Four Friends (34 page)

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.”

“Ugh,” 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.”

“Wow” was all she could say.

Yeah,
BJ thought.
This is better.
Flowers, running, cursing like a sailor—letting down the barriers so the sun could shine where the darkness had lived. BJ knew all about that. She felt her eyes fill with tears. This is better.

* * *

Andy was very much looking forward to meeting Bob’s family. He confessed to her that Connie and Frank were so excited to meet Bob’s new girlfriend, they wanted all four grown children, their spouses and nine grandkids to come over for a big family gathering, but Bob slammed the lid on that. At his insistence, it would be a cozy little backyard barbeque that would give the two couples a chance to get to know each other. There was plenty of time to bring in the entire supporting cast.

He explained that Frank and Connie were rich and their house was probably more of a small mansion. He didn’t want Andy to think that had anything to do with him—he was just a poor relative.

“Bob, I figured if it had a guesthouse, it was pretty substantial, and that Connie and Frank weren’t simple folks if they had all that,” she said.

“But they are,” he said earnestly. “Maybe I just kid myself about that—but they seem just ordinary to me. My other sisters and their families live in regular little houses, always worked hard and had to worry about things like paying for college and weddings. I know Connie and Frank are kind of different in that way—though they’re hard workers, too. I can’t explain it.”