Laughter Kills...Laughter Heals

By Virginia Lathan

Leona slept for 13 years, and then she woke up with a roar! At first she was happy and confused, but the more she started to understand what was happening to her daughter, the more that happiness and confusion turned into anger. But somewhere along her path she learns about love. Will that be enough to subdue her vengence? This suspense-thriller-mystery will have you guessing until the end!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Virginia Lathan
• Release date: Nov 9, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452483535

Virginia Lathan

A Little About Me...the AuthorI’m a born writer. This was evident when I was a young child and used to write plays and cast the neighborhood children in them. However, this is before you could make copies easily, so all the children in my plays had only one script to read from. Needless to say, these productions never really got off the ground.When I first started writing seriously, I wrote short stories. Most of them had strange storylines, and the characters in them were sometimes even stranger, like a story I wrote about a teenage girl who had a tail. But as I continued to grow as a writer, I started to want the characters in my stories to grow. I wanted them to start thinking “outside the box,” so they could experience their lives in more fulfilling ways. Like the story I wrote about an elderly couple that left their crime-ridden neighborhood because they decided to buy a RV rather than an expensive car that would look good to their neighbors and would become a theft magnet to the local car thieves. A number of these stories were published in fiction anthologies that included works from other writers.The first book I wrote is a nonfiction book that stemmed from having worked as a court reporter in Sacramento, California. I never really liked doing court reporting, but I made the best of it and left the profession with a published book―“The Deposition Handbook: A Guide to Help You Give A Winning Deposition,” which is in its fourth edition and still selling. I followed that book up with “Preventing Sexual Harassment: A Training Manuel for the Workplace.”“Laughter Kills...Laughter Heals” is my first novel. I wrote it because I think of myself as being a woman of principle, and writing the book gave me the opportunity to put forth so many of my ideals and thoughts about how wonderful life can be if people dealt with each other more caringly and conscientiously. Plus, like almost all writers, I’m a sucker for a good story. So as my maternal grandmother would say: “She put her foot in this book to give us one of the best!”Other than writing books, I also conduct writing workshops for writers (beginning and experienced ones). In promoting “Laughter...” I also regularly do book-signings and appear at book discussions hosted by book clubs. And, even though I reside in Chicago, I routinely travel to other locations to do these type activities. To find out more about any of these ventures, please visit my publisher’s website at www.CurryCo.cjb.net, or email me directly at [e-mail] when I’m not writing, I have fun performing as a storyteller, being active in a home school community I belong to, and playing tennis.

Book preview

LAUGHTER

* * * * *

~Chapter 1~

"There are three things that are real—God, human folly, and laughter. The first two are beyond [full] comprehension, so we must do what we can with the third."

~~John F. Kennedy~~

Julio loved Sophia, his wife of forty years. He loved her bushy hair, her sleepy eyes, her crooked teeth, her rough elbows, and the way she said y’all in a southern drawl. He even loved her kooky way of dressing: puffed-sleeve baby doll dresses, hair adorned with cheap satin ribbons, and frilly slips that always hung longer than her big plaid skirts. Her sky blue eye shadow and fire engine red chipped nail polish shinned as brightly as ornaments on a Christmas tree, and Julio’s eyes glinted with admiration every time he looked at them. The thing he loved most about her, though, was her infectious laugh. Her laughing tended to be spontaneous, starting at the drop of a hat. And what she was laughing about oftentimes went right past others. She’d just start chuckling at some obscure thing, and shortly thereafter people were watching as she filled a room with mirth. Her laughter would sometimes be so robust that it would turn cacophonous, but Julio loved it anyway. And as he listened, every inch of his body would be nourished.

But one day, Sophia laughed no more. Her laughter ended when a drunk driver struck a car she was riding in. Julio, who was also in the car, got a gash on his left cheek and a busted elbow. By far, though, Sophia got the worse of it: she was decapitated. She was laughing at the time, though, so Julio heard the last chuckles that came from her mouth before they faded into the ethers. He always said that he was glad she was laughing at the time because he believed her laughter killed her pain as she went through her gruesome death. Remembering her laughing while dying is a memory that brought him great comfort. Miriah, their daughter, had a hard time understanding how he could find any solace in remembering the way her mother died. All the circumstances of her mother’s death brought to her mind was an eerie vision of her detached head laying on the back seat of their car, with gales of laughter mixed with putrid blood and guts gurgling from its mouth.

