I wonder if I should go to a priest. Mom and I aren’t much into church, but maybe he could tell me what to do. I wonder if I could unload and reload on El…no, she’d just be angry and hurt that I hadn’t talked to her sooner. Besides, how could she know anything about anything? She’s as dumb and naive as me. But I did go to Catholic parochial school till the sixth grade. The nuns should have taught us something about something.
4:20 A.M.
I tried bed again, but it’s no use. I had one moment of wanting to go get in Mom’s bed and snuggle up to a pillow, pretending it was her. It’s so peace-giving to crawl in with her when there are thunder and lightning storms and stuff, but I couldn’t…I just couldn’t! I wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep in her bed again, even go into her room. It’s like now, for sure, all the boogeymen in the world will be in there.
5:10 A.M.
I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, but I still can’t sleep. I wonder if it would be easier to go to school and suffer through the day or just stay here and do it. I guess staying here is better, because I know everyone at school could tell from my body language and stuff what had happened to me.
Guess I better call El’s mom in an hour or so and tell her the big lie, that I’m all right, but that I won’t be going to school today, another big lie, because I’ve still got the cramps. Uggg, I don’t want to even think about any of my body parts, true or false. It’s so animalistic.
5:59 A.M.
I’ve been pacing around the house. I can’t sleep. I can’t read. I can’t watch TV. I can’t think. It’s like I’m another person. Like you’re another person. Like you’re my real self, and I’m just…just a bunch of meat and bones stumbling through a strange house filled with things that belong to strangers.
6:30 A.M.
Dear Self:
I’ve got to talk with someone. Maybe talking with you will do it. Who else can I talk to before the cocks crow, or whatever it is that changes night into morning.
I used to be such a positive, happy little kid, and now it’s like I’m just an empty box of loneliness. Why didn’t he say good-bye—or thanks—or I love you—or something?
Once I saw a real freak movie about some living-dead zombie people. That’s how I feel, exactly how I feel, ugly, unworthy, unlovely. I want to die.
7:13 A.M.
I took another shower, and I put on another clean pair of pajamas, but I still feel dirty. I tried to look up “mortal sin” in both the dictionary and the encyclopedia, but they don’t tell about it. I wonder if Catholics are the only ones who have to pay the price for mortal sins. The dictionary says under mortal, “Number six: causing death of the soul; said of sin; distinguished from venial.” Under venial, the dictionary says, “That which may be forgiven; pardonable; as a venial sin; in theology, opposed to mortal.”
Oh, dear Self. I remember Sister Theresa telling us the difference between mortal sin and venial. I wish I had listened more and remembered more. If the dictionary says under mortal, “Causing death of the soul,” is that what’s happened to me? I’m only fourteen years old; how could my soul possibly be dead? But maybe it can! The littlest innocentest baby can have something horrible happen to it, I don’t remember what, if it isn’t baptized. Dear Self, can’t you remember either? Please try. Please, please try.
7:41 A.M.
I called El’s mom and asked her to have El take an excuse to school for me. I lied last night about being sick, but I’m not lying this morning.
8:02 A.M.
I feel soooo much better. I looked up the St. Peter’s Parish number in the phone book. Sister Martha answered, and I just blurted out that I’d been raped, but maybe I really hadn’t—and I had to know if it was a mortal sin and my soul was dead. Then I blubbered, and I didn’t make a lot of sense. She tried to calm me and tell me that God would forgive me and I hadn’t lost my soul and I wasn’t going to hell, and all like that!
She told me to come and see the priest, but I said I didn’t have a ride and I didn’t know how to get there. She was so sweet and kind. She told me not to worry about anything and that everything would be all right, just to put all my trust in God and Jesus.
Self, you can’t believe how much better I feel. How relieved. It’s bad enough to have to deal with the here and now without having to deal with the hereafter, especially “death of the soul” and stuff like that, that I can’t even understand.
