» Giant Steps: The Book of Dawn - 5
Giant Steps: The Book of Dawn - 5
Chapter (Cont.)
Warm sunshine mixed with a cool northern wind. The trees arched, their limbs dancing in the breeze. Once again we came back to the park. Dawn gave no reasons for choosing to have her session here again, but I imagined she wanted to change gears, to slow the process down. It would be her way of making this work. So many of us rush to judgment; labeling what we see as resistance, regressions, steps backward. When we hike, then pause to rest or even backtrack to find our way again, the pause and the backtracking are integral aspects of the hike. Clearly, the pause is part of the movement.
My early arrival allowed me extra time to squat on the grass and face the hot sun with my eyes closed. Images of the parched, sun-baked face of Thomas Eagle Feather, an old Black Foot Indian I met in western New Mexico, surfaced beneath my lids. We hammered silver together in the shadow of a sacred Indian mountain. He talked of shaping his life to the flow of nature, orchestrating his movement in harmony with the elements. Eagle Feather would have applauded this moment.
Suddenly, a dark shape blocked the sun. I waited for it to pass, but it persisted in hovering over me. It felt natural for my eyes to open, but somehow they remained closed.
"Perfect. Don't move, Kaufman. Your eyes, keep them shut," Dawn said. "I like you squatted on the grass; it's more natural than the bench though I do think you're getting a pot belly. I want to tell you some things, but you can't look at me. And don't ask me why you can't look at me."
"I'm very comfortable with my eyes closed. So go ahead, I'm all yours." From the rustling of her clothes, I knew she had sat opposite me on the grass. The familiar sound of grinding teeth reverberated in my ears.
"Last time," she said, "I told you about Jonathan and me - remember?"
"Yes."
"I watched you. You didn't blink an eye. Well, I have some other things to say. First, five days before the incident with Jonathan, I gave Stephan Kelb a blow job - he said I was great. Second, I not only smoked pot, but I sniffed coke once. Third, I used to think about killing my mother with a kitchen knife. Fourth, I used to think about killing myself. Fifth, I think my father's an assh*le. So is God." Dawn paused, allowing for the reaction which never came. "Sixth, I once hit my younger sister with a stick from behind and told my parents she fell. Seventh, I called Maria Sanchez a spic. Eighth, I tell a lot of lies. Ninth, I ... I. There is no ninth. I've told you enough. Well?"
"Well what?"
"What do you think?"
"You seem to be talented at making lists," I observed.
"Come on, Kaufman, do your thing!"
"Oh, I thought that's what I've been doing."
"Bull ... sitting here with your eyes closed while I vomit at the mouth. All you've been doing is listening."
"Not just listening Dawn ... accepting. Maybe that's what you've been doing too." My eyes opened. Dawn avoided my gaze, bowing her head slightly toward the ground. Then, in a jerking spastic movement, she snapped her head erect and smiled; a warm, open, infectious smile.
The remainder of the session focused on her relationship with her mother. She realized her anger stemmed from the fear her mother might be right. Working that through, she then questioned the nature of her mother's love ... anger as a statement of caring. Dawn concluded unhappy people act in unhappy ways, which says nothing about her mother's loving her or wanting to love her more.
Entry in Dawn's Diary, June 17
Hadn't realized how much I'd changed, how differently I saw my mother, until last night. She wouldn't quit, ranting and raving about my irresponsibility. I didn't say a word. I just listened. She looked so sad, so miserable. When she finished, I asked her what about what I did made her so unhappy. I couldn't believe my voice. It sounded like his. And I wasn't playing a game, I was really there. Wow, she answered me - right off! I asked another question. We talked until four in the morning! She talked about her mother for the first time. She'd been an alcoholic who died in an institution before I was born. My mother cried. We cried together. It was the most beautiful night of my life.
We continued the dialogues in the park. From time to time, she tested my attitude with provocative statements, stretching her imagination to be as vulgar as possible. Sharp four-letter words appeared as little delicacies, sprinkled occasionally throughout her descriptions. But her belligerence had dissipated; the anger had almost disappeared.
In a discussion about Noah, the question of responsibility for someone else's unhappiness arose. Could she make Noah unhappy? Reviewing the genesis of her own feelings with Jonathan and her mother and how she felt completely different when she changed her beliefs, Dawn reaffirmed that only she could make herself unhappy, thus only Noah had the power to make himself unhappy.
She mentioned a girl named Karen for the third time in two weeks. Dawn strained to soften her voice, almost successfully camouflaging her anxiety. Only once did her references to Karen generate a direct question, one which centered on her discomfort about avoiding her friend or former friend. She flatly refused to answer, choosing instead to redirect the dialogue.
Entry in Dawn's Diary, Aug. 14
I keep trying to enjoy it with Noah. No luck. It scares me. Darleen pushes me to join her women's group. Why me? Everyone started to notice the weight I've lost. Tina wouldn't believe me when I said I wasn't dieting - I could hardly believe it myself. And wouldn't you know it - Allen, old platonic friend Allen actually asked me out. I told him he's losing his marbles. He said I act differently now. We had a fight in the lunchroom. I accused him of being a chauvinist, into my ass and t*ts now that I'm thinner. He laughed in my face, said I looked just as huge as ever, said I'd have to lose a lot more than six pounds to get his vote for having an acceptable body. f*ck him! Funny, but I can now observe myself becoming unhappy - like I'm outside of my body. Yet so many of the old situations don't bother me any more. My mother and I had such a fabulous weekend. She's so different with me. I'm so different with her. And we're both so different with my father. Even he's changing. Angie and Chris asked me to their party on the 22nd. I had a great talk with Jill, but she's so f*cked up about sex. Look who's talking! Karen keeps slipping into my conversations with Bears. I look forward to the sessions. They really clean out my head ... I mean (sorry, teach), I really clean out my head. He's great, he let's me pick it up and leave it anywhere I want. Maybe it's time to go back to his little house on the hill.