Trying to understand how her dad processed her mother’s final moments is what made Miriah want to become a clinical psychologist.

~~~

One class Miriah took to complete the coursework to attain her doctoral degree was a class that focused on unconventional medical practices, and one of the research papers she wrote for the class was about the healing effects of laughter. While doing research for the paper, she came across a reference about a Dr. Norman Cousins. Cousins wrote a book called Anatomy of an Illness as Perceived by the Patient. In it he talked about being stricken with an extremely painful and debilitating medical condition, which he decided to treat in an unconventional way. He believed if he could do enough gut-wrenching laughter on a daily basis that it would assist his body in altering its chemistry to change to a healing mode. So he watched Candid Camera classics and Marx Brothers’ films, and he read books like The Enjoyment of Laughter. The strategy worked. He recovered from his condition and spent the next twenty years teaching about how laughter can aid in the body’s ability to heal itself.

Miriah was so intrigued by Cousins’ experience that she investigated further and found that others had also written about how laughter can heal. So when she finished her schooling and started a psychology practice, she often used laughter therapy to reach some of her more difficult patients.

~~~

When Miriah first started her practice, clients were scarce, and the ones she did have often were unable to pay the full cost for an office visit or other services. Most of them were uninsured, so they would always bring in medical forms for her to fill out in the hope that they could get the county health department to pick up the tab. Miriah couldn’t afford to hire a secretary, so she spent almost as much time completing her patients’ paperwork as she did treating them for their conditions. So even though she had become a licensed psychologist, she was still struggling financially.

But one day, one of Miriah’s colleagues introduced her to a man who headed a disaster relief agency that had just received state funding to add a mental health component to the services the agency provided. It was the man’s belief that if the agency could first help people deal with any emotional distress they were suffering as a result of a disaster, then they could proceed more effectively in rebuilding other parts of their lives that were torn apart. So the man, Mr. Carter, was looking for someone, trained in helping people work through emotional distress issues, to fill a position at his center. When he and Miriah first talked, he informed her about the employment package that came with the position, which consisted of a good salary and equally good benefits.

After Mr. Carter determined Miriah was qualified to handle the job, he told her it was hers if she wanted it. She asked him to give her a few days to weigh some options, and he consented.

At that time, Miriah really needed steady income, so she was ripe for jumping into almost anything. But the thought of having to abandon her private practice clients to take the job didn’t sit well with her. Because of this, she believed she had to do some serious negotiating to get Mr. Carter to set things up so she could take the job but also continue to serve some of her private practice clients. For their second meeting, she was glad he agreed to come to her office because at least when negotiating the deal, she would have the home court advantage.

The day Mr. Carter came to Miriah’s house, it was warm out and every once in a while a gentle breeze rippled the air, making the weather ideal for holding their meeting on the deck outside the back of her house. Because of the redwood deck’s sensory appeal, it was the one place where Miriah felt she could muster up more personal power than anyplace else. It stretched the full width of her house and looked out onto her half-acre flower garden, which had an explosion of color from the sunflowers, tropical hibiscuses, butterfly bushes, black-eyed Susans, California poppies, and lantana that grew in it. Ornamental grasses were clumped in silvery blue mounds at its outer edges. A split-rail fence, randomly positioned birch trees, and a patchy lawn helped to naturalize the landscape. Scrub jays, humming birds, and beautifully singing mocking birds all contributed to the garden’s sensory appeal. A manmade babbling brook that flowed through the garden and into a pond filled with a menagerie of carp begged any observer to slow down and take a closer look. Whenever Miriah sat on the deck observing her natural paradise, she became acutely aware of a calmness that swept over her. It was a calmness that made her feel omnipotent. Gentle steel is how she best described the feeling when explaining it to other people.

