by Natalya Gibbs

 

 

  Dear Diary,

                        Don’t ask me why I’m doing this. I haven’t written in a diary since I was ten. And then it was all about Jason and his sandy blonde hair and sea-green eyes. I found that diary yesterday; still bright pink and fluffy and still filled with my silly dreams and feelings. “Jason cut off my pigtail today. I’m in love.”  I mean what the hell is that? I remember coming home and my mom freaking out yellin, “Annabelle-May, what in God’s name have you done?” Yeah, sure like it was my fault. I’m mean, don’t you think if I was gonna cut my hair I woulda cut both pigtails?

            Well, anyways I’m getting off track. I’m supposed to be writing in this stupid thing because my therapist thinks it’s a good idea. Well I think it’s a good idea if he stops wearing the same mustard-stained t-shirt but who really cares what I think right? So we’re moving. Again. I tried to tell Dr. Libowitz that I’m used to moving and that I don’t need him to talk to bout my ‘feelings’. That’s when he threw this ugly yellow and green notebook with daisies, yes daises, at me. OK, he didn’t actually throw it at me. More like set it gently down on the coffee table in front of me. Then he proceeded to tell me that this was a “suggested journal.” In an extremely condescending voice, I might add. Like, “don’t touch the stove honey, it’s hot.”  Anyways, Dr. Libowitz says I have a lying problem and that if I can’t be honest with people, I should at least try to do so with my journal. That’s what he keeps calling it. A journal. I prefer diary though, because journal sounds too sophisticated. Diary sounds cheap and childish, which is exactly what I feel like writing in this stupid thing. So it suits you perfectly.

            All right. So we packed up all our things and have moved to Berkeley, California. I’ve gone from Tennessee to Alabama to North Carolina and back to Tennessee. And that took place over the course of six years. Two days after my sixth birthday, ma packed us all up and moved us to Michigan. Then to Illinois, Kansas, Washington, Oregon, and now California. My ma goes through houses like a normal person goes through mayonnaise. Even when we were in one state, we were always moving towns. For the most part, my ma would try to change houses within the school district but that didn’t always happen. So me and my brothers and sisters were always switching schools. Dr. Libowitz says this ‘journal’ is for me and that I can write about whatever I want so I don’t care to write about the vermin’s who I just happen to share my home with…or as my ma prefers to call them, my ‘siblings’.

            Dr. Libowitz thinks this transition will be different. He says that moving to Berkeley will be a “big step” and that changing high- schools sophomore year will be “difficult.” He then went on and on about how clicks will already be formed, and how my name is a bit “out of the ordinary.”Like, sure, all of that may be true but I thought therapists were supposed to help with problems, not make it more obvious that my life is gonna suck.

            OK, maybe it won’t be that bad. I’m a vibrant, talkative, kind person who will have no trouble making friends. Or at least that’s what I put on my job application for the Piggly Wiggly back home. Wow. I need to stop saying that. ‘Back home.’ There isn’t a ‘back home’, this is my new home and ima just have to make the most out of it.

            Signing off for now dearest diary,

            Annabelle-May

   Dear Diary,

            I survived the first day. Somehow I got through all six of my classes without dying. OK, granted I got lost a grand total of twelve times and had to ask for directions six times; but I still made it through. I will admit, lovely friend, that it wasn’t easy. I ate lunch by myself in the library reading, for the fifth time, Catcher in the Rye. To be honest, I didn’t really read it. More just used it as a way to look busy and not alone. Asking for directions wasn’t too bad because people just assumed I was a freshman and it therefore made it ok that I was lost and terrified out of my mind. Can you imagine? Tough old me? Well, according to Dr. Libowitz, the tough I act I put on is just a way for me to cover up how vulnerable I actually am. That may be true, but it could also be that I… ok I got nothin. It’s just true.

 

Dear Diary,

            Weird names I’ve come across so far: Carshayla, Aurora, Appolonia, Rainbow, Tequila, Dusk. Take that Dr. Libowitz!

 

Dear Diary,

            Today had to be the worst day of my life. OK, hyperbole, isn’t that a cool word?, the worst day had to be when I saw my bunny get eaten by a raccoon, but this day runs a close second. So I was just leaving my locker, when I saw this girl from my Spanish class. She smiled at me, good morning, all those pleasantries bullshit. Then I noticed that she had a shirt on that my grandma has and that made me so excited because I haven’t seen my grandma in forever so I say, “ My grandma has that shirt!” And then she gives me this look. “What?” I respond. “Your grandma?” she repeats. And then it dawns on me; she must think my grandma’s super old or something and is trying to be “hip. So I tell her, “No my grandma’s young, she’s only 62.”The look on her face doesn’t change. Shit. She must think that she and my grandma will be wearing the shirt at the same time. “No, she doesn’t wear it out or anything; she just sleeps in it.” Now the look is worse and she practically runs off down the hallway. And I’m left standing there confused. It isn’t until the middle of third period that I realize what the problem was. No one wants to have the same shirt as someone’s grandmother, no matter the age. I didn’t go to Spanish.

