Flowers from Iraq (The Storyteller and the Healer Book 1) Read online

  CHAPTER 4

  Kathleen entered Gayle’s office, said hello, placed two crisp one-dollar bills on Gayle’s desk, sat silently on the couch while she took her shoes off, and laid down with a relaxed sigh.

  Kathleen liked lying on the couch even if it meant she couldn’t eat lunch with Gayle. Now, when she left, Gayle handed her a paper bag filled with food, more than enough for lunch and dinner. She wondered rather sillily if Freud had fed his patients.

  “Guess what, Gayle.”

  “What, Kathleen?”

  “I’m officially a sophomore. One down, three to go.”

  “Congratulations. How’s that feeling?”

  “Really good. The classes are getting harder but more interesting. Gayle, I have a silly question.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Is there something, umm, magical about your couch?”

  Gayle never knew what to expect from Kathleen, but this was off the charts. She had to suppress her amusement at the question. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, when I lay down on your couch, I start to feel really little, like maybe I’m ten or twelve.”

  “Maybe even younger?”

  “Yeah, well I don’t want to admit to being younger than ten. It’s really strange. When I walk in I’m nineteen. Then I lay down and I start to feel younger. Then when I leave, I walk a block or two and I’m nineteen again.”

  “Well, it’s not magic like a genie in a bottle. But there is something that happens. Would you like to know what analysts call it?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “It’s called regression. Kathleen, do you read any science fiction?”

  “Yes, they’re one of my favorites.”

  “It’s a form of time-travel. When you lie on the couch you may feel as if you’re moving backward in time and you may begin to feel very, very little.”

  “So, it’s normal?”

  “Yes, Kathleen, it is, and you are normal.”

  Kathleen, relieved, sank into the couch’s luxurious texture and commented, “Gayle, your couch is more comfortable than the bed I had at Mrs. Adams.”

  Gayle smiled. “What was it like?”

  “Lumpy. Like lots of foster kids must have slept on it. I got used to it, though. I got used to almost everything. Except the kids.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “I was scared to play outside. I got picked on—a lot. I was tall and skinny and wore hand-me-downs. My teeth were too big for the rest of me, and I had freckles. Everyone made fun of me.

  “During the summer, before fifth-grade, I played in Mrs. Adams’ basement. Well, twice a week, Mrs. Adams went to church meetings. I think they played bingo and gossiped. She left me alone, and that’s when I snuck into the basement. The basement stayed cool and there were lots of boxes and newspapers stacked against one wall. The newspapers were really old, and I used to switch on the light and read the comics. Gayle, do you know what I wanted to be?”

  “No, but I bet you’re getting ready to tell me.”

  Kathleen laughed. No one had ever paid this much attention to what she was thinking and feeling. “I wanted to be invisible. I found this comic strip called Invisible Scarlet O’Neil. I just loved it! Scarlet could become invisible by pressing her wrist with her fingers. I tried pressing my wrists the whole summer, first one way, then another. If I could become invisible, I could walk outside and spy on the kids, but no one could see me or tease me, or I could walk into the room when Mrs. Adams spoke to the social worker and hear everything they were saying about me.”

  Gayle spoke thoughtfully. “Kathleen, what’s the opposite of being invisible?”

  Kathleen knew that when Gayle became serious, she was going to ask a question that had an easy answer, but would be followed by a deep thought. “Why, being seen, of course.”

  “Do you think I see you?”

  Kathleen thought for a moment. Was this a trick question? “I’m here, so I know you’re seeing me, unless you’re closing your eyes the way I do.” Gayle was quiet so maybe there was another answer. Kathleen sighed.

  Gayle said, “What happens if someone can’t see you?”

  “They can’t tease me.”

  “And?”

  “What’s for lunch, Gayle?”

  Gayle laughed. “You’re trying to get out of the question. You’re quite a wiggle worm. Do you want the answer?”

  “About lunch?”

