Page 207 of The Holy Grail
“No, it’s directly related to Monroe and how he treated you. Had you been raised in a healthier environment, you would have developed more normal responses to stressful situations, but you weren’t. So anyone who comes at you in a way which reminds you of how he treated you, will potentially trigger that child-like, intimidated response.”
“Fuck.”
“Another way to neutralize the perception of Monroe being powerful and in control is to start picturing him in a different way—”
“Like in a clown costume, or something? Wait, scratch that, because clowns are creepy.”
Lauren chuckled. “They are, so don’t do that. What I was going to say is picture him in an embarrassing moment, that makes him look ridiculous or stupid, instead of in control and threatening.”
Malcom pictured Monroe in a place where he wielded immense power and respect, and from there, sprouted a vision which put a smile on his face. “How about having explosive diarrhea like Harry inDumb & Dumber? Only in a courtroom when he’s wearing one of his expensive Armani suits and giving closing arguments to a jury comprised of stunningly, beautiful women.”
Lauren blinked at him, amusedandimpressed. “That works.”
“Thank you for coming,” Malcom said to Paige, as she sat across from him in the booth. She’d agreed to meet with him at the quaint, little coffee shop called Cuppa Joes, and now that she was here, he was a little flustered.
“Of course,” she returned sweetly.
“Can I get you something?” he asked.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He took a drink of his coffee, which had been a little overpriced but was delicious, then began. “So, as I mentioned on the phone, I’ve been seeing Lauren for a few weeks now—she’s great, by the way—”
“Isn’t she?” Paige’s face lit up. “I just love her. I actually still go see her once in a while.”
Malcom was slightly amazed at her openness about her ongoing therapy. “You do?”
“Sure. For … maintenance, you might say.”
She made it sound like taking her car in for a tune-up, and it made him smile.
“Anyway, you were saying?” she asked, gently getting them back on topic.
“Right. I’ve been seeing Lauren for a few weeks because of Monroe—my father—and the subject of ‘Fuck You’ letters versus face-to-face confrontations came up, so I wanted to talk to you about the letter you sent your uncle. I mean, not the details, obviously, butI was wondering how long it was, and how much time you spent writing it. Also, did it bring you the closure you wanted?”
“My ‘Fuck You’ letter was fairly short, because I wanted it to be a series of punches, with no wasted words.” She smiled, almost as if recalling a fond memory, as she added, “I wrote it on the inside flap of the book I published about his molestation of me, and I sent it via Registered Mail, so he had to sign for it.”
“Do you know if he read it?”
“I’m pretty sure he read my letter, but probably not any of the book, since he killed himself shortly after he got it.”
Eyes widening, Malcom asked, “He killed himself?”
“He put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. My mother found him.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I felt bad for her, but she hadn’t been treating me well, so my empathy was kind of limited at that point. She hadn’t believed me when I told her what happened to me, and she ended up getting a ‘Fuck You’ letter, as well.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I wrote hers on the inside flap of my book, too. It was really short.” Paige paused for a moment then said, “And as far as closure goes, well, that’s a harder question to answer. I’m not sure true closure is possible, because damage that’s been done, can’t be undone, and since there’s rarely any real remorse from your abuser, I don’t recommend a face-to-face confrontation, simply because they’re unpredictable.”
“I know.”
“I’ve never regretted sending my ‘letters’, and I don’t think you would, either. It’s a clean, surgical break, and you can get immense satisfaction in writing and sending the letter, and then wiping your hands of the abuser.”
“Okay.” He debated asking the next question, but then decided he might as well. “Do you ever miss your mother?”