As Miriah led Mr. Carter through the house to the deck out back, Champ, her English wolfhound, trailed close behind. She could tell her guest wasn’t comfortable being around the mammoth canine, so she explained to him that the dog was as docile as a lamb and just liked to be in the mix when outsiders entered the house. Then to loosen his anxiety further, she gave Champ a hand signal instructing him to move in front of her. This separated him from Mr. Carter, who breathed an audible sigh of relief as the dog obeyed.

The trio wound its way to a four-season porch that Miriah had converted into an office. Both doors on either side of the office were reinforced with steel security doors. She used a key to unlock the one that led out to the deck. As she opened the door, a breeze rattled a wind chime, and it shared its melody. Champ darted through the door first and headed to his usual corner at the far end of the deck.

As soon as Miriah stepped out, she could feel the deck working its magic: first the calmness, then the strength. The fragrance from a spearmint plant growing in a pot was particularly strong at that time. Mr. Carter caught a whiff of it and inhaled deeply. This is absolutely spectacular, he said. Did you put all this together yourself? he asked, sweeping his hand from one side of the yard to the other.

Pretty much. But my brother and his wife, and their two girls, lived here with me for a while, so they helped a lot. At least Lonzo and Kyanna did. Kiera and Aliya were pretty young at the time, so they had more fun playing than working. She then paused to reflect. But that’s the way it should be with children their ages. If we can just provide more opportunities for our children to play in nature, they can develop in much healthier ways.

She allowed Mr. Carter to revel awhile longer in the sensory experience the deck and garden were providing. May I get you some iced tea, Mr. Carter? she asked, hoping she wouldn’t interrupt the spell.

Oh, thanks. Maybe later. But let’s get on a first-name basis, Miriah. It’s just too relaxing out here to be formal. Call me ‘Melvin,’ he said as he stretched out his arms on the armrests of the wicker rocker where he had settled.

Works for me, she said as a gentle smile relaxed her face."

When they did begin to talk business, the first thing Mr. Carter did was lay out in detail what the job entailed. Miriah listened. And then, feeling her strength, she said, Okay, Melvin, what you’re offering me is very enticing, but I have clients in my private practice who I’ve made a commitment to. You know Fairfield isn’t a big city, so these people don’t have a lot of options when it comes to mental health services.

I believe you, he responded without hesitation. But two things: first, you have to look out for you, make sure you’re on solid ground before you can help somebody else."

Miriah laughed. I guess you can tell I’m struggling here. What gave it away, my particleboard desk that’s complemented by my file cabinet with the hanging down broken handle? She grinned. Naw, I bet it’s the windows with the roller shades instead of custom wood blinds?

Melvin laughed. No, none of that. Honestly. Actually, I never thought about you personally struggling. It’s just that I know most therapists do struggle financially when they first start their private practices—just like most lawyers, and dentists and beauticians and businessmen. For most of us, it just takes awhile to build up a solid clientele, especially one where you’re working with the type of clients that you prefer.

He’s right about that, Miriah agreed as she reflected on the work she was doing with folk who had recently been paroled from the Vacaville Correctional Facility. Sometimes when some of them entered her home office, she felt she should have an armed security guard stationed at her door. Although, unless it was somebody she knew, or who could be vouched for, she did only allow entry to the office from the deck, and the door that led from the office to her living space was also shielded by the inside steel security door. But she still often felt vulnerable. Her one comfort in this precarious setup was having Champ always by her side, ready to respond as needed. She looked at Champ now as he watched from his usual protective position. She took a moment to reflect on him and his role in protecting her house and person. Yep, that’s why I spent over a thousand dollars getting him trained at the best dog training school I could find.

Miriah had brought Champ to her home after one of her clients who was on parole had broken her window when she wouldn’t indicate on her contact report to his parole agent that he had seen her every week during a particular month when in actuality he had only been to see her once during the time. Fortunately for him, though, he realized his mistake and immediately headed to a nearby home improvement store and bought the materials to repair the broken glass. And while at the store, he saw baskets of brightly colored flowers on sale, so he also purchased one of those and hung it under the eaves of her front porch. He and his eleven-year-old son had the window repaired in about an hour flat. So even though Miriah had to report his noncompliance and destructive behavior, she also told his parole agent about what he did to make amends. She then pleaded with the officer to not revoke his parole because she felt the man was genuinely sorry and had truly learned a lesson about the importance of managing his anger. The officer listened and gave him a waiver and a stern warning to not let something like that happen again.

