Today, I needed a fresh start. My time with Johnny was wonderful, and dare I say, almost spiritual. We were lying face to face on our stomachs while he requested that I tell him story after story.
The moment I would finish one, he would applaud and say, "Story!"
He didn't want to be read to. He wanted nonfiction. Life experiences. All that went through my head at first was, this is impossible. I can't tell him any of my stories! But eventually I realized that not only did I have some suitable stories, but that I was being far too forgetful of Johnny's mental level. I could have recited the grocery list, with intonations like those of storytelling, and he would have stood up to cheer. He wanted to feel included in a face-to-face discussion, some interaction. Spoken to rather than spoken about.
I was able to stop pitying myself and to recall some of the happiest times in my life, as well as some of the most sad. Each story helped me as much as it did Johnny. I had a chance to realize how far away I had kept happiness, and how much I missed it.
As you can imagine, I basically took full advantage of the chance to just babble on to someone, story or no story, uninterrupted. No questions, no comments, no judgments on who I was or where I'd be going, once dead. Johnny is simply the best listener around.
I felt very refreshed and even entertained, thanks to Johnny's innocent mimicry of faces in conversation. He was always nodding as if he understood.... Smiling when I would, and at the mention of the words "the end," he would put all his energy into applauding me.
At about two-thirty, Mrs. Horne, who I was surprised to see without shopping bags under each arm, and a plane ticket in her mouth, called the two of us in for lunch. When I looked at my watch, I was shocked to see that almost three and a half hours had gone by.
Before I could get up, Johnny took hold of my hands and smiled one of his biggest smiles ever. He closed his eyes, reopened them and said his very first sentence! He said, "I love you, Laura."
I could go on and on about how wonderful that was, both as an incredible leap for him, as well as for me. It was the highest compliment I have ever been given.
After lunch I left to open my P.O. box. I'm going to have to think carefully about this fantasy. Perhaps I shouldn't write it here, in your pages, because unless it is printed, it didn't really happen to me. Did it?
More soon. Laura
February 1, 1988
Dear Diary,
I've been going over and over my sexual experiences and have decided that it is important to look at at least the initials of each person I have been with.
B.
B.B.
L.J.
R.P.
J.C.L.
T.T.R.
D.M.J.
C.D.M.
M.R.M.
D.G.
G.N.
G.P.
D.L.
M.R.
M.F.
R.D
T.T.O.
K.M.Y.
S.R.
A.N.
M.D.
J.H.
M.F.
C.S.
B.G.D.
L.D.
J.H. And several unseen unknowns - out by the cabin.
T.P.S.
M.T.
G.L.
J.S.
M.V.L.
C.S.
D.M.J.
A.W.N.
M.S.R.
D.D.
S.C.
H.P.
B.E.
February 9, 1988
Dear Diary,
Something very strange has happened.
I snuck out of the house last night to go see Leo and Jacques at the cabin. Ronnette was supposed to be there too, and I was pretty excited about seeing her. Besides, it had been ages since I could talk about things with a girl. Donna just wouldn't understand all of this. I needed girl talk, badly.
I began walking, but then decided I was too impatient (a big mistake), and so I headed toward Highway 2, in hopes of hitching a ride the next mile or two to the cabin.
About fifteen minutes passed before I saw a big rig, just like Leo's, coming down the road. I stuck my thumbs out, and sure enough, the truck pulled over and the door opened. Inside the cab were four very drunk, very drugged-up truckers who, from what I could understand, had been in town drinking. One of them offered me a beer, and I took it. Not really because I wanted it, but because I was suddenly afraid of upsetting any of them.
I told them where I needed to be dropped off, and just before my stop, I finished the beer and began peeling the label off the bottle nervously. I realized we were not going to stop.
I told the driver he was about to pass my "dropping point," and he told me I should know better than to be hitchhiking late at night with a body like mine, poured into my jeans and T-shirt the way it was.
I swear I was not "poured" into my clothes, Diary. My only mistake was leaving the trail through the woods and heading out to the highway alone. It was a big mistake, but I... I wasn't thinking.
We drove up through the Twin Peaks to a seedy little motel that I wasn't even convinced was owned and open, due to its shabby appearance.But needless to say, these guys already had two rooms and basically carried me into the first. I caught the room number, 207. In case I could call for help, I would know where I was. I wasn't sure I'd get out of here in one piece.
All of them became incredibly rowdy. They were screaming at the top of their lungs and shouting out vulgar language. I thought for a moment that if I could just stand up without anyone's noticing, I could outrun any of these drunk jerk-offs. I was as careful as I could be, but the moment I tried to stand, three of the four guys were on me.
"Where are you going', baby?"
"Hey, why don't you and I go into the next room and do a little private dancing?" He was the ugliest of all of them.
I knew that if I didn't do something soon, something to manipulate the situation my way, they would become violent and most likely rape me. I realized that I might never come out of it alive. I was horrified.
I forced a smile. "Listen... all of you."
