The Diary of Rebecca Elizabeth London (on hold)

1

May 3, 1917

Today is my birthday. I am now sixteen years old. Mother gave me the idea that I should write a diary. I agreed, because who would not like to read about my life? Someone stupid, I suppose. I started this today because I have received a wonderful typewriter today. Typewriters are the only thing that is good about this place called America. I hate it here. I used to live in England, the best country in the world, but Father got a job in America, so here we are. Did I mention I hate it here?

In case you are completely brainless and did not already know, my name is Rebecca Elizabeth London. I love my name. I sound so royal and rich, like I am. Rich that is. I wish I was royalty, then everyone would know who I was and they would love me. Of course, everyone who knows me loves me, but there are only a few hundred people who matter that know me. It does not help that I live in Florence, Alabama, the most boring place on the earth. No one comes to Florence. No one important, that is. I need to be discovered and I suppose America is the best place to be discovered. I wish I was still in England though.

I am reminded of good old England every time I write my name. My last name reminds me of the very city I was born in. London was perfect, absolutely perfect, just like me. That is why I belong in London. We are both absolutely perfect; we are perfection.

I have always known myself to be beautiful and that fact of life is proven every time I walk past a young man. They are always attracted to my beauty, like moths are to a flame. None of them are potential suitors though. None of them are wealthy enough, powerful enough, for me. I suppose I will just have to wait for a wealthy, powerful gentleman to come along.

May 4

I will mention my little sister today. I did not mention her yesterday because she is not as important as I. Her name is Molly and she is eleven-years-old. She is pretty but not as pretty as I am. She does not have any boys wanting to court her, not at all like I was at her age. When I was eleven, all of the boys chased after me.

Today, I wore a beautiful red party dress that I received yesterday and I counted the number of young men that chased after me. The total number of them tolled to twenty-three and I did not even look my best today. Molly will not have that many boys chase after her in her entire lifetime as I did in one single day.

May 7

The poor are everywhere in this town. I do not like it at all. At least I could avoid them in England, but I cannot here. I do not like the poor. They are always begging for money from my parents and myself. I refused to give them any money, for it is their fault they are poor. If they had only worked harder they could be as rich as my father. Instead, they have to be lazy and beg for money. How I wish they would just keep their filthy hands to themselves!

June 10

We went to the market today. There was this little boy who was begging for food. I walked right by him. He could not have been older than nine-years-old, but it did not matter to me. He could starve for all I care. His parents should be feeding him. My mother did not have the same attitude as my father and myself. She reached into her bag and handed him a peach she had just bought. "Mother!" I complained.

"We have to help those who are less fortunate," she said.

The little boy said, "Thank you," quietly. That made my father and I glare at him. I looked to Molly. She looked like she wanted to reach out and give the boy a hug. To my horror, that is exactly what she did.

"Molly, stop that!" I told her. She did not listen to me, and turned her attention back to the boy.

"What is your name?" she asked him.

"Mark Barnes," he told her.

"Let's go, Molly," my father demanded, pulling her away. My mother and I followed.

"Bye, Mark!" she said as she waved to him. He smiled at her. The disgusting little brat.

June 11

My sister also has a diary. I peeked at what she had written about yesterday this afternoon. She wrote:

I met the sweetest little boy today! He was begging for food, the poor little thing! He was nine years old and out there all by himself. My mother was kind enough to give him a peach, but my older sister and father glared at the poor boy. I felt so bad for him. He told me his name was Mark Barnes. I hope that I can meet him again, and maybe give him some food myself, and definitely another hug.

That just disgusts me. Her diary is too sickly sweet, and how she can feel anything but disgust for that boy is beyond me.

June 15

That boy showed up at our house today. He must have followed us home. He probably stole something. The poor are always thieves, beggars, and liars, no exceptions. My sister and mother will tell you otherwise, but they are just naive. My father and I are the only ones who will tell you the truth about those commoners.

June 20

The boy, Mark, as my sister keeps reminding me, has been coming around every day. Molly has been feeding him and he has been taking some extra food for his older brother. It is so ludicrous that he is taking food for himself, and now for his brother. Who is he going to take food for next? His other siblings, parents, the whole community of common beggars? I must tell Molly to stop feeding him at once.

June 21

I have told Molly to stop feeding him. She says it is unfair to let him and his brother starve. She then launched into a story about Mark's older brother, and how they got to be living on the streets. I could not care less about her story, so I did not pay attention to it. She asked at the end of her story, "Isn't that the saddest thing you have ever heard?"

I responded with what she expected, "Yes." I even faked sobs to keep her appeased. I can see that my talking to her will not do any good.

June 30

This is officially the worst day of my life! The older boy, whose name I still do not know, nor do I care to, came by our house to thank us for our kindness. Rather, he came by to thank my mother and Molly for their kindness. Molly was going on about how sweet it was that he wanted to thank us. I was horrified. Why would I want more beggars and thieves around? That is not even the worst part. Mother thought he was also sweet and very responsible, so she offered him a job as our landscaper. That means he and his rat of a brother will be living on the same land as us, and we will cross paths much more often! This is the worst day ever!

July 1

I peeked at my sister's journal once again today. Yesterday's entry read:

This day has been amazing! Mark's older brother, James, came by to say thank you to my mother and me. That is so kind of him. He is seventeen, and my mother was in an extremely generous mood. She offered him a job as our landscaper! This is the best news yet!

She is again so nauseating with her sweetness. I cannot believe I call her my sister. We are nothing alike. I will disown her one of these days, if she continues her behaviour.

July 14

James and his brother moved into our servant's quarters today. He will begin working here tomorrow, starting with the rose garden directly outside my bedroom window. My life is over if anyone sees that we have hired a commoner. Even the servants we hire do not hire commoners to work for them!

July 15

Molly has been back and forth between outside and inside all day. She began outside talking to James, and then she came in to tell me what he was saying, to try to get me to like him. There is no way I will ever like that common fool! Why can she not get that through her brain?