May 5, 1934
Mummy says I’m supposed to write in this journal about my “life” and “feelings”, so I guess this is what I’m doing.
I really don’t get why I should be writing about every single event that happens to me because after all, most of our lives are pretty boring and all the important things will be remembered by our good old brains. I just don’t see the point.
I hate my life.
Okay, there. I said it. I’m stuck in this gray house sitting in a room with gray wallpaper and gray carpeting taking private lessons on topics that are as boring as gray. And I’ll be stuck taking these private lessons until my hair turns what color? Gray!
Whenever I complain about my current life, Mummy asks me what other kind of life I would like. Truth is, I want to live in the tenement flats at the bottom of this tedious hill I live on. There’s always so much excitement down there.
There’s this one girl below who looks about my age. I watch her between lessons. She’s always running around with her long brown hair flowing behind her, running errands, talking to other people, and playing some kind of athletic game with the other kids. Her life looks so much more interesting than mine. *Sigh*.
Tomorrow’s my birthday. I know Mummy and Daddy want to give a bunch of rubbish as presents but I’ve only asked for three things: a knapsack, candy, and pocket money. The reason I asked for these things is that I plan to run away to the tenement flats the day after tomorrow.
I don’t want to live this gray, boring life. I want to run around in the fresh air. I want to laugh. I haven’t laughed two years, seven months, and four days. Yes, I’ve been counting. I remember the story as if it was yesterday. (The brain does register all the important things.)
Daddy had just hired a new history tutor, and I was very excited. I could tell right from the start that this one was special. She had scarlet orange hair, not gray like all the other old insipid ones. The first thing she did was asking me what my favorite point in history was, instead of starting with whatever she wanted to say.
“Ancient Greece!” I yelled excitedly.
She spent the whole afternoon telling all the preposterous stories of the gods and goddesses. And I laughed. I really laughed. I fell on the floor, laughing.
When Daddy heard all the commotion, he marched upstairs and fired her on the spot.
That night I cried. I really cried. I buried my face in my pillow and cried. I’ve cried many times since then. The last time was a few days ago. Mummy was scolding me for daydreaming during a fencing lesson. When am I ever going to need that skill?
So tomorrow I will get the necessary presents to escape and on Monday, the 7th, I’ll run.
I should probably sign off for the night. Mummy checks on me to make sure I’m asleep every night at 10:00. It’s 9:52.
Sincerely,
Mary Francis Lawrence
May 6th, 1934
Today is my twelfth birthday. Twelve seems so much older than eleven; I love the new feeling.
I got seven different presents for my birthday, which is surprising considering the fact that I only asked for three things. Besides what I wanted, I got a pair of shoes, dress, pad of paper, and a camera. I don’t see what use a camera would be as we never go on vacation and we live in a crowded polluted city.
