One
She remembered running. Faster than she ever ran before. Then she remembered black. As she sat on the weekly couch; it seemed something was different from the times before. Perhaps today she would unlock the torment that crept in her dreams. Unleash the pain; open the scar. Every stitch undone was another memory coming out. The guts weren’t pretty. I knew I could handle it. But could she?
My name is Dr. Lori Rose.
Jasmine came to me in the middle of a divorce with a son. No degree, a job-floater. She grew in this twenty-four-year-old bubble. Jasmine thought like most twenty-something’s who couldn’t see further than headlights on a dark road.
I wanted to open up the tunnel. I wanted her to see she could get over the clouds; head straight for her rainbow. Jasmine was like a lonely deer in an open field not knowing where to go.
She often called me after hours. I knew she had gotten into trouble in these instances. There was danger around every corner of her reckless life. Although she made some poor choices, she loved her son.
He made all his marks on time, until he was two. His trivial vocabulary got smaller; his quiet rage got louder.
Jasmine spoke back on those times with guilt. But in those days, she just remembered trying to get through the week. Weeks turned into years; the baby turned three. He would babble to convey his own language. When he was pushed to speak he would throw monstrous fits until he got his way, or he passed out – whichever came first.
With hopeless cracks in her voice she told me she didn’t know how to deal with him. This made me want to better Jasmine’s chaos, if only for one hour twice a week.
We nod to each other to consent. The tape records.
“Today is 4/21/09. Jasmine is about to tell me the time she was running.” I paused; stared in her verdant eyes, “like running for her life.”
She always got to the point of the story where she would fall to the ground. She wasn’t sure what happened for the next block of time. She explains it like time just swept on by on a magic carpet ride.
Today was new.
The leaves fell from the trees as the spring wind blew.
My office was breathtaking. I stopped periodically throughout my day to feel the gratitude. I sat cross-legged in my teal armchair. It brought out the Picasso replica that hung over my mahogany desk. A gift my dad gave. He was a guilt-gifter.
I got my psychologist doctorate five years ago from UMass. My practice is in Holyoke. Many clients grew up on these streets. It seems they lost their connection to a higher force. Walking around blaming themselves; carrying burdens like gorillas on their backs. The hustle-bustle of the city life wore on them. I could see it in their eyes; hear it in their words.
My clients enjoyed the spiritual connection I helped them connect to.
I have seen some go that I wished would’ve stayed. I have known some almost-famous ones and some young-meek ones.
Jasmine had on skinny jeans. Her top was cherry-red. The scoop-neck was low for my liking. Still, I saw something in her that was a reflection of me. She had a good soul. She needed to catch a break.
Her smiles looked forced. It reminded me when I was young, watching my parents fight. I was forced to pretend like I didn’t see what my eyes knew were true. She smiled like she was hiding from something.
“I was running. I fell. He fell on top of me. He pushed me to the ground.” She paused; looked at me for approval. “With his body weight, he shoved something in my face. A powder. I don’t know what it was. I remember refusing it. But he put it on my mouth; rubbed it in. I remember the devil’s dustings thrive up my nose.. jolt into my body. Then I froze. I let him do what he wanted. The next thing I knew I was knocking at a stranger’s door in the darkest road I’d ever seen.”
Jasmine’s skin looked flushed. Her distant eyes had tears. She was a million miles away.
There was a long pause. The lavender diffuser filled the air; a gift from my generous mom. The soft music took over the room. The sound of the piano increases brain waves; decreases anxiety.
“Lori, can we stop? My head has a train running through it. My legs feel like noodles. My armpits are sweaty. I can’t breathe.”
She came back to the present moment. I met her there and hit stop on the recorder.
I consoled her. I felt motherly toward her; a big sister. I was about a decade older.
I once had bad judgment in clothes. Men - still do. I drank too much. Made plenty of dumb choices. I knew Jasmine was doing the best she could with what she had. I knew she would look back in ten years with a totally different outlook. I wanted her to know that too.
Jasmine hugged me goodbye.
I reviewed notes:
11/4/08 –
Becky was Jasmine’s friend. Becky was selfish, but fun. She had a million-dollar smile. Jasmine wanting to be more like Becky.
They played soccer together on their high school field. After practice was cut short, they got into some unforeseen trouble.
They went to a party. “We were just kids. I didn’t know what we were doing. I knew my parents weren’t expecting me home for a few hours, so I went with her.”
Becky didn’t have a car. Jasmine didn’t have her license. She was a sophomore. Becky a junior.
“Dave’s parents were big-shot lawyers; never home. His mansion would fill up with booze and wild teens. I couldn’t have had more than a few sips of beer. But the next thing I knew I was walking to Becky’s boyfriend’s place. Jerry lived across town. The ugly side of town. He was older than us. I hadn’t had a boyfriend yet. My dad wouldn’t allow it. I was shy. Those days, anyway. He had to live like an hour away on foot. By now it was getting late, I knew I needed to get home, but it was like a time warp. I tried to get home, but I couldn’t find the way. Becky just went inside Jerry’s house. She looked at me; shut the door. I was stuck to the ground. Looking back now I know I was drugged, but I couldn’t have known then. I was floating on a different plane. I wanted my folks. I didn’t care if they yelled. I just wanted my bed. Sometimes after practice, Becky and I would stay under the lights; have a kick-off match. Maybe my parents thought I was there. I didn’t get myself into trouble, not then anyway.”
I had my own thoughts about Becky. What kind of friend leaves a girl on the streets, as the night sky commences, and the troublemakers sneak out?
This was a tough neighborhood. You didn’t want to be alone in the dark with nothing on you except the clothes you were wearing. They would take your sneakers if you weren’t careful.
Becky wanted to see Jerry. She didn’t want to walk through the daunting parts of town alone. When she got there – she closed the door. Probably never thought of it again. But for Jasmine, it changed her life.
1/12/09. “I can still see Becky’s eyes. Devilish. I swear she smirked. I don’t know why I accepted it. I should have gone to the door banging, pleading to let me use the phone. But I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. After that, I quit the team. Then school. I was never the same. I never got her evil-beady eyes out of my head. I remember thinking if I could just get through Matchwood, I’d be good. But someone was watching.”
Matchwood was what the kids called Patchwood Forest where they had bonfire keg parties. The forest split two sides of the city. One side was filled with churches, schools; boutiques. The other side would leave you feeling like you needed a shower when you left.
Jasmine had no siblings. Her mother, Ruby was exotic. You couldn’t tell her ethnicity – the wonder made her all the more attractive.
Jasmine had that look, but she was pale-skinned, like her dad. He was impulsive. Always putting the family in jeopardy. When Jasmine quit school they didn’t seem to care. They made her get a job.
I knew these memories drained her. I wanted her to let them go. I feared if she fully unleashed the beast, she wouldn’t know how to tame it.
