The Truth About Normal

By J.R. Bergstrom

Why are some people more resilient than others to emotional trauma? Family life makes a difference, but what other factors influence recovery? Do genetics play into emotional survival? Does birth order? How does a historical period a person comes of age in make a difference? What kinds therapies—formal or informal—help restore emotional equilibrium? The Truth About Normal explores these questions.

In the 1960s, when Janelle meets her best friend Nadia in junior high school, they are living carefree lives in a small town in Oregon. While navigating through their teenage years they hold one another up during the changing moralities and social structures sweeping the world. They come of age in an era that rejects old standards and struggles to create new ones.

This multi-layered novel explores many facets of love, loss of innocence, debilitating sorrow, broken spirits, and emotional recovery. Changing food, music, and fashion trends are woven throughout the story from the beginning to the end, and humorous and heartbreaking scenes take readers on an emotional journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janet Bergstrom
• Release date: Jan 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524226183

Book preview

OVERVIEW

Why are some people more resilient than others to emotional trauma? Family life makes a difference, but what other factors influence recovery? Do genetics play into emotional survival? Does birth order? How does a historical period a person comes of age in make a difference? What kinds of therapies—formal or informal—help restore emotional equilibrium? The Truth About Normal explores these questions.

In the 1960s, when Janelle meets her best friend Nadia in junior high school, they are living carefree lives in a small town in Oregon. Both come from loving, middle-class families. Janelle, the middle child of three, has young, liberal-minded parents. She is self-deprecating, and her feisty quick wit and free spirit get her in trouble. Nadia’s older, devout parents believe children should be seen and not heard. The youngest of five children, Nadia was born twelve years after the birth of the fourth child, and her mild-mannered beauty and intelligence capture the attention of everyone she meets. Janelle and Nadia’s differences complement each other.

The best friends are honest with one another, make each other laugh, and they share many secrets, but not all of them. Together they try to sort out the TV-fantasy families they admire from the realities of their own families and the idealism of the 1960s. While navigating through their teenage years they hold one another up during the changing moralities and social structures sweeping the world. They come of age in an era that rejects old standards and struggles to create new ones.

This multi-layered novel explores many facets of love, loss of innocence, debilitating sorrow, broken spirits, and emotional recovery. Changing food, music, and fashion trends are woven throughout the story from the beginning to the end, and humorous and heartbreaking scenes take readers on an emotional journey.

INTRODUCTION

Fall 2015

Public speaking terrified her. During her life she’d hiked, skied, and mountain biked in rugged terrain, kayaked, rafted down rivers, and sailed in choppy seas, but public speaking scared her witless. Her mind buzzed with what-ifs: What if nobody shows up? What if I throw up? What if I stumble? Like an actress memorizing lines, she had practiced selected passages by reading aloud to increase her fluency, inflection, and expression. Would this strategy convince an audience to buy her book? That evening, in Bellingham, Washington, the author would present her first published book to a group of strangers at an independent bookstore.

Driving north from Portland, Oregon, she decided to stop for a snack. Exiting the freeway at Olympia, Washington, she soon found a coffee shop. Stepping from her BMW sedan, she bent forward into a yoga pose to stretch her back; thankful she’d had the foresight to book a relaxation massage prior to the presentation.

While she was waiting in line to place an order, the song The Mummer’s Dance, by Lorena McKennitt, played in the background. The music calmed the author, and the aroma of roasted coffee beans and sugar cookies stirred up cravings. Stepping up to place an order, she startled at the sight of a frail-looking barista. Slathered with layers of chalky cosmetics did little to camouflage her sallow complexion. Thin gray hair pulled into a messy bun and a scrawny build suggested an addiction or an illness, perhaps cancer or anorexia or bulimia. The author looked discreetly for evidence of needle scars, but the barista’s arms were covered in long sleeves.

The author tried not to stare as a shiver of compassion swept through her. Looking at the list of coffee drinks, she imagined standing on her feet all day trying to keep from confusing orders of nonfat, decaf, double or triple shots of espresso, wet or dry cappuccinos, soy or whole milk, tall or short. She stepped up to the counter. I’ll have an iced latte.