4 P.M.
I can’t believe that I’ve slept the entire day away. I guess I’d still be asleep if Mom hadn’t come in and awakened me…woke me? Anyway, I was so glad to see her I couldn’t believe it. I hugged her and kissed her, and she cozily hugged me on the couch while she told me all about her trip and the wonderful deal she had put through. I put my head down on her lap, and she brushed my hair like I love for her to do. “One, two, three, four, five, I’m so glad that you’re alive. Six, seven, eight, nine. My little girl is doing fine. Eleven, twelve and then, we get to start all over again.”
The hurt was beginning to heal, and I had thought it never would.
8:06 P.M.
Mom and I ordered pizza and ate out on the terrace in our pajamas. She was exhausted from her trip. We cleaned up the kitchen together, and it was fun. Then I helped her unpack her briefcase and papers in her little office, but I couldn’t go into her bedroom. I stopped at the door and felt like I was going to throw up. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to go in there again.
After Mom had gone in, I stood outside her door trembling, wondering if she’d be able to feel anything different, anything evil. I guess she didn’t, because in a little while I heard her climbing into bed. I wanted so much to go climb in with her, but I couldn’t do that…not now…not yet. I hope someday…I really do hope someday.
11:30 P.M.
I watched a couple of TV shows, but they were really dumb. It’s funny about life. I used to want so much to be grown up. I resented it every time Mom did her mothering thing. I hated it when she tried to tell me, show me or example me, and I told her so, sometimes in a not too kind or considerate way.
Now I want to be treated like a little kid. I want to be protected and coddled and told and asked and all the things I used to think I didn’t want! I used to pull away from Mom’s hugs, be embarrassed about her efforts to give pats and squeezes; now I want them desperately, need them lifesavingly!
When did I start stupidly thinking I was so high-and-mighty and know-it-all, that I could be on my own, do it myself? Think that I didn’t need her, or anybody else, to give me advice or guidance? Oh, what a dumb, dumb idiot I’ve been and unappreciative and irresponsible and conceited! How could Mom ever love me or want me? Maybe she doesn’t…maybe nobody does. But how could they ever love me or want me…I don’t even love or want myself.
Friday, April 27
11:10 A.M.
Dear Self:
It’s been three long, long, long, dull, dull, dull, boring, boring, boring days since…you know. I haven’t been out of the apartment. Mom thinks I’ve got the stomach flu. I’m so bored and uptight I’m about ready to go back to school. I would, but I can’t face anybody yet. Not Red, or Dorie or El or anybody! My life has changed. It’s forever changed. I’m, for some crazy reason, not really me anymore. It’s kind of nightmare movie-ish. Will I always feel this lonely and empty? It’s funny how one day the sun is shining and the world is filled with birds singing and bells ringing, and then…blam…you’re sucked down into some deep never-never land of darkness and pain, where not even a shadow of light can get through.
1:30 P.M.
I’ve been sitting by the phone waiting for two hours…waiting for what? I hate to even admit it, but I’m waiting for Collin to call. I know he must be feeling as awful as I do. I go look by the front door every minute. I have this feeling that he’s going to come and leave another little brown-paper-wrapped box with one single white daisy in it and a heartbroken note. I know he just let his emotions get away with him…his animalistic, power
ful emotions that he couldn’t control. He’ll call! We’ll talk about everything, and he’ll cry and I’ll cry and we’ll figure out what to do. So he did a dumb, stupid, out-of-control thing….
I know he’s heartbroken! He’s bright, and his life is in such order, but he’s shy too, and I can just imagine how humiliated he is. Poor Collin. He must be as mixed up as I am, and hurting. He must be terribly hurting…and confused…and ashamed. That’s it! He’s just trying to get his act together like I am. Oh, I feel so much better knowing that!
2:26 P.M.
I can’t stand it any longer. Collin has suffered enough. I’m sure he’s in as bad shape as I am. He can’t eat, he can’t study…and he’s got to study! He’s worked so hard getting scholarships and everything, he can’t waste them now because…well, because of something that was probably mostly my fault. I…well, I turned him on…and then…I’m such a dork.