One of the guys looked at me like I was out of my mind to be taking such "liberties." He was interested, though, in what I was going to say, because he got all of them to shut up and gather around the chair I was in.
I squeezed yet another false smile out of my face and went on, "Listen, if you all want to play tonight... and you know what I mean... then let's do it right, okay?"
One of the guys, the one with tattoos everywhere, stepped up to the chair, and kicked the hell out of it. Five or six times. I tried not to look as mortified as I was. He bent down, greasy hair in his face, his breath like garbage. "You better watch your mouth, little hitchhiker, 'cause where I'm from, a hole like you would never dare tell a man that he ain't doin' a job that beats all other jobs."
"I didn't mean to imply that you weren't experienced. I can tell that you are, just by watching you move." God, they were all so awful. My tongue was shaking in my mouth, nervous and lying. I was so stupid!
Another of the guys, the youngest, and the only one with any concern for me at all, suggested they hear what I had to say.
I slid myself back to an upright position in the chair and looked at all of them, carefully. I thought, just go for it. It's either going to work or they're probably going to rape and kill you. You can't let people like this take your life. Just make it up as you go along, Laura.
"Okay, I am not opposed to drinking, drugs, or sex, all in measured doses. I am not opposed to getting a little kinky, getting motherly, or becoming a little girl... more of a little girl, nor am I opposed to my performing a solo show, for everyone.
There were belches and nodding heads. Eight big eyes, growing wider.
"I think all of you will like my show very much Il even invent some new things for you, new touches... and if anything should come to you, about what you want to see me do, you come over and whisper in my ear. I'll play games.
"But he
re's the deal: I get a ride back to town, and I walk out of here the same way I walked in. No violence."
One of the guys decided he was too macho for this and said, "I'll slap you right upside the head if I get the urge, bitch."
I gathered my nerves enough to lean toward him and appear confident. "If you get the urge to slap me, as you said, right upside the head, I haven't done my... job." I swallowed hard. "You can call me bitch and whatever else, but let's just try and get along... okay?"
It took me another forty minutes after they agreed to my show to get them to stop with all of the attitude and the yelling. Finally, I offered each a Valium in his beer and told them to sit on the couch, drink the beer, and I would start.
I have never been so frightened, ever. Forget nightmares, forget near-misses with a speeding car on a wet road, forget BOB even, simply because, in comparison to this, it was four to one. And each of them was big enough to eat my entire body as a snack before lunch.
All of them sat on the couch, except one, who I told to watch the door so that no one would think I was planning an escape. I pulled a chair around to the middle of the room. A wooden chair, nice high back... almost too perfect. I took a few steps to each side of the room and switched off the lights.
Slowly I began to undress, and each time I removed a piece of clothing, I memorized where I had "tossed it" so (if they did pass out like I planned) I would be able to dress quickly and get out.
I began to talk to myself. I imagined being stoned so that I could relax. I was so damned afraid that someone was going to jump up and say, "You're history, baby," but no one did.
I slowly began the routine of the "little girl lost in the woods"... a favorite of Leo's and Jacques's because I can become "Mommy" so fast.
I prayed that I could keep them intrigued long enough to watch their eyelids get heavy. I went to the man at the door, probably the meanest one, and I lifted his hand, which was surprisingly relaxed, onto my chest, and I talked to him softly.
It was a good fifteen minutes that he was touching me and really getting into talking back with me and I could feel him giving in, just like Jacques. One of the others got selfish and said, "Hey, what about over here!"
"Don't you worry, boys, I don't get tired. I never get bored, and it would be impossible to forget who's in this room." I had to keep all of them happy. I swung the chair around and asked the man with me to kneel down. I told him softly so that it would not appear as a threat, and began to dance. I went all around the room... and paid attention to each of them... admiring them, anything about them... lying... (None of them were passing out!)
Finally I made it back to the chair. Next began the hottest part of the whole piece... a very rowdy, raunchy sit-and-spin routine during which all of them leaned forward and looked closely at me as I played. I continued this and elaborated on it... extended it.
I did all I could think of to get them physically and emotionally intoxicated. Everyone was looking tired, but they were still managing to clap and whistle.
To be brief, this went on until three of the four guys passed out, and I was left with one. A big, round dude with a three-day beard, and saggy eyes. He told me I mesmerized him.
He asked if I wanted to go into the other room. He said he had the key. I came up close and asked, "What about the truck? Can we do it there?"
"Sure, it's your back, baby."
So I grabbed what I could of my clothing, minus the socks and bra, and ventured out into the night, trying to think of a way to get out of this place... as soon as possible. I needed to get out. Get high. Get home.
As soon as I was able, I sat in the driver's seat and called him over with my pursed lips. He slid across the vinyl seats fast. He buried himself deep in my chest, and I thought, okay, Laura, find the bottle with your hand... there! Don't move too quickly, distract him, and SMASH!
I whacked the guy over the head with the bottle and drew blood. He was bleeding all over. I jumped out of the truck and began running, half naked... so what! I wanted to get away from them, before they realized what I had done.
I went to Jacques's cabin, hoping he and Leo would be there, still with Ronnette.