  Gayle laughed again. “No. About the benefits of being seen.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “If you’re invisible, no one can see you, and it’s true they won’t tease you. But, they also won’t get to know you. Now, do you want me to answer your other question?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Tuna with celery, no egg. Fruit salad, milk—and Robert baked a special apple pie last night.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Kathleen was beginning to change.

  At times she smiled, and her face lit up.

  At times she shared something silly, and she and Gayle would laugh.

  At times she cried, not only from pain, but from gratitude, as well.

  Now, they were sharing more than a sandwich. They were sharing a relationship.

  “Gayle, the tuna was really good. Would you thank Robert for the apple pie? It was extra delicious.”

  “He’ll be happy to hear it.”

  It had been six months since Kathleen had shared her “shame-filled secret” with Gayle. Now, she seemed to focus on revealing painful parts of her childhood. She didn’t talk about being lesbian again and Gayle, no matter how much she wanted to barge in with unanswered questions, was going to follow her lead. Becoming an analyst, Gayle was discovering, was similar to being a detective; you had to wait for the clues to appear through the patient’s conversations and associations.

  Kathleen was quiet. Sometimes, Gayle said, it was okay to be still and let her thoughts pop up when they were ready. Once, she fell asleep and missed most of her session. Gayle said that was okay, too, and maybe next time she’d have a dream they could talk about.

  “I’ve been thinking about books, especially Alice in Wonderland,” Kathleen said at length. “I still carry her in my backpack. Mrs. Adams gave her to me for my ninth birthday. She was a discard from the library and cost twenty-five cents.”

  Gayle found it whimsical and endearing the way Kathleen referred to the book as “her,” but she winced at the word “discard.” The interpretation could wait for a future day. “Tell me more,” she urged.

  “Okay. You know how much I love books. They were my best friends. Well, the social worker, Mrs. Martin, took me to the library one day, and helped me get a library card. Then, she took me out for ice cream, and we each had a three-scoop chocolate sundae. It was my first. The most I ever got before was a cone, single scoop. That was one of the happiest days of my life. I remember the feeling because it felt like a rainbow showing up after a rainstorm, and you get to see all the colors and think about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I colored that memory gold and put it in my memory jar.”

  “Hmm, I don’t think you’ve talked about your memory jar.”

  “Well, when I was little I used to try to remember the good memories. So, I thought, maybe I could have a jar inside me, like the kind of jar my mother used to can peaches. If I filled it with good memories I could open it when I was sad, and feel happy. Then I thought, maybe if I colored the special memories gold, they would be easy to find because they’re so bright. Now, Gayle, I’m sort of crying a little bit—it was really hard to find good memories. Most of my jar is filled with black, not gold.”

  “What about now? Are you finding gold memories to put in your jar?”

  Kathleen thought a moment. “Here, and with Gary, and sometimes in class.” Kathleen was quiet. “Gayle, do you think if I start to put more gold memories in my jar, the black ones will disappear?”

  “That’s quite a question. What do you think?”

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bsp; “Let’s see. A jar can only hold so much. So, if I put in a lot of gold memories, maybe the black ones will get pushed out. I think I’ll count today as a gold memory.”

  Gayle remained silent, a difficult thing for her to do, but she was learning to give Kathleen space for her thoughts and associations.

  “Are we almost out of time, Gayle? I’m thinking of telling you about my first job. Do you know what I did?”

  “We have time, and I think you’re about to tell me a wonderful story.”

  “I earned a nickel. Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”

  “I am sitting in absolute suspense.”

  “I like being here, Gayle. I don’t feel hardly shy with you at all, but I keep thinking about lunch. Any hints?”

  “It’s a surprise, but I think you’ll be happy.”

  “I like surprises. Okay, so here’s the story about how I earned the nickel. Hmm, I’ll do this one like a once-upon-a-time story. Just like a fairy tale.”

  “Once upon a time a little girl named Kathleen walked to the library with her eyes staring at the sidewalk,” Kathleen began. Gayle was entranced by the regressive, singsong-ish, little girl tone of her patient’s voice and listened raptly. “Usually, when she walked from Mrs. Adams’ house to the library, she only saw sticky wads of gum and dog poop. But this time, she glanced down and saw a shiny dime with sunlight bouncing off its silvery face. She looked to see if anyone was watching and quickly put the dime in her pocket.

