Multiple

“Now wait just a minute, Marsha. First you tell me that your daughter has a make-believe friend. Okay, that’s one thing. But now you say you actually talk with Angela’s imaginary playmate?”

Marsha turned her head away from the stove to look at her visitor, “Yes, it happens sometimes.”

“I can’t believe it. Angela wouldn’t clown around like that. She seems so serious.” Mary shook her head and went on, “And I can’t understand why you would participate in such games. You must be joking.”

“Oh no. It’s no joke,” said Marsh, “You’d swear that her friend, Constance, was real.”

“Well, I’ll tell you frankly,” said Mary, “It’s hard for me to swallow.”

“I know, but you see . . .” Marsha moved over to the table, sat down and then continued. “When Angela was very young, she was one of several children who were sexually molested at a child care center and . . .”

Mary gasped as she reached over the table to take Marsha’s hands into her own, “Oh no, how awful. I’m so sorry.”

Martha nodded a thank you and said, “No one can ever fully understand the depth of the emotional turmoil a child suffers from such an experience. And while parents’ hearts bleed with concern over their child’s immediate confusion and pain, they also face the lingering question of whether there will be long term deleterious effects.

“The owners and several attendants were eventually charged and jailed but the bastards got off with light sentences. It was a difficult time for us. I was so ashamed that I had ever taken her there. I get weepy every time I think about it.”

“What did you do?”

“I quit work and stayed home for awhile but I was soon forced to get out and earn a living. That meant I had to entrust her to the care of others again but instead of taking her to a day care center, I kept her at home and I arranged for someone to be there for her while I worked the supper hours and late evenings at a restaurant. It wasn’t a good arrangement but it was the only alternative.

“Unfortunately, she was alone a great deal, what with inattentive sitters and reluctant landladies. That’s when her friend, Constance, first appeared . . . from out of her imagination. Or wherever.”

“But that was years ago. Angela’s about seventeen now. You’d think she’d have outgrown such kid’s stuff by now.”

When Marsha shrugged her shoulders, Mary continued, “Was she a healthy child?”

“Oh yes, relatively. But, don’t forget, I was abandoned by Angela’s father, disowned by my parents, and left alone to have my baby when I was only 18. She and I suffered in those early years; both of us knew loneliness and sometimes even hunger; she . . .”

“That is a lot for a young mother and her baby to endure,” said Mary. And you think it’s possible that some of those early problems may have had an effect in shaping her personality.”

“Sure it’s possible. She seems to be okay . . . even though she has wild mood swings. She can be so loving and considerate one day and belligerent and selfish the next. But the way that most teenagers behave these days, how can a mother ever know if there’s anything wrong?”

“Surely you’ve checked with your doctor.”

“Of course.” Said Marsha getting back to the stove. “Old Doc Wilson. Remember him? Down on Center Street? He was old even when you knew him and he’s finally retired now. Anyway, he told us that imaginary friends are common and not to worry about it. And so we took his advice.

“I dunno, Marsha. Maybe he’s right. But, getting back to the point about you talking to Angela’s make-believe friend, Constance, how can that be any different to talking directly to Angela?”

“Strangely enough, Constance is different from Angela; different in her looks, her voice and even her personality. She’s a nice girl; maybe a little prudish.”

“Marsha. C’mon. Now you’re going too far.”

“It’s true. Honest. But I guess it would seem strange to you.” Before Mary could respond, Marsha moved away to check the vegetables and said, “Anyway that’s the whole story. Now let me finish getting this supper ready or we won’t eat tonight.”

Mary said nothing more but she was, however, shocked by the disclosure of the child care abuse. She was also deeply troubled that her friend could appear so nonchalant about the abnormal behaviour that Angela continued to exhibit. She wondered how Marsha could rely on the advice of that old quack, Doc Wilson. “But,” she said to herself, “should I really expect to know Marsha now? It has been 20 years since I’ve seen her and people do change . . . more than just their hair colour and waistlines.”

So now, late on this sunny, Friday afternoon, following the revelation about Constance, Mary sat and watched as Marsha drained vegetables and finished the preparation of supper. Surveying the peaceful kitchen scene, Mary was happy for her friend that her life could now seem to be so calm and fulfilled, after all that she had been through. “Time heals,” she thought, “and her emotional scars don’t show.”

Marsha said, “Okay, I think we’re ready to eat. Mary, I’ll call the menfolk and you call the girls.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Mary went to call Angela and, oh yes, Constance.

Angela’s bedroom was her sanctuary; a place where she could always feel safe, at least from external dangers. Her refuge, however, could not shield her from herself and the emotional turmoil within. Today, she was extremely upset and the distress was quite obvious.

Angela Wallace had a pretty face, with full and sensual lips and wide liquid eyes. The combination appealed even more because of a wistful look which one of her teacher’s had remarked was perpetually lonesome. Today, as she sat at her dressing table, the mirror reflected a different countenance; a girl with squinting eyes and thin, pinched lips. The image spoke in an angry shrill voice, accusatory and self-righteous. “Angela, we’re late with our period and you know why. You know very well that what you did was wrong.”