When we were sitting in the park that very first time, when he told me he didn’t want to tell me but that he had to share with someone…oh, how sweet that was to have him tell me about all his goals for the future and stuff. How he wanted to be a doctor…and on and on. The very best part of what he said was that from the very first moment he saw me leaning lostly against the concert wall, he wanted to protect me, have me part of his lifelong plans from that moment on. Dear Collin. We need to talk. We can get this whole mess straightened out. I know we can! Maybe we can just be friends, dear, precious, wonderful, bosom-buddy friends for a couple of years…well, at least till I’m in high school or something. Anyway, I know we can put it back together! I just have this wonderful, positive, white-light feeling that we can. That we must!
3:02 P.M.
I think I’m going to call Collin. Do I dare? I not only dare, I’ve got to! I can! I will! I wish he had a phone in his hall. But I don’t even know which hall he’s in. If I did I could go by and leave a note or something.
What a selfish, self-centered, empty-box person I’ve been. We just talked about me, always me, what I liked, how I felt, about my mom, my dad—me, me, me, marshmallow-headed me. But that’s what he said he wanted…to know every little last-minute detail of my life so that he could feel part of the wonder of it. I dare you, Self. Okay. One, two, three, dial—
4:59 P.M.
The lights have all gone off again. I can’t believe it! I’ve made some mistake somewhere. I’m sure Collin said __________ University. Maybe not, but what else could it have been? We’ve only got one university here. I’m sooooo confused. I just called the university, and they said they had no Collin Eagle at all registered there. I had the lady check three times. They have never heard of him. He is not living in campus housing. He is not in student government. He is not on the Dean’s List. I can’t understand it. How did I mess up so badly? Where else could he be? Could it be junior college? No. No, he definitely said ______. Ohhhhh, I think I’m going to die. I’ve lost my mind. I’ve, like, gone completely crazy over this thing. I can’t think straight. If Collin is not at the university, where is he? Did he just drop out and leave after…no, they said he never had been registered there. Then…I wish Mom were here. I need to talk to her. I want to talk to her as much now as I used to not want to talk to her. Oh, Mom…please hurry, please, please hurry home. I need you.
After I’d thrown up a couple of times, I finally called Mom. I couldn’t believe how fast she got home. What a lucky, lucky person I am to have her to lean on, to love me, to understand and not condemn and scream and rant and rave and tear her hair—and mine. She just hugged me and rocked me and cried with me as I poured out the whole strange, weird, awful mess, and she just kept saying over and over that it wasn’t my fault, that I shouldn’t blame myself, that I’ll be all right, that she would protect me and help me heal.
She tried to take all the blame on herself because she’d been gone so much and such, but I can’t let her do that. If a kid wants to do some crazy thing, she’ll find a way. Like me—cutting school and stuff.
Saturday, April 28
2:29 A.M.
Dear Self:
I can’t sleep anymore, and I didn’t want to thrash around in the bed and wake Mom, so I’m talking with you.
Mom and I talked for hours, then we took our baths, and she tucked me into her bed like she used to when I was very, very little. I felt so small and protected that all the other stuff didn’t seem real. She sang to me about “the mama kitty says to her baby, Meoooow means I love you, close your eyes, go to sleep.” And by the time she’d gone through the dog and the sheep and the mouse and the bee, I think I dropped into little-kid lala land. It was so comforting and belonging. I wish I could have stayed there forever, but, of course, I couldn’t! And I can’t! So here I am. In the middle of the night wide awake and wondering who the heck I am…and where the heck I’m going…and will it ever get morning.
7:30 A.M.
Mom woke up at seven, right after I’d gone to sleep. She shook me, called me her “precious little sleepy-head” and said during the night she made plans for us to leave the old world behind and whip out into the wild blue yonder on a wacky and whimsical adventure.
She’s given me exactly one half hour to dress and pack some shorts and swimsuits and sweats, so I guess I’d better get started. It sounds fun. Mom can be lots of fun when she tries…no, when I let her.