 

Dear Diary,

            I’m grounded. For laughing. Absurd. Ok so I was watching a movie with my sister, she’s twelve by the way. And we were in the den, which is the bottom level of the house. Everyone else was upstairs sleeping. The movie was suspenseful. Okay, it was terrifying but there was no way I would let her see that I was scared. After it was over she was clinging to me like white on rice. I had to take my allergy medicine, so we had moved to the kitchen. It was very difficult to maneuver seeing as it was like me and Amy had become Siamese twins; but I managed to pull it off. When I tuned back around from the faucet, I couldn’t help but take advantage of the situation. Ya see, the killer had bit someone’s ear towards the end of the movie and what was now staring me in the face? Amy’s ear. So yeah, I bit it. Ok, more like nibbled but it was enough to freak her out; which was exactly my plan. I didn’t expect her to squeal like a hyena in heat though. When she did, she also scared our cat; who went flying across the room. Across our hardwood floors, making almost as much noise as Amy.  All this racket woke up my ma, who jumped outta bed and came screeching down the stairs. At the end of the stairs, she took this super intense fighter stance. Something Bruce Li would do, or in her case, Bruce Leitta. Or maybe it was more like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. But that’s beside the point. The point is she looked ridiculous. . Plus she was shouting, “What! What!” over and over again. So I couldn’t help myself, I burst into laughter. So did Amy, which was good because it finally got her off of me. But ma was not amused. Apparently she was ‘really scared’ and we were to ‘never do that too her again.’ And then when she found out why Amy screamed, it was bye-bye freedom and hello boredom. Sayonara normal fun and hola to starring at walls and burning ants with a microscope. Good thing it’s only for a week.

Dear Diary,

      I already keep a diary, Ms. Helm, so I really hope you’re not opposed to me turning it some stuff that I’ve already written. And to be quite honest, I’m a lot opposed to this assignment but I guess you can gather that from what how I felt when Dr. Libowitz suggested it. Also, I don’t do the whole date thing, as you’ve noticed; but I’d be glad to provide you with a general timeline if that’s a problem.

Hmm, reading over this I realized I never made it clear why I have a therapist in the first place.  My grandma gets every one of her grandchildren a therapist when they turn twelve, so I’ve had one for quite a while. Look, I’m pretty honest in this journal but I’m sorry if you’re disappointed when you don’t find anything about my closet depression or my cat-lady grandma.  Because the truth is, my therapist-givin granny, the one with the shirt, is allergic and my other one? Well, she’s a piece of work. A real affectionate piece of work.  But yeah, I visited her last summer, she lives in New York, which is a six hour flight; and it was hot and I was tired and sticky and in serious need of a shower and a bed. First, when she shows up at the airport she’s wearing this atrocious outfit with this humungous hat on her head. Her dress was three sizes too big and had zebra’s, mongooses, manatee and terradactyl’s on it. How a zebra relates to a terradactyl- which are extinct! - is beyond me. And the hat, sweet Jesus, the hat! Oh, and while I’m “taking the lord’s name in vain” as she puts it; let me tell you how crazy religious that woman is. She’s one of those Born Agains or something. I don’t understand why they’re called that either. Born again? Doesn’t make any kinda sense to me. I mean people are only born once. They have birthday’s once a year, but they keep getting older not starting over again so I really don’t get it.

      But back to the hat. It was bright yellow, which meant it didn’t go with her dress at all; but she considers matching to be beneath her so I never expect much.  Anyways, it also had a dove on it. Yes, a dove; well not just one. I think there were four but I wouldn’t be surprised if another one was hidden underneath the lace. Because yes, this hat had lace. A lot of lace. And it wasn’t all one color, and it didn’t hang down it her face because that would be sort of normal. No, it was all bunched up in the hat and the doves were placed on top of the white, purple, and turquoise lace. So it really resembled a nest. All it was lacking were some twigs and leaves! Oh and don’t forget birdseed.

      So that is my first glimpse of her when I see her at baggage claim. And of course there’s nothing I can do to avoid the inevitable. I have to go with her because it’s not like I can fake like I don’t know English or something. She knows me. We’re related.

I continue walking towards her, slowly I must admit; and apparently that wasn’t good enough for her.  So she comes running towards me, long dress flailing behind her; with one hand on her hat because it had already fallen off twice in the airport(as she would later tell me) shouting, “ANNABELLE!, ANNABELLE-MAY! OH, THANK HEAVANS!” (She’s afraid of airplanes).

And then when she reached me she hugged me so hard her hat fell off. She was too busy planting kisses all over my face, smoothing my hair, pinching my cheeks, and saying, quite loudly, “Oh, my dear you sure didn’t inherit my boobs! It’s ok though, there’s always padded bras and push-ups; we’ll go to Victoria’s Secret!” to notice that her dove hat had fallen. I did though because it landed on my toes, those doves were heavy!

Believe it or not, after that incredibly embarrassing scene at the airport, things went rather smoothly.  OK when we got back to the house she did have me pick out a napkin ring for the rest of my stay and placed the crazy dove hat on my head and took a gazillion pictures but other than that it was kinda cool. In a very…well… let’s just say that there were more animal dresses and bird hats. But hey, she’s older and livin her life the way she wants, so who can blame her? I got used to it. Plus, I managed to talk her out of going to Victoria’s Secret (we went to a Civil War reenactment in Jersey instead).

 

Annabelle-May,

       Your writing has a very unique voice. I am surprised to learn how much you have been through, in terms of moving, you seem like a very stable girl. I was quite proud of your use of the word hyperbole. I agree, it is a very ‘cool’ word. It makes me nervous to read that your psychologist thinks you have a lying problem, as I hope you are always upfront with me. However, the fact that you didn’t edit that part out says a lot about your personal character. Thank you for sharing part of your life with me, even if it was an assignment. Keep up the great work!