The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer

by Jennifer Lynch

  Why do we pick up the people we do? Avoiding loneliness at almost any cost... picking a mate by his work schedule, his paycheck, or his abilities in the bedroom are good reasons, if you are fortunate enough to find a guy like that who is a nice guy as well.

  Bobby seemed right for me. He was there. He was cute, popular, good family background... and he swore his love to me again and again until he finally realized that I cannot love anything right now. Falling in love is like holding a white flag out to your enemies and saying, "We give up, we're in love, love is surrender."

  I can't do that until I know for certain that BOB is really dead. Until there is a corpse that I can kick as many times as I please. God, I hope that day comes soon.

  Laura

  April 10,1988

  Dear Diary,

  I went to Horne's Department Store today for my introductory meeting, even though I've been there over a month. I guess I expected to learn more than I already know.

  Mr. Battis, the store's manager, reminds me of a large fruit - something slowly rotting... What is he doing here and when will he leave? Poor guy.

  Mr. Battis feels so guilty about screwing the boss's "friends" that he never leaves the area around the perfume counter. I feel like he's spying on me-a constant pest who won't allow me a bullet blast or a pat on Ronnette's ass.

  I remember feeling intimidated by Benjamin's office that day - the size of the room, the number of phone lines blinking constantly, his view, the size of his couch, and... aha...

  Benjamin said to me that day, "Someone from personnel will be calling you at home, Laura, to set up an introductory meeting sometime soon.

  No such luck: Mr. Battis is somewhat rotund and older, less distinguished than I had imagined and far less interesting to be around. Either way, I have to tell him sometime quite soon that he's more annoying to everyone down here than he is helpful, and that I personally am tired of pretending to smile at his ridiculous face and boring sense of humor.

  I'm sure I sound like a bitch, but hey, I've earned it. I work hard and sometimes things get to be too much for me.

  I'm taking my break: BE BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. I need a cigarette and a line.

  I'm back. Just as I was exiting the ladies' bathroom, I saw Donna approaching my counter. Damn, just as I was feeling better, too.

  She came up and started jabbering away about her trip out of town next week to check out colleges, and how she was going to miss Mike so much, and, "How much does this little bottle here cost?"

  I was happy to see her, but not happy at the same time. It upset me that she was so happy with Mike, not that I wanted him to mistreat her, but deep down I wanted to know that she liked me more, or needed my company more than his. I realize when I see it written here how selfish I am, especially when I've stopped calling her. We're not really even friends anymore.

  We're like everyone else, I guess. We promise that something is forever, when it is really only as long as it takes for us to tire of it.

  When she walked away, and out the door, it was like she was leaving forever.

  Laura

  April 21,1988

  Dear Diary,

  Ronnette just called from work to say that, even though it's my day off, assistance isn't coming until evening, and she needs a lot of help at the counter... would I mind coming in?

  In other words, tell everyone at home that you're working late: There's a private party with Leo and Jacques at the cabin in the woods.

  Ronnette and I made up codes for things and specific places.

  "I need your assistance, right away!" means "I need a hit of coke, have any?" or "Assistance is needed at the counter, now!" means "Coke is not at the cabin, bring what you've got."

  So, Ronnette and I drove up there, and on the way I tried to convince her that she would never be recognized, never touched, and incredibly rich if she did "it" with me. By "it" I meant send photos of herself to Fleshworld. I told her to make a little ad, saying you'll send naughty tapes, panties, and pictures for a simple fee... etc etc. Get a safety-deposit box, and make up a name with a false history-we could even have Jacques take the photos tonight.

  We had been drinking at the cabin for a couple of hours when I told Jacques that I wanted some Polaroids taken of me.

  The red window curtains were a large enough backdrop, and the color was just sleazy enough so that if I posed the right way, I'd sell a million copies.

  Jacques and Leo were both excited by what I was doing. I've found a new way to seduce them.

  Ronnette saw me in action and decided perhaps it was a good idea after all.

  Soon, Laura

  July 22,1988

  Dear Diary,

  Happy sweet sixteen to me...

  Everything feels like a dream, a bad, very sad dream, about a little girl who all her life had a dream of her life at sweet sixteen.

  God, Diary, I had such beautiful images of the boy who would love me, and never leave my side. Of how my girlfriends and I would drive my new car to the beach, strip down to our bikinis, and jump into the water. I would have the perfect body, the perfect skin, the perfect family and home - a straight-A student who is helpful and earns her own money.

  I wanted my own pony, a cat, and maybe a dog. Donna Hayward would be right by my side, wearing a lacy white dress, and our boyfriends would pick us up at the front door. Our parents loved them because we had the perfect parents.

  All of the above were the making of my dreams until my nightmare arrived. Not, certainly, that I thought I would have all of these "picture perfect" moments in my life, but I still had dreams, hope that anything was possible.