The soft melodious voice of the pretty teenager replied as a tear escaped to her cheek. “You’re my best friend and you should know that I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

Again the shrill voice spoke from the mirror, ignoring what Angela had just said. “That Buddy Brewster is like all the others. Him and that fancy Dodge van. How could you ever let us get into that situation?”

The calm but anxious voice answered, “I do remember speaking to Buddy at the football dance. But it was only for a moment and I certainly can’t remember being in his van. You’ve got to believe me.”

Constance answered, “Well . . . I remember quite distinctly that we were in the van, in the parking lot. Oh, I’m all mixed up . . . but I should have known that you couldn’t be such a slut.”

“Thanks,” said Angela.

“So it must have been Laverne . . . I should have known. She’s always horning in and she’s so crude and mouthy. It must have been her.”

“From what we know about her, I think you’re right.

“I’m sorry that I was angry with you, Angie, but it’s been such a strain lately. Ever since that bitch, Laverne, came out of nowhere, and joined our company, I’ve been nervous and irritable. Now what are we going to do?”

Before Angela could answer, the tête-à-tête was interrupted by ‘Aunt’ Mary calling, “Supper’s ready.”

In a house nearby, Adam Mann, and his wife Evelyn, both English teachers at the local high school, lingered at the supper table. It was their custom, as they were finishing their coffee, to read through the daily newspaper and frequently they discussed items that they found to be of interest.

Evelyn looked up from her paper and said, “There’s a follow-up article about that rape case in Wisconsin. Remember? It’s the case about the young woman with a multiple personality disorder.”

“Oh sure, I remember,” said Adam, “20 different personalities. It’s such a fascinating subject and it makes you realize how little we know about the human mind.”

Evelyn nodded and said, “I never knew about such things until I saw that movie, ‘Three Faces of Eve’. It must be a terrible affliction.”

Adam read the article that Evelyn handed to him and said, “I see the guy’s lawyers are arguing that there had been consent from one of the personalities.”

Evelyn said, “Well, it seems to me that consent would have been needed from all of them; not just one.”

“You’re right,” said Adam, “That’s what makes this whole situation so fascinating. The side bar with this article reads, ‘It is generally acknowledged by medical specialists that in cases of multiple personalities, each personality is independent and autonomous and the feelings, attitudes and behaviour of secondary personalities can be very different from the major self, often the exact opposite’.”

“I didn’t read that part but I can understand the judge a little better now,” said Evelyn. “During the trial, when any of the personalities were called and ‘came out’ to testify, the judge insisted each one had to be sworn in separately before they were allowed to give evidence.”

“Yeah, Adam continued, “But all of that may be academic because as it happens, consent not withstanding, Wisconsin law forbids any sexual contact with mentally ill people who cannot understand the consequences of their actions. So, consent, by one, some or all personalities, may not be relevant. “

“You’re a man and I can understand how you can be intrigued by the legal complexities of the case but I’m more concerned with the human aspects. That poor young woman must suffer so much anguish with problems of even a day-to-day nature, never mind rape.

“My stars, Adam, can you imagine having unwanted tenants in your body doing things without your consent or knowledge and then having to accept the consequences?”

“It’s hard to believe.”

Evelyn continued, “It’s almost as if that poor girl, the so called, primary personality, was the unconscious third of a menage-a -trois. Can you imagine how you would feel?”

Mr. Mann said that he did not know.

The next day, Angela treated her adopted Aunt to lunch at a quiet restaurant, nearby.

“I am so glad you came back to River City,” she said, “and I’m very proud to pretend that I’m your niece. You are such an experienced person and yet you are so down to earth. I know that I can tell you things that I could never tell my Mum.”

“Well Angela, I do appreciate your trust but you must know your Mother loves you very much and . . . .”

Angela interrupted, “Yeah, she’s all right. She knows Constance and she’s tolerant. But she’d never understand about Laverne.”

“Laverne?” said Mary, “Who on earth is Laverne?”

There was no immediate answer and Mary was startled to see the subdued expression of her young friend change suddenly to a smirk, as the answer came.

“Hi Deary, you askin’ about Laverne? Here I am.”

“But I . . . Angela? What’s happening?”

“Angela ain’t here. I already told ja I’m Laverne. I’m lovely, luscious, Laverne, a little-ole-gal that loves party time.”

“Your voice is huskier . . . and uh, your eyes are sparkling.” And you’re full of the devil, too, Mary thought.

“Angela, you imp,” she said, “Are you putting me on?”

The teenager said, “Who are you?”

“Now stop kidding around. I’m your Aunt Mary.”

“Glad to meetcha Auntie Mare. I wouldn’t kid around with you. Angela ain’t here, but don’t worry, you’ll like me better than her. She couldn’t say poop if her mouth was full of it. And you’ll like me better than her shadow, Constance. She’s a real kiss-ass. Hah, and her nose is always full. They’re quite a pair.”

“What a terrible thing to say.”

