The Secret Diary Of Laura Palmer Part 10

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 c.o.ke 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 relations.h.i.+ps, 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.

PAGE RIPPED OUT.

(as found) PAGE RIPPED OUT.

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

Goodbye, Laura PAGE RIPPED OUT.

(as found) LITTLE b.i.t.c.h.

Are you there, Bob?

ALWAYS.

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

TOO EASY.

That's bulls.h.i.+t! I'm going insane! I can't live anymore like this! Either get out of my f.u.c.king 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.

n.o.bODY 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, "d.a.m.n 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 c.o.ke.

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 s.p.a.ce 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 b.i.t.c.h. 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 PAGE RIPPED OUT.

(as found) 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 s.p.a.ce and floated around Twin Peaks... through school... No one noticed me, no one! I ran into a cla.s.sroom and saw Donna. I walked right up to her and screamed in her face, but she didn't hear me. Bobby and Sh.e.l.ley 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 gla.s.s), was BOB! Son of a b.i.t.c.h!

I saw his face across the room, highlighted by the orangish glow of my night-light. Only a pane of gla.s.s 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.

I was left alone in Battis's office for several minutes. I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk.

When Mr. Battis walked in, he took a quick look at me and smiled. He liked me, I knew that, but now it was even more obvious.

Mr. Battis took two steps toward his window and looked out between the curtains.

"Something tells me that you are in the market for a better job...?"

"Yes." I crossed my legs. "That's true."

Still looking out the window, he said, "I believe we have the job for you."

"And what would that be, Mr. Battis?" I said.

"A hostess... with room to grow."

"A hostess...?"

"Can you dance, Miss Palmer?"

"Amory, I can do a lot of things."

"Then you can make a lot of money."

Mr. Battis told me to meet him here next Sat.u.r.day and we (Ronnette included) would go to a place across the border called One-Eyed Jack's.

I thanked him and left his office. Walking back to the perfume counter, I made the decision that sobriety was not for me.

Ronnette said she'd cover for me awhile. I took her bullet back to the storage room. I took my hits, turned to leave, and there was BOB, crouched in the corner, smiling victoriously.

New game, Laura August 23,1988 Dear Diary, I feel so much better with cocaine back in my life!

I've been meaning to tell you what became of my meeting with Norma. I had been thinking about the very best way to help the elderly who find it difficult to leave the house.

I would deliver meals to the elderly people in the area who couldn't get out for a hot meal. I told her the name of the program could be Meals on Wheels.

Norma loved the idea and said she would make a few calls to people at city hall and maybe the hospital. We could find the best recipients that way, without doing much footwork. Norma agreed to provide the meals, two a day, four times a week. All profits to go fifty-fifty. I deliver them to the door, and maybe I'll regain some confidence... Or am I confident? Or am I so f.u.c.ked up on c.o.ke that I can't tell?