  I cannot tell you how special and valuable a daydream is... I didn't miss it until it was gone. Without it I became cold, paranoid, unfriendly, and open to all sorts of horrible things.

  Most of the truth you already know. Sweet sixteen is not what I thought it would be.

  Bobby Briggs and I decided we would take a bit of a breather from one another-I think he is having a little affair with Shelley-no matter. I can't love Bobby the way he deserves to be loved, and it kills me inside to admit that.

  I am not side by side with Donna Hayward. Something has happened to us, we grew up, together, but then I suddenly grew apart from her... certain events aged me, made me bitter.

  I see that I wrongly believed her a fool because she had not been made bitter-no one came late at night from the woods to reassure her there is no hope. No. That was my life.

  I do not have a brand-new car. My parents lend me theirs. Why should I have one, in the town of Twin Peaks-there isn't really much need.

  I try to work hard, but I must do more. I must work harder to redeem all my evil doings... my cocaine binges, all day, all handsome exterior with a heart of gold... my fantasy man. I have to quit the coke.

  And the sex! More than a girl my age should know. Much more. Sex that grows darker and darker-becomes an act of vengeance, rather than love.

  I love to sleep with women sometimes because I know exactly how to please them and it gives me so much control!

  I long for such strength all of the time, which again explains the cocaine. I often fear that all of my actions will send me to hell.

  I had a pony. A beautiful one. Troy. His mane, a rich cinnamon color. Once again I blame myself... although there may be circumstances in my life that led me to believe what I did was right. It doesn't count. I led him out, caught up in my own dream of freedom. I whipped his ass, hard. I watched him take off... and I believe he looked back once, but I turned away. Somehow I already sensed what would happen to him because of me.

  He was found, unfed, unshod, with a broken leg on the tracks by the border. Benjamin Horne watched him silently accept two bullets into his skull.

  I have become a thief like the visitor BOB is. Stealing pride and hope, confidence...

  My cat... I won't go into. It is sad enough just to think about.

  I have to go.

  More later, Laura

 
July 22,1988

  Dear Diary,

  Enough of the past, and how I go on and on about the faults of the present.

  I have some news that comes to me like a slap across the face. I am pregnant. Seven and a half weeks pregnant. No one knows but you, and the women at the clinic (I borrowed the car today to go see a doctor and be sure). I'm sure. I have so many voices in my head right now...

  I haven't done a line of coke since last night - it seems like forever. I wish all of my life were a dream. One grand, strange dream with many realistic plot lines and relationships, but uh, uh. This can't be the life of Laura Palmer... I try so hard to do well! Why?

  I have no idea whose baby this is! I cannot cry any longer today because it is my sixteenth birthday, and everyone will want to know why it is that I am so upset. I am not going to tell anyone.

  I have to go.

  Laura

  August 2,1988

  Dear Diary,

  It has been an entire week since BOB has come to see me. I am so numb that it actually occurred to me the other day that I wished he would come and cut me the way he used to. Take some of this constant thinking again and again away, by simply bleeding it out of me. Of course, he would not dare show up if I wanted him to.

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  I think of death these days as a companion I long to meet.

  Goodbye, Laura

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  LITTLE BITCH.

  Are you there, Bob?

  ALWAYS.

  Why don't you just come take me now, take my life... now.

  TOO EASY.

  That's bullshit! I'm going insane! I can't live anymore like this! Either get out of my fucking head right now, get out of my life, out of my home, out of my dreams... or kill me!

  YOU TAKE ALL OF THE FUN OUT OF IT.

  So I was right from the beginning. It has always been your goal to kill me.

  SOMETIMES, LIFE IS ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS BEFORE DEATH. I WANTED TO SEE WHAT COULD BE DONE.

  I'm an experiment.

  YES. YOU SAID THAT ONCE BEFORE.

  I've never had a chance...

  SURE YOU HAVE.

  I don't believe you.

  NOBODY DOES. THAT IS WHY YOU ARE... FALLING.

  Falling...?

  INTO DARKNESS. NICE, ISN'T IT?

  No.

  NO?

  I told you! I hate this! I hate myself, and everything around me!

  THAT'S TOO BAD.

  Are you real, Bob?

  TO YOU, I AM THE ONLY REALITY THERE IS.

  But...

  YOU KEEP COMING BACK. YOU ALWAYS SAY YOU'RE GOING TO STOP DOING BAD THINGS... YOU NEVER STOP.

  When you first came to me, I was not doing bad things! I was a baby girl! I was nothing... I was all goodness... I was happy!

  INCORRECT.

  I could talk to you forever and never learn a thing.

  SOMEONE OF WISDOM IS ALWAYS MORE DIFFICULT TO COMMUNICATE WITH. THIS IS THE FIRE YOU MUST WALK THROUGH.

  I don't want to hear about fire.

  THEN YOU DON'T WANT THE ANSWER.

  Who are you... really?