“I know, ain’t I awful,” said Lavern, laughing. “I like that. She’s a kiss-ass and her nose is always full. Hah, Hah. But never mind them, Auntie, let’s us git outa this Dullsville. We can’t party here.” She opened Angela’s purse and quickly checked out its contents. “Just as I thought. She’s almost broke. So what do ya say, Auntie Mare? Got any money? Cigarettes? C’mon, we’ll live it up. Let’s go.”

As the young teenager started to get up from the table, Mary leaned forward and detained her, saying, “Wait now, don’t rush.”

When the youngster stopped, Mary settled back down with a sigh. She said, “I suddenly feel my age. I’m tired, drained. I guess it’s partly because I’m so confused. I can hardly believe what’s happening. Are you real?” Immediately, Mary would have given anything to get those words back but the harm was done.

Laverne answered, “Don’t I look real? You stupid old broad. What a dumb question.”

“You’re right, that was a dumb question and I’m truly sorry.”

Mary clasped Lavern’s hands, looked into her eyes and said gently, “You poor, dear girl. Now, please forgive me, I don’t mean to be rude but it’s been such a shock. I think it would be best for me to talk to Angela again. May I please?”

Mary saw the saucy, teen-age face frown accusingly for a moment, showing indignation and betrayal. Then the worried countenance of Angela returned. She blinked her eyes, and said, “Was I gone for a while?”

“Yes, you were.”

Angela said, “That’s how it happens. I get these blackouts and I have no control. For quite a while, I’ve wondered if I’m possessed. When it happens at home, I frequently find my dressers drawers have been rifled and left in a mess; or I’ll find butts from cigarettes and marijuana joints and once even some syringes. Or when a blackout happens away from the house, I’ll notice, afterwards, that the people nearby will be acting strangely towards me.

“My suspicions about there being another person in me were confirmed when I had to apologize to Mrs. Burroughs, the nice old lady next door. She claimed I had shouted at her, called her vile names and pretended that I was someone named Laverne. She said she knew the signs. She knew how young people change when they get hooked but she said that she wouldn’t tell my mother about it if I promised to give up doing drugs.

“I have no control over Laverne. She seems to come and go as she pleases. When she’s in the mood, I get put aside. Sometimes there will be periods of an hour or more that are complete blanks to me, and I don’t know what she has been doing during that time. Constance usually knows more about what happened than I do. Constance also seems to know more about the “others” than I . . . “

“Whoa. Slow down Honey. Let me try to absorb some of this. It’s all new to me, you know, so let’s go easy.”

Mary turned to shoo away the waitress, who had been hovering nearby. Then looking back at Angela, she said, “Did you know that I just spoke with Laverne? No? Well she was here and we talked. So now, I can understand things a little better. But just as I’m trying to digest Laverne, you mention that there are others? Who are they?”

Angela reached out and touched her hand.

“Aunt Mary,” she said tearfully, disregarding her Aunt’s question, “I need some help. I may be pregnant. Constance thought that it was me who was with that Buddy Brewster, but it must have been Laverne. I didn’t consent, so that’s rape isn’t it? But regardless of that, Constance and I will have to suffer the consequences.”

Then she sobbed, “What will my mother and father think of me? That is why I came to you; you know about such things.”

Mary slid around the booth and put her arms around the youngster, nestling her close to let her cry it out, then she patted her own tear filled eyes and offered a tissue to Angela.

Angela said, “I know I’m different from other people, what with Constance and all, but I’ve always considered her to be an extension of my own self, unusual though it may seem. We’re best friends, sharing the same body. But now . . .”

Angela slumped for a moment and then straightened out and said, “You asked earlier about the others. You might as well know it all. There are others besides Laverne. One calls herself Mildred. She’s already ‘come out’, several times, and each time she’s made entries to my diary. She hates Laverne passionately and because of the humiliation she feels over the unwanted pregnancy, she’s threatening suicide.”

Mary hugged her affectionately and said, “Sweetheart, I’m absolutely astounded by what you’ve told me. But I’m entirely out of my depth. The best help, I can give you is to get you to a good doctor. I’d go right now but because of the weekend, we’d better wait till Monday. We’ll go together and we’ll get to the bottom of your problems. Now let’s get home because I want you to get some rest. Remember you’re not alone now, so stop worrying.”

Mary was angry that Marsha hadn’t got help for her daughter before now. Mary knew that fast action was needed and she resolved to take Angela to see specialists at City Hospital, first thing Monday morning.

The next day, in the Mann house, Evelyn and Adam were enjoying their breakfast coffee, and poring through the Sunday newspaper.

“Oh dear. Adam, did you read about the young Wallace girl? She’s one of my students for heaven’s sake. The paper says she slashed her wrists. How terrible. I never thought that she’d ever do anything like that. Isn’t it sad these young people feel it necessary to go to such extremes?

“The suicide note says she couldn’t face the mortification of having a baby. The article highlights the fact that the note was signed Mildred although her name is actually Angela and also that the doctor says that the girl isn’t pregnant after all. It’s all so strange.

“They say that she’ll recover, thanks to her Aunt Mary, who found her and rushed her to hospital.

“I hope that she gets well real soon. She’s a nice girl and always seemed so lonesome I almost wonder whether her illness is similar to that poor girl in Wisconsin.”

Mr. Adam Mann said he did not know.