The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer (13 page)

It seemed like a long time before he stopped. And I didn't know what to do, so I waited. For his lead. When we finally came to a stop, I heard him begin to circle me, his footsteps faint on the needles covering the ground. I could feel his eyes as if they were hands, up and down, following this curve and that. He stopped behind me.

"Can you keep a secret, little girl?"

I wasn't sure if I should answer.

"It's okay. Go ahead and tell me."

"Yes. I can keep a secret."

I suddenly began to feel and smell the same deep musk of the woods. I know it well. I began to feel my fear setting in, and I had to roll my head, loosen up... fight it. Remember what this is about.

"The secret is that sometimes, right in this spot, I hear voices. Sometimes I realize that I'm not alone."

"Whose voices do you hear?"

"The voices I don't know... But sometimes, if I am very quiet, I find that I can feel these people around me. I can hear them talking about me, but if you were to try and see them, they would most definitely disappear."

"Do you hear any voices now?"

"I think I hear them faintly. Coming in this direction. Does that scare you?"

"I don't think so, no." I was ready for a busload of truckers to arrive and begin some kind of strange ceremony... I suddenly felt very exposed. I wondered how many people were on their way.

"I'm going to help you sit down. Over here."

Leo sat me down and I realized I was in a quite comfortable chair, dead in the middle of the woods. What was this place? Had I ever seen it during the day? Music began to play. Strange sounds of water, and something I couldn't place... and a drum... low.

I felt it in my chest. It was loud enough that I was suddenly unable to sense by sound if someone was near me or not.

I heard in my ear, "Wait here... relax. Enjoy." I'm not sure I can even describe to you the next five hours of time. The music was constant, a rhythm that made me sway and ache for more of everything. More of the hands that were suddenly upon me, lips soft along my neck, hands on my chest, thighs, face. Voices in my ears, whispering close... backing away.

I think that there were three different women, and at least four men, Leo included. I was tied, eventually to the chair with a rope that bound my hands almost to the point of discomfort, which I knew was part of the game, and well planned. Each and every fantasy one might conjure late at night, with the exception of farm animals, was performed on, with, or for me. It was like I had been swallowed by a dream, perfect in every way. My only responsibility was to maintain my blindness and allow each person his chance to come and be with me.

I could hear them, the others who would wait in line to see me. Just voices in the woods, whose bodies became images I could hear, see them through the sounds they made... everything had become so sensitive. I could hear them all night as they would excite each other to the point of small internal convulsions, billions of tiny waves of light, water, electricity, running through them. All of them would react with a strange joy and amazement... a thirst when one would reach a climax. Even I, who sat away from them as if on display (more a trophy than a freak), felt pleasure in the sounds around my feet.

These people, all of various ages, spent evenings in the woods, forgetting names and histories, using only their most basic feelings and wishes to be held and touched, wanted, and completely accepted, no matter what they looked like, or who they were at work or school the following mornings. It was dark and strange and almost intoxicating at times. I would sway, my head heavy in this darkness. The energy was so thick, I almost felt the air separate, part slowly to let me move. Each and every nerve in my body had something to say... a scream beneath the skin, constant and much greater than usual because I could not sense it coming. I could swear there were times I was sensitive enough to feel the fingerprints of those who touched me. See them by how they felt across my skin... each pattern like light trails behind my eyes.

When I saw again, with my eyes, the image was of my house. The light across it, just before sunrise... a yellow mist of light still fighting the shade that has not finished its stay.

It took me a minute to really focus. Leo sat next to me in his truck. He said he was leaving, and that his wife would be coming back home soon. In order to meet again, we would have to plan carefully. I had forgotten about the wife. Shelley. Quite pretty. She waitresses with Norma at the Double R. So, anyway, I told him to call me. He said he had a few things I'd be needing while he was away.

He handed me a backpack stuffed beyond its limit. He warned me not to open it until I was alone. He kissed me, then watched me go in the front door, and he drove off.

I had a daydream as I made my way upstairs that Mom woke up... and asked how the orgy had been. I gave her all the details and she began reliving her own experiences of strange evenings in the woods. She wanted to call her friends and tell them her daughter had been in an orgy... and wasn't that wonderful? The daydream ended when I reached the top of the stairs and saw that my bedroom door was wide open-I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked toward my parents' bedroom. The door was closed tight.

When I turned back to my room, what I saw was horrifying!

I could clearly see a man's shoe behind my door, and then he emerged, smiling. It was BOB. With one hand he took my wrist, and the other he placed across his lips,
"SHHHHHH,"
with one quick pull, he brought me inside the room with him. The door slammed shut behind me.

Stop. It must be a dream. I'm high. I haven't slept. Don't wake Mom or Dad now or they'll know you've been out. They'll have questions you can't answer. Think.

I'm going crazy, pacing and struggling with thoughts, words, the image of that haunting grin. Stay away from me, BOB!

I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT.

Stay away from this house! Leave me alone or I swear I'll find a way to make you sorry.

CAN'T FEEL SORRY, LAURA PALMER.

Look at where I am, because of you, and your sickness, your weakness, you are an awful creature.