The barista looked vacant. Anything else?

The author gazed wistfully at a display case filled with fussy confections. A caramel, chocolate, full-on fat pastry tempted her, while she put her hand on her middle age spread reminding her about high cholesterol. Do you have any healthy choices?

We have low-fat blueberry muffins, whole-grain cranberry scones, gluten- free oatmeal cookies, and vegan ginger cookies.

I’ll take the muffin. No butter or cream cheese. The author paid, and as she did, she noticed the barista’s eyes. They were an indistinguishable color, surrounded by eyelashes thickened with mascara, and eyelids enhanced with a pastel eye shadow. She looked clownish, and yet a flicker—something mesmerizing—escaped from her eyes.

The author cocked her head. Do I know you?

The barista’s eyes dimmed as she stared. I doubt it.

You look familiar. I swear we’ve met before.

Maybe in another life. She fumbled and knocked over a napkin-holder. I’m from...uh...I’m from back East.

The author helped restack the napkins. Well, you remind me of an old friend, but I see from your nametag that I’m mistaken. I’ve never known a woman named Aidan.

Named after my great-grandmother. She trembled as she counted out change.

The author put a generous tip into the jar.

Thanks. A quick smile revealed the false uniformity of dentures.

You’re welcome, Aidan. She turned around, picked up her order at the end of the counter, and then walked out to the parking lot.

Aidan started back to work. Then, like a swift punch, the customer’s identity became apparent, and Aidan told her co-worker, I’m taking a break. She rushed outside to locate the woman in parking lot, but then stood hidden in the shrubbery as she rolled, and then lit a cigarette. She had an urge to shout the woman’s name as she drove by. Aidan smoked while watching the car turn onto the busy road heading toward the freeway. She was thankful to have remained incognito, but she knew it was time to disappear again.  She stared until the car disappeared, and then she tamped out the cigarette, hunched her shoulders, and shuffled back to finish her shift. Two more hours and she’d be out of there.

PART ONE:

Best Friends, Family Influences, Junior High School, First Love––––––––CHAPTER ONE:

Fall 1967

At the beginning of junior high school, Nadia blended in with the crowds of adolescents. She walked unnoticed among her classmates steeped in various stages of puberty, awkward physical, emotional, and social maturity, ravaged complexions, and croaky inconsistent voices.

During the summer between seventh and eighth grade, a major development descended upon Nadia’s physique. Every part of her aligned into near perfect proportion. Once her period started, she lost the last of her baby fat, and grew long legs; and her bulging cherry-topped cupcake breasts escaped her training bra. Other than her slightly large, misshapen ears, nothing was undersized or oversized. Waves of chestnut hair covered her ears and crept down to her shoulders like molasses poured from a pitcher, and the sun-bleached tresses shimmered like burnished copper. Her complexion was not cursed with freckles or blemishes—the scourge of many teenagers—and as the summer sun kissed it, it glowed peachy and lush. Her mother allowed Nadia to wear a tinge of mascara to emphasize long eyelashes, and a sheen of lip-gloss across her heart-shaped lips to tint them the color of ripened guavas.

Nadia’s smile had altered since the previous spring. It widened to fit her face, and her ski jump nose converged into perfect harmony with the rest of her features. Like a seed in a hothouse, she sprouted and bloomed into an impeccable assemblage of the female species. She was a stunner, not of the garden-variety beauty bestowed upon many young girls, but a genetic blend of perfection.

Her sway impressed both sexes of all ages. Close proximity to Nadia caused many to become tongue-tied as they tried not to gawk.

On the first day of eighth grade, still oblivious to her blossoming from girlhood into a young woman, she entered the school’s doors and walked down the hall to find her homeroom. Like the parting of the Red Sea, boys stepped aside and held books in front of their groins to hide unruly and sudden erections—the pride and embarrassment of pubescent boys. They watched her walk with the elegance of a gazelle to the end of the long corridor to her homeroom class. Inside, she put her books on one desk to mark it as reserved as she oozed into an adjacent chair.  She smoothed her skirt, crossed her legs at her ankles, and glanced around the room searching for someone.