  “She tried to decide how she would spend her treasure. She could buy two pieces of chocolate or three pieces of bubble gum at the neighborhood grocery store. The chocolate would be sweet in her mouth and trickle down her throat. If she put the bubble gum in a glass of water at night, it would keep for days.

  “She was trying to decide between chocolate and bubble gum when she saw the big sign on the library window: Book Sale, Ten Cents to One Dollar. She stopped thinking about chocolate and bubble gum and looked at the books. She opened each one and checked the prices. The tencent books were all gone but she found one for fifteen cents, The Swiss Family Robinson.

  “She walked over to the checkout counter with her dime held tightly in her fist. She handed the book to the librarian, who said, ‘That will be fifteen cents.’

  “Kathleen whispered, ‘I only have a dime. Can I dust the books for you and earn a nickel?’

  The librarian was a stuffy old lady with a long, grim face and her gray hair gathered in a tight bun. Kathleen was afraid she was going to say something cross, but instead she smiled, reached under the counter, and handed her a rag made from an old T-shirt. ‘Do you see the books on that table?’ The librarian pointed to a table near her counter. ‘You can dust the books and arrange them so the table looks pretty. That’s worth a nickel.’

  “Kathleen dusted the books and arranged them by size. The librarian leaned over the counter and said, ‘Thank you for helping. You did a very good job. I wasn’t sure I would have the time to dust those books.’ She handed Kathleen the precious copy of The Swiss Family Robinson. ‘This must be your lucky day. This book was put on sale just before you walked in.’

  “Kathleen skipped all the way back to Mrs. Adams’. ‘This is my lucky day.’ Skip, skip, skip. ‘This is my lucky day.’ Skip, skip, skip. She put her new book on the shelf next to Alice. Now she had two friends.

  “The next day she read The Swiss Family Robinson. The book was about surviving on an island. But they were a family with a Mom and Da to take care of the kids. Something started to hurt inside Kathleen’s chest. It felt as if her heart was cracking into little pieces.”

  Kathleen found it hard to speak, “Gayle, that’s the story of how Kathleen earned her first nickel and found out her heart could break.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Gayle turned the pages of the Sunday newspaper, trying to ignore the department store ads for spring clothing that catered to slender women and not the “full-figured woman” she had become. She finished her coffee, laden with heavy cream and sugar, cleared the breakfast dishes, and loaded them into the dishwasher.

  She poured a fresh cup of coffee, sat down at the kitchen table, and opened the paper to the health section. She read the headline, “Broccoli holds promise for cancer fight” and made a face. Eat broccoli, never! But, she thought optimistically, Maybe I can cut out the cream and sugar in my coffee. That should count for something. She took a sip of the black coffee and reached for the bright red Fiesta cream and sugar set.

  Six months had passed since Kathleen’s last therapy appointment. The demands of upper-division classes were increasing and Kathleen needed to focus on preparing for medical school. She ended therapy more confident and able to handle the stress of school but had skirted the issues around her sexuality.

  Gayle was reminded of Kathleen every day when she opened Robert’s over-packed lunches. When her eyes fell across an anorexic-looking model in a J.C. Penney ad, she couldn’t help but worry about Kathleen. Was she eating? Was she eating enough? “God, I sound exactly like a mother,” she said aloud. “No, on second thought, I sound just like my mother.”

  Gayle sighed. She will be a senior this fall. She wanted to call, to have some contact, but they had left it open for Kathleen to call Gayle when she was ready.

  Gayle opened the kitchen window welcoming the fresh spring air. She looked at Robert working in the garden, his face hidden beneath a floppy straw hat. She enjoyed watching the way he moved in a fluid, constant rhythm, planting row after row of flowers and bulbs. In a month, the garden would be in full bloom and they would begin to have friends and colleagues over for barbecues.