9 P.M.
I don’t think even Mom realized what a wacky and whimsical adventure we were starting out on. First she called El’s mom and asked her to have me excused from school for a few days. Then we went by her office, and she told them she was leaving for a few days, and there was no way she could be reached because even she didn’t know where she was going.
Three hours later we arrive at Azule Beach. It was really funny. We went from one hotel and motel to another with no luck. Finally, just as we were beginning to think we were going to have to sleep in the car, we found a little old ramshackle, run-down cottage on the beach that had a ROOM FOR RENT sign in the window. It looked spooky, almost like the witch’s cottage in Hansel and Gretel, but it was on a wild, windswept, sand-dunish side, and we decided it would be fun.
After Mom and I had been out racing with the waves and tide for a couple of hours, we picked up a couple of hamburgers and went back to our fairytale-like, humble little abode. I went into the bathroom to put some vaseline on my lips and a little mouse peeked out at me as I opened the rickety old medicine chest. He was as startled by me as I was by him, and for a second we just stared at each other, first with fear, then wonder, then delight. At least for me it was delight. He might have then run off into a hole somewhere and had a heart attack, but I don’t think so. I’m going to leave hamburger crumbs out for him tonight and maybe I can make him my friend. I liked him. I’d never seen a real live mouse up nose-to-nose close before…he’s sweet and I’ve named him MICKEY…original, huh?
Sunday, April 29
7:32 A.M.
Mom’s a teensy-weensy bit upset; she’s trying not to show it, but it seems Mickey brought a few of his friends into our bathroom last night to have a party with my leftover hamburger. They cleaned up the hamburger; then they all left their little calling cards on the floor. Mom wasn’t amused when she stepped on them in her bare feet. I was! I fell on the floor laughing, which is funny in itself, because I honestly hadn’t thought I would ever laugh again.
I remember a couple of days ago I tried. Could that have been a couple of days? It seems like a couple of years. Anyways, I remember I stood in front of the mirror and tried to smile and only a crooked grimace came out. It was a very sad excuse of a smile, and try as I would, I couldn’t make it any better. Now, I’ll forever smile when I think of Mom almost slipping on the gooey wet little mouse droppings.
At first she wanted outta here; then she started seeing the fun and funny side of it, and we both rolled on the bed laughing so hard we were crying. When she got up, though, she made me promise we’d in the future give Mickey and his friends their party packs on the litt
le porch outside our door to the beach. At first I said no, I was going to feed them in her twin bed. Then I relented, nice, empathetic person that I am…ummm. I wonder what would happen if I did put crumbs up to her bed and then in it…I couldn’t do that…or could I? Not if I wanted to stay at the beach, I couldn’t.
Tuesday, May 1
6 A.M.
I can’t believe four days have passed so quickly. The first day here we saw some girls making seaweed baskets. They showed us how and we’ve made little treasure presents to take home. On some we’ve entwined shells and starfish and exotic things, and they’re beautiful, even if they do stink. The girls said that would go away.
We get up as the blackness of night begins to turn into the grayness of day and search all the little tide pools for jewels of the sea. We really do feel like adventurers in a new world. I hardly ever think of Collin…well, at least not all the time like I did at home.
I’m so confused about him…about us. Has he tried to call me a million times since I’ve been gone? Or…did he just use me? Go away, negative, ugly thoughts, we don’t have time or room for you here. Our cottage is too small and too magic.
We’ve got our chest and the bathroom-sink counter covered with baskets. Mom’s only fear is that Mickey and his friends will feel obligated to fill them with their presents.
11:39 A.M.
Oh, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here forever. With just Mom and me and the sand and the sun and the sea gulls—and Mickey and his crew. I’m going to miss them! I really am going to miss them! We don’t often see them, but we always know they’ve been here. How? Calling cards, remember? I think I’ll ask Mom to get me a pet when we get back. A mouse? A gerbil? A cat…a dog…a horse…an elephant? Maybe I should start asking for an elephant so she will be relieved to finally have me accept a kitten or a gerbil. Smart thinking, yes? No?