Miriah agreed wholeheartedly with what Melvin had just indicated about providing for her own needs first. Then she said, You said for two reasons. What’s number two?

Melvin leaned forward in his chair and presented her with what he figured would be the clincher: You can still keep your private practice patients. You’d only have to be available to the center three days a week. You get to choose the days as long as they’re consistent from week to week. That sealed the deal! The two shook hands, and the rest of the particulars surrounding the job were worked out over iced tea and tuna salad on crackers. Yes! Miriah yelled to herself when their conversation ended. Now I can be downright selective about who I accept as a client. And I’ll even be able to afford that security system for the house. God is good!

During the time Miriah worked for the Fairfield Disaster Relief Center, her skills as a therapist grew and along with them so did her professional confidence. Through the center, she worked with many people whose lives had been severely disrupted because of suffering natural or manmade disasters. She also set up an informal therapeutic program where many of those receiving the center’s services would come to her garden and help maintain it. One person who came was Niambi, an African American woman who had to abandon her house when killer bees built a giant beehive in one of its walls. The house wasn’t too sturdy to start with, so when exterminators attempted to remove the bees and their hive, the house ended up being demolished in the process. Niambi, along with her eight children and Asia (the family’s pit bull), came regularly to Miriah’s house. At first Miriah was leery about permitting her to bring the dog, but it didn’t take her long to realize that because Asia was raised with love rather than aggression, she was as gentle as Champ. And the two of them got along fine together.

Niambi wasn’t much of a worker. She was a storyteller by trade, so most of the time when she was there she sat on the deck entertaining Miriah by telling her stories by renowned African American writers that dealt with black people’s cultural experiences. And oftentimes she even told heartwarming stories about her own family’s experience of growing up in a black neighborhood. Her stories were so vivid, so full of life that they could easily remind one of a black version of Norman Rockwell paintings. Niambi’s younger children mainly just played in the garden, just like Kiera and Aliya (Miriah’s nieces) had. But her older children loved working in the garden, so they became adept at cultivating it. Because of them, for the first time ever a vegetable patch was included in the garden. The children created it because they liked planting the vegetable seeds and seedlings and watching them grow. At the end of the growing season, when the plants were ready for picking, the harvest was bountiful enough to share with a lot of the disaster center’s clientele. After that season, the family moved on when they rejoined their husband and father who had been working in a different city helping to build a house that was being gifted to them through Habitat for Humanity.