The homeroom teacher became stunned into silence by her appearance until the first bell rang, awakening him from his daze, and he quickly composed himself back into fatherly professionalism.

Moments after the last bell rang, a leggy girl commanded the attention of the teacher and the students as she pranced into the classroom in a clatter of exuberance and frizzy dark hair that—due to the rain that day—had escaped its subjugation from various salon products. I’m really, really, really sorry I’m late, she apologized to everyone, and then dropped a notebook, stooped to pick it up, and looked around the room. She found the empty seat next to Nadia and flopped down like an eager, tail-thumping puppy.

Thanks for saving me a seat, NaNa, she whispered.

My pleasure, Jelly, Nadia whispered in return. They turned their attention to their teacher.

Best friends, Nadia and Janelle, called one another by nicknames—Jelly (rhymes with Kelly) and NaNa (rhymes with Donna)—and they needed one another like a thoroughbred horse and a companion pony.

CHAPTER TWO:

Fall 1953 & spring 1954

On October 15, 1953, Janelle Rhea Benson burst into the world with a crown of curly dark hair covering the top of her head. Beneath that, light fuzz grew from one ear around the back of the scalp to the other ear.

That baby’s hair looks like a toupee, exclaimed Grandmother Benson when she held her new granddaughter for the first time.

Alan and Babs Benson, 23 and 25 respectively, referred to Janelle as their Little Boo-Boo, since her arrival upset the family planning schedule by two years. Big sister Karla, five months short of two years old, had been an even-tempered child, but she did not love this new member of the family. Karla pinched the baby hard enough to leave a mark on her arm. Alan whisked Karla away while Babs got out Dr. Benjamin Spock’s book, Baby and Childcare, to read about sibling rivalry. She told Karla, We love you very much, but you have to be nice to your sister. She took Karla to her bedroom and closed the door. From then on, they kept an eye on her around the baby.

Janelle ate voraciously and plumped up considerably by six weeks of age. Fussy and active, she cried inconsolably for hours, causing her sleep-deprived parents to squabble about nothing. Unlike her sister who slept through the night almost immediately, Janelle didn’t sleep on a regularly schedule for two years.

As Janelle’s personality developed, she laughed as easily as she cried. Her chortles and theatrics amused those around her, and a twinkle beamed from her turquoise eyes. But when Janelle had tantrums, she arched her back and flopped backwards to the floor, wailing and filling the household with edginess.

Janelle’s moods flash on and off like a blinking light, Babs said to her husband. I never know what to expect.

Alan’s voice of authority assured his wife. She’ll outgrow her tantrums.

Babs confessed to her mother, If I’d had Janelle first, I might not have wanted a second child. I love Karla and Janelle equally, but Janelle is much more demanding than Karla.

Yes, dear. Most parents have one child to make them feel like the best parents in the world and one child to humble them. The girls may trade places at some point. Karla might become the challenging one.

Being a mother is hard.

Yes it is. When Janelle has a tantrum, put her in her crib to let her cry it out. Don’t spoil her.

Having two daughters in diapers...I never get a moment to myself. The house is always a mess. I can’t seem to get dinner ready on time.

Stop complaining. You have everything a woman could hope for.

"I know, Muh-ther."

When the girls were old enough, Babs let Karla and Janelle play unsupervised in the fenced backyard. Babs checked on them from the kitchen window while she enjoyed a few minutes alone to drink coffee or fix dinner.

One time, Babs caught Karla feeding Janelle a mud cookie with a worm inside. Another time Karla smacked Janelle with a dirt clod. As a result of Karla’s shenanigans, Janelle learned to bellow loudly and Babs ran outside to rescue her and to scold Karla.

Karla and Janelle’s first conversation sounded like this:

Mine! Janelle screeched.

It’s mine, Karla screeched. Give it to me.

Mine!

It’s mine. Give it to me!

Mama! Janelle cried.

Babs, tired and impatient, yelled at her daughters. Karla and Janelle, you have to learn to be nice and to share!

Janelle’s fits lessened once she learned to walk, and when she started to talk, she never stopped.