  A small smile crossed her face when she remembered the night they met during a party at Gayle’s sorority house. The summer heat had revisited Los Angeles and the windows were opened with hopes of capturing the evening breeze. The fragrance from the night-blooming jasmines filled the room as a 45-RPM record of Mama Cass singing “Dream A Little Dream of Me” played softly in the background. Gayle caught a whiff of sandalwood incense too, as the amorphous shapes in a lava lamp seemed to keep time with the music. She was glancing casually at a black light poster of Peter Fonda on his Harley from Easy Rider when Robert caught her eye.

  Gayle and Robert were overcome by their instant attraction. Robert held out his arms and Gayle moved into them. They danced, looked into each other’s eyes, smiled, but didn’t speak a word. Words weren’t needed for them to know they were in love.

  They always agreed on the depth of their love, but disagreed on what brought them together. Gayle, a dyed-in-the-wool pragmatist, was certain it was a chance meeting; they just happened to be in the same place at the same time. Robert, a romantic at heart, was equally certain it was kismet.

  Gayle felt her throat tighten as memories of the sad, childless years crept in. She dreaded walking into the near empty rooms that should have been filled with echoes of children’s laughter. The space in her heart was never quite filled. She felt incomplete.

  In his own way, Robert grieved for the children that never were. When he worked in the yard, he would allow his fantasies to come to life. He imagined a little boy or girl following him as he gardened. He thought about how he would explain life through nature. The way time could be told from the sun casting a shadow over the face of a sundial. The cycle of life, from birth to death as seen by birds laying eggs in the nests of trees. The way the baby birds got fed until they were able to fly on their own, or how sometimes, unable to fly, they would fall to the ground. He wanted to show how a seed planted in the rich soil struggled to reach the top to blossom, only to wither and drop their seeds into the earth, slumbering, waiting for the next year, when the cycle would be repeated.

  Robert carried his pain silently, but always missed the sound of a child calling him Dad.

  Robert came in from the garden with the loamy smell of garden soil and peat moss clinging to his lean but well-muscled body. He wrapped his arms around Gayle. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You seem sad.�
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  Gayle sighed as she rested her head against his chest and let his arms support her. “I miss Kathleen, and I worry about her. Is she getting enough to eat? Is she happy? I wonder if she’s found someone to love.” She snuggled closer, taking in his scent, feeling his beard rubbing gently against her face. “You know, I’ve broken confidentiality by talking to you about her.”

  He became thoughtful. “As your attorney, I would say I’m more of a consultant.”

  Gayle laughed and shook her head. “Ah, the power of interpretation.”

  Robert held her close. “Why don’t you invite her over for next Sunday? I’ll bet she misses you and doesn’t know what to do. Sometimes these doctor-patient rules are just plain silly. Besides, I’d like to meet her.”

  He held Gayle even closer. “I’m finished in the garden, and we’re going to have an exceptionally colorful summer, if Mother Nature cooperates.” He added suggestively, “Do you know what I’d like?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “We can begin with a glass of your ice tea and a long shower.” He kissed her with the same longing and passion as when they first met.

  Kathleen grasped Gayle’s directions tightly in her hand as she took the early morning Sunday bus from Los Angeles to Westwood. Gayle had offered to pick her up at the bus stop, but Kathleen said she enjoyed walking and would like to see the houses and gardens in the neighborhood. She moved at a fast clip and the two miles from Wilshire Blvd. to Gayle and Robert’s home melted away. As she climbed the hilly streets, the houses changed from tract homes built in the 1950s to custom-built homes on sprawling lots. Evergreen magnolia trees lined both sides of the street creating a sense of unity to the otherwise eclectic neighborhood. One stately colonial house with columns reminded her of Tara and she wondered if Rhett and Scarlett were at home.

  Kathleen didn’t have to look at the address to know she was at Gayle and Robert’s home. It stood out from all the others. She gazed at the sprawling ranch-style house with the beckoning red door. She thought she had fallen into Oz, where the lawns were painted an emerald green and flowers, in bright primary colors, sprawled across planter boxes and circled the birch trees carefully planted in groups of three.