like you’re in all the way now,” BJ said, taking a sip of her wine.
“Yeah, how about that? Well, the upside is, you get some of the good feelings back, too. I guess what happens when you block out the bad feelings is your subconscious can’t tell the difference—it just blocks all feelings automatically. You turn into a living corpse.”
It occurred to BJ that there wasn’t a human being on earth who didn�
�t have deeply complex and emotional issues just under the skin. “You always seemed so prissy and high-strung—kind of like a thoroughbred. Physically perfect, with a whole bunch of reined-in energy.”
Sonja held out her hands toward BJ, palms down. Her nails were broken, split, with dirt stuck under them and ground into the cuticles. “I guess that’s changing.”
“That’s not all that’s changed. You’re so relaxed.”
Sonja shrugged. “Could be the drugs,” she said. “Could be I had a lot of tension keeping stuff buried. I used to be afraid if I opened that closet door, unbelievable shit would fall on me and kill me. I never realized how much energy it took to keep the door closed.”
“And out of it comes this,” BJ said, sweeping her hand in the direction of the flowers.
“I’m going to have to figure out how to take control without being too controlling,” Sonja said. “I can’t let it overrun me, like all the other stuff did. When George saw it, he said I just need to learn how to stop. I hate to admit it, but it kind of put me on notice—he was right. That’s what I did with the fountains, candles, chimes, music, bland food.... Shit, he didn’t stand a chance!”
“George? George saw the garden?”
“Uh-huh. He stopped by a few days ago. He wanted to wish me happy anniversary—number ten.”
“You’re kidding me! You saw George?”
“I’ve talked to him a couple of times, too.”
“Sonja! You’re talking to George?”
“Uh-huh. Amazing, huh? We’re not getting back together or anything. We’re not getting divorced right now, either—at least not until all this other stuff is taken care of. It’s pointless, he says. We might stay friends, though. We always liked each other a lot, but we got married for reasons that seemed to make sense at the time but were probably all wrong—a couple of lonely people with no attachments who could be alone together and feel a little bit less alone. It was supposed to be a simple marriage that didn’t require too much and could meet a few mutual needs. But then I tried to take care of George so I’d never have to lose another person—and I lost him.”
“What about the prenup?” BJ asked.
“He said he got rid of it years ago—he knew I didn’t really care about his money. George is good at what he does. If you ever need a financial planner...”
“I’ll keep him in mind,” BJ said with good humor. “Sonja, I have to say, you took me completely by surprise. I didn’t expect this from you. All this honesty, all these flowers. You’re so different from the person I thought you were. And I’m really flattered that you trusted me enough to talk about all that personal stuff.”
“Why wouldn’t I trust you, BJ?” Sonja asked. “You saved my life. No one else could tell anything was wrong. And you—the one who knows me least—saw the most.”
“Nah, it wasn’t like that,” she said. “Just dumb luck, that’s all.”
“Not the way Gerri tells it. It was you who insisted on breaking into the house and taking me to the hospital—and you who noticed the house was starting to smell bad. It’s like we were sisters of the heart before we knew anything about each other. I owe you, BJ. I’ll never be able to repay you, but I know I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me,” she said, smiling, shaking her head. “But I did come over for a reason. You don’t seem to be walking anymore in the mornings.”
“I’ve been slacking on that,” Sonja admitted.
“What are you doing for exercise?” BJ asked.
“Besides gardening eight hours a day?” She laughed.
“Are you stiff? Sore?”
“If I stay on my knees too long I can stiffen up—not too bad. But I know it’s exercise. I use every muscle in my body.”
“I’ll bet. How’d you like to try something different?”
“Like what?”
“Run with me,” BJ said.
“I don’t run,” Sonja said, shaking her head. “I’d never keep up with you for one thing.”
BJ turned in her chair to face Sonja. “I’ll go easy on you while you give it a chance, see if you can do it. A few years ago I was in a spot where I really needed some exercise bad or I was going to go all limp—but I had no real resources and very little time, so I started running. I got hooked. It changed my mood and helped me think more clearly. You can’t imagine. Now I have to run, just to keep my thoughts and emotions from going berserk. I think it’s the endorphins. And you know—if you’re worried about the flowers taking over, you could try a couple of other things along with the gardening. Not everything about balance is cursed.”
“Wouldn’t that be like going back to the candles and fountains?” Sonja asked.
“Not while you’re still in your group, I don’t think,” she said, shaking her head. “Try it. I get tired of running alone all the time. It might work for you like it worked for me.” She shrugged. “If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. But what do you have to lose?”
“When?” Sonja asked warily.