Perhaps as an act of survival to escape her jealous sister, Janelle walked early, talked early, was potty-trained early, and moved quickly. Mobile, lean muscles emerged from layers of baby fat, and from then on Janelle wanted to escape the backyard to explore the great world beyond. She tried to climb up trees or over fences, and she did not like to be confined.

When both girls were out of diapers, life for the young family settled down. Careful to avoid a second Boo Boo, the parents planned for a third child. The son they yearned for arrived on schedule three and a half years after the birth of Janelle, and this completed their family. Calvin, another easy-going baby, was the pride and joy of his parents. He came into the world with smile on his face, claimed Alan. Calvin slept through night within a few months and rarely cried.

Janelle thought her baby brother looked like an ugly, harmless blob. Due to the wider gap between their ages, and Janelle’s maturity, Calvin adjusted safely into the Benson clan.

The Bensons’ maternal grandparents lived seven miles outside of the town Fernberg, Oregon. Aunts, uncles, and cousins lived within driving distance, so the families enjoyed meeting at their grandparents’ farm for picnics and games, such as, three-legged races, egg and spoon races, somersault races, and tag. Their grandfather hung a swing from a tall tree, set up a tent for campouts, and dug a fire pit for roasting hotdogs. The children gathered eggs, petted newborn lambs, and, when old enough, they rode horses.

The Bensons lived in a neighborhood of families. In nice weather, on sidewalks among the homes, children raced on tricycles, miniature tractors and cars, and pulled red wagons. Little girls pushed baby buggies and strollers filled with dolls, and the mothers sat in the front yards chatting and sipping ice tea.

Summer sun dotted Janelle with freckles. Her mother called them cute, but that didn’t fool Janelle. She hated her freckles. One afternoon, a second grade boy shoved Janelle, saying, Get out my way Freckle-face.

Janelle glared. Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me. With all the force she could muster, she shoved him back. He glared at her and stuck his middle finger up in the air. She figured that must be naughty, so she stuck up her middle finger too.

The approach of kindergarten terrified Janelle. She announced that she did not want to be called Boo-Boo, and her parents complied.

Babs and another mother in the neighborhood had a daughter in kindergarten named Carol, so they arranged to walk with their girls to school on the first day. When Carol and her mother arrived, Janelle opened the door to let them inside. Carol’s thin blonde hair had been forced into ringlets, and she wore a dress of lavender fabric trimmed with lace over layers of crackling tulle petticoats.

Janelle had never concerned herself with clothes, but she yearned for Carol’s pretty dress. Janelle’s barely contained pixie haircut and limp plaid dress that once belonged to Karla caused Janelle more distress about kindergarten.

While pushing their younger children in strollers, the mothers walked with their daughters, one plain and drab, and the other adorned in the height of fashion. This arrangement forced a friendship between the two girls, and from that day forward, Janelle and Carol walked together to and from school.

Some days, Janelle played at Carol’s house. Her pink bedroom with a frilly canopy bed and a closet filled with frilly dresses prompted more jealousy for Janelle. An impressive doll collection lined a shelf with tiny toy accouterments, cribs, strollers and playpens. Carol owned not one, but two Barbie dolls, and they too, had an impressive wardrobe. Janelle pretended not to care about dolls or clothes.

Janelle’s teacher reported to Alan and Babs that their daughter followed the rules and rarely talked out of turn, but she was shy during show and tell.

That’s not the Janelle we know, said Babs. She’ll warm up.

By first grade Janelle relaxed into a school routine. Her teachers placed her in the highest reading groups and told Alan and Babs that Janelle is a capable learner, has interesting opinions, and is not afraid to express them.

Janelle got good grades and enjoyed a happy childhood until the spring of second grade when someone she knew and trusted betrayed her. Her exuberance disappeared. Her parents noticed this abrupt change, but believed it was a developmental stage, and didn’t question the implications of its sudden onset.

Janelle buried the incident inside of her so deeply, in fact, that she forgot about it. She cried for obscure reasons, blinked her eyes a lot, wet the bed sometimes, and started to pull chunks of hair from her head. On some nights she awoke trying to scream aloud from a nightmare of something nameless and faceless chasing her. When this happened, she climbed into her parent’s bed to tell them about her icky dream. They hugged her, told her to forget about it, tucked her back in bed, and told her to stay put.