When I got there, I was pretty haggard, pretty emotionally beaten. I burst into tears and fell to my knees on the floor. Ronnette came to me and helped get me to the couch. I couldn't stop crying! I was even ashamed that I was able to get myself out of it the way that I did... I felt like the dirtiest person ever! BOB was right, he was so right!
I grabbed ahold of Ronnette's arm, and I heard her say, "There's blood all over her, let's get her cleaned up. She's only going to stay upset with blood all over her body."
The next thing I remember was waking up in my own bed, with a note clenched in my fist.
Dear Laura -
We tried to calm you down as much as possible, but you were hysterical... and just kept asking to go home. I don't think anyone heard us coming in, but if you get caught, tell them what happened. Everything is okay now. I know you were scared... Maybe we can see each other in a couple of days and talk or something, okay?
Ronnette
So there's my night. You would think I'd learn, but I guess I just can't for some reason.
I've even had thoughts since waking up this morning about how I could have done a better show for those creeps! My brain actually goes over it again and again, like a skip in a record, except that I'm making it better, more relaxed... I say smarter things. I actually find myself thinking of going and looking for them!
I must be going crazy... these thoughts are all wrong! I am all wrong!
Speak to you later, Laura
March 4,1988
Dear Diary,
I spent yesterday with Donna, and I realized that we have nothing to say to each other anymore. Sure, we chat, and she talks, but the whole time I was there, all I could think of was getting out of her house. I could feel the pure, perfect little walls closing in on me.
She actually took me to her room and closed the door, to whisper that she and Mike are going all the way soon. They're planning the whole event... Thursday night...? I don't remember.
So she tells me this and I'm supposed to say, "Wow, Donna, are you sure you want to do that?"
So, I guess Donna is getting it pretty good from Bobby's best buddy, Mike. Remember him? The chewing-gum commercial? All I can say is that I hope he's good to Donna. I've always thought he was an asshole... but I don't have to fuck him, right?
Have fun, Donna.
Laura
March 10,1988
Dear Diary,
I was just sitting here in my room, thinking about Bobby. Maybe I shouldn't have told him what happened with the truckers, because he hasn't talked to me since then. I told him the truth, just the way he and I talked about on New Year's Eve. We wanted to be honest... we said we were in love... I only did what I did to get out alive.
Benjamin Horne just called. Mom yelled up the stairway that it was for me, and that it was Benjamin Horne. My first question, before even a "Hello," was, "Is Johnny, okay? What is it?"
He said that I should sit down for a minute. I knew Dad was home, Mom was home... Johnny's all right... "What is it?"
He said that Troy had been found this morning on the tracks up by the border. His leg was broken, and three of his shoes had come off... not to mention the fact that he was completely malnourished. He hadn't been able to find food. Benjamin said he was sure it was Troy because of the Broken Circle brand on him.
Benjamin said that he watched the border police shoot him. Twice to the head. He said it appeared that someone had let him out. He promised me over the phone that he would find this awful person and make certain they knew what they had done to a beautiful young horse.
I hung up.
I looked around, and everything went gray, black, gray, black.... I am so bad. Everywhere I turn something tells me I am an evil, wrong, bad person... How could I have done such a thing to Troy?
If I weren't so fucked up a
nd horrible, I could have gone out, right this minute, and ridden him. Taken the both of us off into the fields where we could have survived together, somehow.
I cannot believe what is happening to me and my life! How can one day be so unbelievably precious, and another a nightmare... a dark dream that makes me dream of dying... right this very minute.
L
April 7,1988
Dear Diary,
Not only do I love my job at the perfume counter, but I adore working with someone as cool as Ronnette. She always understands when I'm depressed and doesn't get down on me for it.
Bobby is speaking to me again and we date fairly regular - maybe twice a week; at the most, or an average of, let's say five times a month. But used to see each other every day. Now in school we hardly hang out together. The funny thing is we were voted "best couple" this semester by the student body.
I think we care for each other very much, but we have become objects of convenience and comfort to one another-without the love and attentiveness there used to be. We get high together a lot-mostly over at Leo's, or out by the Pearl Lakes.
The times that we get high at Leo's, especially lately, Bobby pays more attention to Shelley than he does to Leo or me.
I figure they'll have an affair... if they aren't already secretly involved. I told Leo this the other night, which was a definite mistake on my part. I wish I could always blame the stupid things that come out of my mouth on the coke that goes up my nose, but no such luck. I had to beg him to calm down. I've never seen such violence come up so suddenly.
I don't doubt for a moment that Leo has a bad temper, but it was how much rage he felt in so little time that concerned me. Personally, I hope Bobby and Shelley are having a relationship... I don't like the idea of being alone, at all, but worse things could happen, and I think Bobby and Shelley are good for each other. Dare I say that Leo Johnson and Laura Palmer are cut from the same cloth...? Whatever, either way, my point is that Leo and I sleep together more often than Bobby and I do, and I know it is the same for Leo and Shelley.
The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer Page 13