About six months after Niambi and her family moved to their new home, the mental health component was cut from the Disaster Relief Center due to the State of California having to make spending cuts. As a result, Miriah’s position was eliminated.

~~~

After Miriah left the center, once again she needed steady work. None of the mental health facilities near where she lived needed a psychologist, and at that time she didn’t want to relocate. The one place that did have something available in her field, though, was the prison. Working at the prison wasn’t her ideal choice for employment, but with her options being limited, she was driven to interview for the open position it had available. It was for a therapist who would be assigned to conducting group sessions for child molesters housed there. She applied for the job and was granted an interview.

Miriah’s education and training ideally qualified her for the position. A snag did come up during the interview, though, when she was asked about what previous experience she had with working with ethnically diverse groups of people. Dr. Ramirez, the interviewer said, "your credentials are impressive, but I can’t help but—let me call it as I see it. You’re a licensed clinical psychologist, so you have the professional qualifications to treat people who present with a wide range of psychological disorders. But Vacaville is a prison, meaning we house inmates who come from varied cultural and racial groups. And their racial identity is often the main criteria that influences their interactions with other inmates and society at large. Your CV isn’t showing that you’ve worked with diverse groups of people. Have you done so?

She’s right, that information isn’t there. Because I haven’t. I can’t even pull from my childhood experiences because my interactions were almost entirely with Mexican Americans. My neighborhood, my schools, my churches--even my first job was at a Mexican grocery store. But, damn, I really need this job. Miriah could sense that the woman was asking out of genuine concern about her ability to handle the job, but as she mentally reviewed her professional experiences, she realized she couldn’t even fabricate something so as to half-way address the concern. While at college, she had loose acquaintances with some of the Asian students on campus, but those interactions were mainly through study groups, and she definitely never even came close to delving into how their ethnicity shaped their interactions with her, or with Mexican Americans in general. And the number of African Americans on campus was small, so her interactions with them were almost nil. Realizing she was in the hot seat and didn’t have a cushion, she began to sweat nervously. She patted the table she sat at with one hand and cupped her forehead with the other.

As the interviewer observed her body language, she said, That’s okay. Not having that experience doesn’t automatically eliminate you from the competition. It’s just that I feel like you’re a person we’d want to have working here, so I just want to make sure that you can score as high as you can on the interview.

Miriah smiled and was ready to admit that her experience couldn’t fill the gap that the woman was concerned about. But throwing in the towel doesn’t make me happy, she told herself. I really need this job. I need it as much as my garden needs water and nutrients to sustain itself. The word garden became the trigger. That’s when the bell sounded, the light bulb lit, the vortex opened. The whoosh sounded loud and clear as thoughts of her interactions with Niambi and her children while gardening flooded her head. That’s when she was able to answer the question by recalling how her friendship with Niambi led to her children establishing a vegetable patch in her garden. She told the interviewer that while she had worked the soil with the children, she would give them information about maintaining a garden; and they would give her information on what they were experiencing while living a transient life, like staying in cheap motels or taking sponge baths in the restrooms of public places. The girls talked about how they felt when older men leered at them when they were waiting in line at soup kitchens. The boys talked about being challenged to fight by other males whenever they had to integrate into a different school. But what I recall most, Miriah said, is when their mom told me how she did the best she could to counter the negative things her children were experiencing by telling them stories about their culture, stories about their ancestry, stories about how hard their father was working to create a new home for them. When Miriah answered the interviewer’s question, it’s as though she were channeling Niambi, because not only did she ace the answer, but she also wowed the crowd by sharing with them some of the wonderfully descriptive folklore that Niambi introduced her to as they sat on the deck sipping on iced tea.

When she finished answering the question, the woman who asked it smiled and said, Miriah, we’ll be back in touch with you. Soon! Oh, and even though my last question focused on cultural diversity, the fact that Spanish is your native language is definitely in your favor.

Muchas gracias!

When Miriah got the phone call offering her the job, her savings were just about exhausted, so the thought of having steady income again made her as happy as a kid at a circus. But she also thought of how ironic it was that throughout her career she had used laughter therapy so effectively when helping people to reshape their lives, but now she would be working with a group of people who had done things that she couldn’t see any humor in at all. As she sat on her deck and reflected on the irony of this, she broke into a belly-rolling laugh. At one point, her laughing became so gut-wrenching that she coughed up the ginger tea she was drinking. Ginger is supposed to settle the stomach, not disrupt it, she told herself. And that made her laugh even more. As the laughter-mixed-with-ginger continued to fizzle through her body, she thought of her mother. And now she, too, like her father, felt some relief knowing that her mother had died while laughing.

* * * * *

IN THE BEGINNING

* * * * *

~Chapter 2~

It had been a long time since Leona had been invited to a really elegant party, but finally she was. The party was taking place at the home of a socialite who lived in Sausalito, an affluent city located north of San Francisco in Marin County. The seven-thousand-square-foot house was for sale, and seven million dollars was the asking price. The homeowner was hosting a series of viewing parties to get potential buyers into the house. The parties were invitational only, and those invited were people who made six-figure incomes upward.

Leona happened to be one of the guests because the CEO of a company her employer did business with passed along his invitation to her and a woman on his staff because the time of the party conflicted with what he really wanted to do that night: take his sons to a San Francisco 49ers game at Candlestick Park. So before Leona and the other woman (Chris) could leave his office, he was on the phone telling his two boys to put on their starter jackets