Janelle’s second grade teacher noticed this angst, and as Janelle’s grades plunged to the bottom of the class, she summoned Alan and Babs for a special conference. I don’t want to pry, but is your family having any problems? The teacher asked Alan and Babs.

"Why, no! I can’t imagine what might cause Janelle distress. Babs said this as though she’d been accused of being a horrible mother. Janelle is a sensitive child. Her moods are visible."

Yes. I agree, and that’s why I’m concerned. These changes in her attitude contrast with the spunky Janelle we know.

She’ll outgrow it, added Alan. We’ll pay extra attention to her and have a little talk to straighten her out. He stood, hoping to hurry the conversation along so he could get back to his own responsibilities as a high school math and science teacher and football coach.

That night after the kids were in bed, Alan and Babs consulted Dr. Spock’s book to look for clues about Janelle’s behavior.

The following evening, Alan and Babs together put Janelle to bed.

Her mother held Janelle in her arms. Do know how much we love you?

How much?

More that the moon and the stars.

Do you love me more than Karla and Calvin? Janelle asked.

We love the three of you the same, said her father. But we want you to sleep in your own bed. Everybody needs lots of sleep to be happy.

If you wake up tonight, said Babs, be a brave girl and stay in your own bed. It’s best for everybody. Good night.

Mommy, Daddy, don’t go. She threw her arms around her mother and held tight.

Now Janelle, said her father as he peeled his daughter from her mother, let go. You’re a big girl. Go to sleep.

Janelle quit going to her parents for comfort, and she continued having nightmares. In secrecy, she continued blinking her eyes and pulling out her hair. On some days she followed her mother around the house and avoided playing with other kids. When she wet the bed, she hid the evidence.

After a year or two, Janelle cheered up again, and the annoying habits lessened. Her parents were relieved that Janelle had survived a difficult stage—just as they’d predicted. They congratulated themselves for their intuition and successfully extinguishing Janelle’s bewildering behaviors.

Then puberty hit. In sixth grade, Janelle began to menstruate. By the beginning of seventh grade Janelle’s body stretched into long skinny legs and a sprinkling of pimples mixed with the freckles caused her much angst. She hid her agony with an armor of humor and rebellion. She acted like a loveable cocker spaniel, and sassed everyone who deserved it. And in Janelle’s mind, there were plenty who did.

May 22, 1954

On a glorious spring day, Nadia Laverne Jacobsen entered the world as a typical newborn: pink, wrinkly, bald, a ski-jump nose, and medium-sized ears that stuck out a bit too much. The labor and delivery nurse presented the precious bundle to Otto and Ellen Jacobsen. Congratulations. She’s an ordinary baby and everything works.

When Nadia opened her eyes they were not a blurry dark gray like most newborns, but deep violet pools. A tinge of something indescribable radiated from them...possibly an imperceptible knowingness. Or perhaps, her eyes waited to absorb the stories that would become her life.

Otto and Ellen, 49 and 43 years old respectively, referred to Nadia as their surprise and their blessing. She arrived in the family twelve years after the birth of their fourth child. This gap in birth order prevented any sibling rivalry between the older children—each spaced two to three years apart—and their baby sister. Marion, Penny, Franz and Marty, besotted by the baby, took turns holding her and vied to become her favorite.

Otto made a living doing finish carpentry. On weekends he played a cello in a local quartet for weddings, funerals, parties, and other events. Ellen played the piano and worked part time as a librarian at the branch in Fernberg. In her spare time she painted pictures and helped feed her family by growing vegetables and raising chickens. As a result, the slew of Jacobsen children grew into artistic, healthy, well-read, music playing adults.

A new baby had not charmed the extended Jacobsen clan for a dozen years. During holidays and gatherings, everybody doted on Nadia, waiting for a chance to cuddle her as she was passed from one set of arms to another. For family entertainment, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents played music and sang together. All were pious, upstanding Methodists who read scripture aloud during holidays. The adults came from a generation that believed children should be seen and not heard. This philosophy suited Nadia’s personality.

