A Murder in Mayberry

Part 6/8) Tabitha Makes a Friend

Daisy's story, taken from notes from my diary journal written during the 9th grade

Tabitha is making it harder and harder for me to dislike her. She is the one who remembers to get milk when we are out. She is the one who bought some shampoo for frizzy hair and asked me if I'd like to try it. She is a considerate house guest, who is undeniably cheerful and helpful, and always listens to what I have to say, no matter how silly and immature I can be. At a time when my mama seems gone all the time in body and spirit, and Magdalena isn't right next door anymore, Tabitha is here for me. She can even help with my advanced math class homework. She is so smart. She is like the big sister I never had. She is my friend.

Tabitha and I do not have any secrets. She is my confidante. She is the only person I told about the kiss. She listened when Ren and I didn't kiss again. She made me feel better about that. She says things like "Boys are stupid" and "Relationships can get weird" and "You are beautiful, you are young, you are going to kiss many boys". She understands when I tell her I only want to kiss one boy.

"Love hurts," she said. And then she made me a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

I told her about my writing. "Sometimes the words just won't stay inside."

"That's probably why you are so opinionated. You are a lot like your mom. Wonder if she's a writer too?" she pondered. And then, "Let it out girl, let those words out. We all want to hear what you have to say."

We talked about the growing divide between Magdalena and me. "Sometimes friends grow apart," she said, "especially in high school. You just grow your separate ways. but," she added, she always added, "I had a friend from since nine years old that was my best friend, and we grew apart in high school. Different classes and different other friends, and she got married young, and I didn't see her much. But (and she always had a but that made you feel better) I could see her today and it would be like we were nine again. I still feel the same way about her. I still love her like my nine year old buddy that I went traipsing through the woods with catching poison oak." And she laughed and said, "Yeah, I always think about her when I am scratching for some reason."

Tabitha answered all my nosey questions about her. I wanted to know if Darrell was good to her.

"He was," she said.

"Why?" I asked and added, "He was not good to my mom."

"He changed."

"Did he feel bad about the baby?"

"He did," she said, "But he felt worse about you and your mom."

I thought about this. "What's my Nannie Jo doing, does she ask about me?"

"She's just being Nannie," she said which I completely understood.

I could always ask Tabitha anything, and she would try to answer. I asked her about being an alcoholic. I wanted to know what that was like - to want something more than you wanted anything. To put something before yourself or your family. Was it hard now, not to want to drink? I wanted to know what an addiction felt like. Did it feel like love?

She thought about this one. "Remember when I first came to stay and there were those leftover wine coolers from the fourth of July in the fridge?"

I nodded. I remembered. Nana especially liked the peach and mango ones. The wine coolers were pretty colors too, so festive, colored like sunshine and hot summer days. Mom let me take a sip of one.

"I thought about those wine coolers every night. I wanted them, though I knew they were no good for me. They would keep me up, thinking about them. So, I guess in a way, being addicted is like a love, a love you know is no good for you, but want all the more just the same." She paused a minute, " But then Nana Gail threw them away, just like that, right down the drain."

"Even with a baby?" I asked, "Even expecting a baby, you wanted one?"

"Yes," she said, "More than anything."

"How does drinking make you feel?"

"Happy or sad. It might make you feel a way, you wouldn't otherwise feel. Alcohol can clouds things and makes things go away, or it might give a situation clarity. People see things they don't like about themselves or others, and it is magnified."

"Well then, why?" I asked, "Why does a person drink? Why do they do things they know are not good for them?"

"There's probably a million reasons why people do the things they do, probably two million reasons why. No reason any better than the next. People have their own reasons why. They only make sense to them. And sometimes, they don't even make sense to them."

"My Nana says something like that too," and then I asked, "Do you still want one, do you still want a drink?"

Tabitha thought, "No, I don't now. I feel better now. I don't feel so afraid as I did when I first came."

"Is that why you can work in a bar, even though you are an alcoholic?" I asked.

"Actually, working in a bar helps me some."

"How come?" I asked

"Because just about every night I see someone make a mistake I made before, and it makes me remember why I quit."

"Did you make a lot of mistakes?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," she said, "Yes. I did. I made plenty."

"I guess we all make them," I said. I changed the subject. "What are you going to do when the baby comes?"

"I need to start looking for another place. Some place bigger."

"In your old town," I asked casually, "Or here?"

She paused and then answered. "I got no family there. This place feels like home."

I knew just what she meant.

"I need to start looking for a place now that I'm working."

"I'll help you," I said, though I didn't want to see her go. Maybe, I could ask Mr. Livengood. He had some contacts. He owned lots of property in Mount Airy. He was a nice man, most of the time. He would help. He seemed like the kind of man who would help someone find a home, especially someone with a brand new baby on the way.