NO CONSCIENCE. NO GUILT. YOU SAID SO YOURSELF. I SEE YOU GOT YOURSELF FUCKED LAST NIGHT. AN OWL TOLD ME. REALLY INTO THAT COKE, AREN'T YOU? DIRTY GIRL, LAURA PALMER. YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT YOU CAN'T IMPRESS ME... I'M NOT INTERESTED IN WHAT YOU DO WITH YOUR LITTLE COKE FRIENDS. YOU ALL LOOKED RIDICULOUS, OR SO I HEARD.

Get out of my head. Now!

NAH.

Leave me alone, you sick bastard. How dare you! I don't want you here! Get out! Get out! I'm tired of accepting you all the time... I hate you. Leave!

IT ISN'T UP TO YOU, LAURA PALMER. YOU SHOULD WATCH THAT EGO. QUITE UNBELIEVABLE.

Fuck you.

CRYING ISN'T GOING TO STOP ME FROM STAYING EITHER. I'M IMMUNE TO YOUR EMOTIONAL, ADOLESCENT, FUCKING, LESBIAN WHORE WHINING AND SELF-PITY. I'M THE BEST THING IN YOUR LIFE.

You aren't. It's not true!

ISN'T IT?

Stop lying to me. I have better things in my life than you. I know it.

OH, YES? NAME ONE.

My parents.

DOUBT IT. THEY HAVEN'T KEPT ME FROM GETTING TO YOU, HAVE THEY? NEITHER ONE TALKS TO YOU THE WAY THEY USED TO. THEY STOPPED CARING A LONG TIME AGO. THEY PUT UP WITH YOU. NOTHING MORE. I'M BETTER.

Donna.

THE "BEST FRIEND" YOU NEVER SPEAK TO? THE ONE YOU LEFT BEHIND IN EXCHANGE FOR DRUGS? YOU ARE SADLY MISTAKEN.

I have myself. Me. I'm better than you are!

NO. I HAVE YOU. YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU DON'T DO ANYTHING I DON'T ALLOW YOU TO DO. I RUN YOUR LIFE, AND I STEER YOU AS I WISH.

No!

STILL HERE.

You are not real! I refuse to believe that you are real! I am only imagining you... I make you... I'll just stop! You'll have to leave if I stop believing!

TRY AGAIN. I'VE BEEN HERE FOR YEARS AND YEARS. YOUR BELIEF DOESN'T MEAN A THING. YOUR OPINION IS NOTHING. THINK ABOUT IT. LOOK AT YOUR LIFE. YOU GO FUCKING AROUND WITH PEOPLE. DRUGS ALL THE TIME. YOU'LL BE SIXTEEN SOON. YOUR LIFE IS SHIT AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN SIXTEEN YET. LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND SEE FOR YOURSELF. YOU ARE NOTHING.

What... do you want?

I WANT YOU.

Why? What for!

ENTERTAINMENT. I ENJOY WATCHING YOU FIGHT THE TRUTH.

What fucking truth!

YOUR LIFE IS WORTHLESS TO EVERYONE, INCLUDING YOURSELF. I DO YOU A GREAT FAVOR. I TEACH YOU. YOU OWE ME YOUR LOYALTY. YOU OWE ME EVERYTHING.

I owe you nothing.

I'M THE BEST THING IN YOUR LIFE.

Goodbye!

I'LL BE HERE.

Fuck you.

SOON. YOU WILL.

Stop.

SEE YOU IN THE DARK... LAURA PALMER.

Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck You! Stay the fuck away from me this time. You're in my head. No one else sees you or hears you so you must be in my head. I'm not letting you back into this room. Never. You are only an idea. You are a fear. You are only my little girl, fear of the woods, creation!

See! Can't come back now, can you!

You have no power if I don't give it to you... This time I'll keep you away. This is my life! It's mine! You have no place here... Ha!

I have work to do. Sleep to get. You are dead. You aren't even a memory.

Laura

P.S.
WATCH THE WINDOW, LAURA PALMER.

December 15, 1987

Dear Diary,

I am sorry I have not written in so long, but I've been working so hard! There is so much you don't know!

First of all, I decided to make a deal with the Hornes. I realized, when I was up there last, that Johnny seemed lifeless, unattended to. Sad. So I proposed to them that I would tutor Johnny, three times a week, spend at least an hour, hour and a half with him, reading, talking, etc for a small amount of cash weekly. They loved the idea, and have agreed to pay me cash, $50 a week, $200 a month.

The money helps me a lot with the coke, but it's mostly nice to be around Johnny because he loves me no matter what I do when I'm not around him. He doesn't hurt me or tease me or want to sleep with me or tie me up or cut me or any of the millions of things I feel like people do to me all the time... Always touching me and taking something, always wanting more, and more and more.

All Johnny wants is for me to read to him.
Sleeping Beauty
is his favorite. He likes to rest his head in my lap and look up at me as I read to him. We take a moment every so often to look at the pictures, and I will sometimes have to explain the pictures, as well as some parts of the story, in a way that Johnny will better understand them. He often gets this very confused, lost look on his face, as if he is afraid he doesn't understand anything. I always stop when I see him feeling that way and go over it with him.

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.