At six months of age, a dark russet-colored fuzz grew from Nadia’s baldness straight out like a buzz cut in need of a buzz. She grew cute and chubby. As she rarely cried, her coos and smiles warmed the hearts of her immediate family, extended family, and the entire congregation of the Methodist church.

By the time Nadia turned six months old, her periwinkle eyes had the clarity of the Libyan Sea and captivated everyone who came into contact with her. Even the most grizzled and self-absorbed who looked into Nadia’s eyes felt her allure.

Those eyes are mesmerizing, said an elderly, well-known artist from church. They’re like watching an early morning sky turn from indigo to violet blue just before the sun rises.

Her eyes sparkle with wisdom...she seems to look out from her soul into mine, said the minister after he baptized Nadia.

Great-grandmother Nadia, 91 years old and clear thinking, quoted her favorite poet, Carl Sandburg. A baby is God's opinion that life should go on. She adored her namesake and sang lullabies in Finnish while rocking her great granddaughter. Family members claimed the baby’s birth extended Great-grandmother’s life long enough to see Nadia start kindergarten.

Nadia’s brothers and sisters carried her from place to place, possibly delaying her coordination to crawl and walk. She’s within a normal range, their pediatrician assured her parents at Nadia’s nine-month check up.

When words began to burble forth from Nadia’s mouth, her older brothers and sisters often translated Nadia’s garbled dialogue, possibly delaying her need to use language. Again, their pediatrician assured her parents at Nadia’s two-year check up, She’s within a normal range.

Once Nadia found her voice she clearly enunciated and used a broad vocabulary. By three and a half, she conversed in Finnish with her Great-grandmother, broadening the area of Nadia’s brain where languages develop.

As Nadia grew from a toddler into a little girl, her Scandinavian genes dominated her features, and her Irish genes dominated her coloring. Ellen kept Nadia’s hair cropped short and dressed her in altered hand-me-downs.

Because the family lived in the country, there were not younger children nearby for Nadia to play with, so her brothers and sisters kept Nadia entertained. Each brother and sister, blessed with generous intelligence, read to her, drew pictures, sang and played musical instruments, made up stories, and played games with her. By the time Nadia turned four, she played variations of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on tiny violin.

Nadia started kindergarten as a quiet, well-mannered child who knew her numbers up to one hundred—forward and backward. She could add and subtract double-digit numbers, recite the alphabet, read at a second grade level, and tie her shoes. She had a bit of trouble with large motor coordination, but wrote her first and last name, and the names of her family members—using upper and lower case letters correctly. These skills surpassed the kindergarten curriculum so her teacher gave her lots of coloring books and crayons to keep her occupied.

Throughout grammar school Nadia’s quiet intelligence and relaxed ways kept her indistinguishable from her classmates. She did her assignments without complaint, colored a lot, and, when asked by her teacher, helped other students with assignments. Nadia’s report cards showed the highest marks in all subjects except PE. Teachers wrote comments, such as, Nadia is a model student, or Nadia learns easily and is a pleasure to have in class. During conferences, teachers reported to her parents, Nadia has an advanced vocabulary for a child so young, and that she is college material and they would never have to worry about her.

CHAPTER THREE:

Spring 1968

Nadia and Janelle met the first time at a slumber party at the beginning of junior high, and immediately became an inseparable two-person club. Exclusion of other classmates, implicit and unintentional, caused their friendship to be coveted. Janelle’s vivacious personality and audacity had an allure similar to Nadia’s beauty. When classmates socialized outside of school, they invited Nadia and Janelle as one.

Together, Janelle and Nadia emitted confidence. They felt comfortable and honest with one another, and shared most secrets. At times they had skirmishes, but they never lasted long.

The Jacobsen and Benson families included both girls in important events and holidays. Both sets of parents intuitively recognized the importance of their daughters’ friendship. On most weekends Nadia and Janelle spent at least one night together, sometimes two. When Otto, Ellen, and Nadia went out of town to visit their older children and grandchildren, Janelle often went along.

During the spring of eighth grade, three events significantly impacted Nadia and Janelle. From the Jacobsen’s barn, they resurrected two dented, fat tired, one-speed bicycles—one red, and the other blue. They named the bikes Myrtle and Harriet and