“Tomorrow morning. Six.”
“Aww, I don’t know...I haven’t been getting up that early lately. I’m drugged, you know!”
BJ grinned. “You’re not that drugged. In fact, I think the drugs make you kind of even, if you get my drift. Besides, you owe me!”
Sonja made a face. “Pretty smart of me to give you a weapon to use on me.”
“Come on,” BJ said, standing. “I have to get back to the kids—they’re supposed to be cleaning up their rooms. I’ll see you at 6:00 a.m.” She handed Sonja her wineglass. “Thanks, that was great. Try to keep me from getting in the habit, will you?”
“Six?” Sonja said weakly, furrowing her brows.
“With a smile on your face!” BJ said.
* * *
At six the next morning BJ had to knock on Sonja’s door. She wondered if she was going to do it, get up and run. When the door opened BJ had to keep from laughing out loud. Sonja stood in the frame holding a steaming cup, her hair all ratty from bed, mud stains on the knees of her sweats, narrowed eyes and a scowl on her face. “Sonja, is that coffee?”
“Tea,” she grumbled.
“Man, you look a lot like Gerri used to look when you rousted her out to walk,” BJ said, laughing.
“I’m going to buy her something nice,” Sonja muttered. “I should make amends for that.”
“Come on,” BJ coaxed. “Let’s stretch.”
Sonja put her cup down on the foyer table and pulled the door closed behind her. “Let’s get this over with,” she said, not realizing how much she sounded like Gerri, as well.
They stretched out legs, joints, backs, arms, loosening everything up. Then BJ suggested they start with a brisk walk. After a block, Sonja was moving along pretty well. “How do you feel about a nice, gentle trot?” BJ asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sonja said. “I’ll let you know.”
“Come on,” BJ said, setting an easy pace. Once they were moving along, BJ started explaining how things would work. “I’ve plotted my entire course a hundred times—I know all the exact measurements and distances. If you can jog a half mile, we’ll walk again and see how you feel.”
“I might not make a half mile,” Sonja said, panting.
“You’re doing great! How’s it feel?”
“Like I need a hip replacement.”
“Anything hurt?”
“Everything hurts! I’m weak and sick and crazy!”
BJ laughed at her. They cantered along for a couple of blocks and BJ said, “Let’s pick it up just a little bit. How you doing?”
“Really sorry I made friends with you.”
“Here we go, Sonja—nice and easy. Even out your breathing, don’t come down too hard—just roll off your feet, heel to toe, swing your arms gently to give yourself a little help. You’re doing great!” They ran a few blocks then BJ said, “Okay, we’re going to pick it up just a little more. Not too fast, nice and easy. That’s a girl. Hey, you’re in very good shape.”
“U
gh,” Sonja said.
“Tell me when you run out of steam, but try to push yourself a little bit. It’s always hard work at first, but then the endorphins kick in and it feels like you could go forever.”
“Why...aren’t...you...breathing...hard?” Sonja asked.
“Because I do this every day, that’s why. I’m panting by the last couple of miles. Just go with it. Try to breathe evenly, nice and deep.” They ran on and every few blocks BJ increased their pace just slightly. They went around another bend, down a long block. Sonja was panting beside her, but she was running. They didn’t talk, just moved slick and easy down the road.
BJ could’ve gone faster, but she was happy with Sonja beside her. She thought about the first time she saw her with Gerri and Andy, so prim in her pastel sweat combinations, her shoes so white and new-looking every day. At the end of their walk when the women converged again, Sonja would have a glistening of perspiration on her face and neck, but otherwise looked as pristine as ever. Now she had great rivers of sweat running down her neck, soaking her shirt from the collar to the middle of her back, sweat stains under each arm, her hair stringy and damp from exertion.
She thought about seeing Sonja sitting against her bedroom wall between her bed and bureau, her eyes wide and spaced out with the fear of not knowing what was happening to her, her face as white as bleached marble, gonzo. She glanced over at her—this was so much better. Running was a thing that required a certain amount of control and yielded a tremendous feeling of freedom.
“Have we...gone our...half mile?” Sonja said, gasping for air.
“Mile and a half,” BJ said.
Sonja stopped dead in her tracks and turned wide eyes on BJ. “Mile and a half?”
“Yep. Keep moving. How do you feel?”
“Holy shit,” Sonja said, stunned. Then she took off jogging almost effortlessly. “Holy...shit!” she said again.
Laughing almost too hard to run, BJ caught up. “Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“Not...sure...” she rasped. “But holy shit!”
“Didn’t know you had it in you, did you, girlfriend? I think maybe you’re a runner and never knew it.”