  I AM WHAT YOU FEAR I COULD BE.

  Enough. I understand. It's enough. I have to go. Go away now. Please. Just... leave.

  HAPPY LAST DAYS, LAURA'S BABY.

  I have gone insane. I won't be talking with you for a while.

  L

  August 10,1988

  Dear Diary,

  It is difficult to describe without sounding self-pitying, although this is only half the truth. It was over in only a few moments, and yet I heard all sorts of sounds, worlds going by... life spinning on its heels and running away.

  The doctor came in, his large hands already wrapped in rubber gloves, and his eyes as sterile as the room and utensils used there.

  He shook my hand. The rubber glove reminded me of something, was it BOB?

  The last few moments with the baby were the hardest I've ever been through. What kind of decision was I making? Whose baby was it?

  The doctor swung his arms up into the air and said, "Damn sleeves." He pushed his sleeves up and went to work.

  Machines began to whir. The nurse in the room took hold of my hand. She smiled, and the doctor leaned between my spread legs and hovered there for a moment; he looked down at me and said, "There will be some discomfort."

  And so I closed my eyes and took hold of the nurse's hand. I wished that whoever this child was would come back when the time is right.

  When there is a marriage. A union that you were born of, not responsible for. You, child, should be a gift to those who are ready, not a burden like so many others before you. Come back, child, when I am no longer a child myself.

  Laura

  August 10,1988

  Dear Diary,

  I cried all the way back from the clinic and thought of all the things that had happened to me, or that I had let happen to me, within the past few months. I wish Maddy could have been here with me. I almost called to ask her if she would come, but decided not to.

  My only real sense of gratification came from the fact that as of today, one A.M., I am nineteen days sober. No coke.

  It has been much harder than I ever thought it would be. Sometimes simply out of habit I'll check the bedpost for any remaining film on the paraphernalia I still keep in the space there.

  By the way, I forgot to tell you Norma called me a couple of days ago, and we're meeting tomorrow to discuss my idea for helping the elderly of Twin Peaks. I hope it all works out because this could be beneficial to the town as well as my sobriety.

  Once I got home I realized how much pain I was in. I didn't think I would even make it up the stairs to my room. Mom caught up to me instantly and said, "So, how'd it go!"

  "The interview was just fine, Mom." I gripped the banister tightly and told her I was heading to bed early. I could feel her watching me as I went up, step by step.

  Just as I was at the top of the staircase Mom called up to me and said that I had had a phone call from cousin Maddy. I stood there in awe. Maddy had heard my calling to her.

  In that same moment I was aware of Mom's stare - pure jealousy at my back.

  I've got to rest.

  Laura

  August 16,1988

  3:15 A.M.

  Dear Diary,

  It has been some time now since the two of us have met this late at night.

  Sobriety is a bitch. I've never been more paranoid than I have been these past few days. I feel like I've lost all of my friends because I'm sober.

  Ronnette and I don't talk the way we used to, especially at work, and I am not notified of parties taking place up at the cabin anymore.

  Bobby never really calls. I call him! How weird is that! He seems to be fine without me, which makes me feel like everyone will notice that and stop dealing with me altogether. I wonder, am I the bad influence BOB always tells me I am?

  Does my sobriety mean I will end up totally alone? Even my new friend Harold Smith

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  August 20,1988

  5:20 A.M.

  Dear Diary,

  It is very dark in my room right now, and I am only writing to you by the glow of the night-light.

  I do not want anyone to see me awake. I feel so scared.

  I just had a nightmare and now I'm sweating like crazy and can hardly breathe. In the dream everyone in the world was taking drugs, but I had stopped. I don't know why... maybe it made me feel better. I think I thought it was the right thing to do.

  As soon as I'd stopped, I became invisible. I broke up into empty space and floated around Twin Peaks... through school... No one noticed me, no one! I ran into a classroom and saw Donna. I walked right up to her and screamed in her face, but she didn't hear me. Bobby and Shelley were walking toward me in the hall. They were speaking to each other and
they walked right through me! When I turned to go after them, I saw Leo and Jacques by the drinking fountain. Even they didn't see me!

  I couldn't get anyone's attention or make them believe that I mattered because to them I didn't. They couldn't see me because I was sober.

  The whole dream seemed so real. I felt so alone.

  When I looked up to check the light from the hallway, there outside the window, looking in at me, laughing (his sounds and laughter muted by the glass), was BOB! Son of a bitch!

  I saw his face across the room, highlighted by the orangish glow of my night-light. Only a pane of glass separated us. He kept laughing and then lowered himself, slowly, out of the square that is my window. I was unable to rest until the sun rose and the window held the light that does not allow him to return.

  Love, Laura

  August 20,1988, later

  Dear Diary,

  Mr. Battis had asked that I meet with him in his office at five-thirty. At five-fifteen I told Ronnette that I should go, but I'd be back as soon as I could to help her unload the new products.