Diary One: Dawn, Sunny, Maggie, Amalia, and Ducky

by Ann M. Martin

  10:49 P.M.

  I was being harsh. I didn’t really mean it. Well, not all the way.

  I just wish that for a little while—a few minutes one morning, maybe—Mom and Dad could switch places with their old selves. Mom would be normal again, and Dad would be happy with his nice, cozy, unrenovated store. Then I could tell them what’s really on my mind AND NOT FEEL SO GUILTY!

  My life is a total wreck. I have stopped being Sunny Winslow. I have morphed into a new life-form. Robo Slave Daughter.

  Yes, parents, you can create one in your own home! She requires no maintenance! She disappears when she’s not needed! She doesn’t speak unless she’s spoken to! She changes all her plans at a moment’s notice whenever you want her to! Imagine the possibilities!

  I am sick of it. First of all, I have to watch every word that comes out of my mouth. Dad flies off the handle at the slightest thing. He’s so overworked, he barely comes home. And when he is home, all his attention is on Mom. I could dye my hair white, march through the house in diapers, and burp to the tune of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and he probably wouldn’t notice.

  I tell myself to be reasonable. I try to understand. But sometimes I can’t. Sometimes my parents push me over the edge.

  Like today.

  After work, I was exhausted. Never mind that I’m legally not old enough to have a real job. I was at the store for five hours, on my feet practically the whole time. I did inventory, swept the stockroom, and helped customers.

  Before lunch, I managed to avoid Dad pretty much. Afterward, I saw him too much. He yelled at me for leaving crumbs on the carpet. He yelled at me for creasing the cover of On the Road. He accused me of interrupting him while he was helping a customer. (I didn’t. I said “Excuse me.”)

  Did I get paid? No. Did Dad at least thank me? Sort of, with a quick grunt.

  But I put up with it. I knew he was under pressure. I wanted to help.

  Around 3:30, I biked home. My leg muscles ached, but I didn’t really care. I was excited about seeing Mom. We hadn’t had “alone time” for so long.

  The door was locked, and no one answered when I rang. When I let myself in, I found a note on the kitchen table:

  GONE TO SUPPORT GROUP MEETING, THEN DR. MERWIN’S OFFICE FOR FOLLOW-UP VISIT. SEE YOU FOR DINNER! LOVE, MOM.

  So much for alone time.

  Oh, well. What I really needed was rest time anyway.

  My legs creaked as I walked up to my room. I was about to plop down on my bed when I saw a shoe box on my dresser.

  I hadn’t put it there. I didn’t even recognize the store name printed on the side.

  Inside it was a pile of jewelry. Weird jewelry. I dug my fingers in and sifted through clunky wooden necklaces, enormous rings, rainbow-striped bracelets, huge brass belt buckles.

  Awful. Every single piece. I mean, if I tried my hardest to create the most hideous jewelry in the world, I could not come close to the collection before me.

  A folded note had been tucked in the corner. I picked it up and read:

  RETRO, HUH? CAN YOU BELIEVE I SAVED THIS STUFF? I’LL NEVER WEAR IT AGAIN, AND I THOUGHT SOME OF IT MIGHT BE BACK “IN.” ENJOY! XXXOOO, MOM.

  Heirlooms. A whole boxful of heirlooms.

  The ice sculpture was practically a puddle.

  I felt my headache rage back. Full blast. I stuffed the note and the jewelry in the box, then lay down on the bed. I closed my eyes, figuring I’d rest for a few minutes.

  I woke up two hours later, at the sound of the back door closing.

  “Anybody home?” called Dad’s voice.

  “I am!” I called back.

  I could hear the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. I shook off my sleepiness and walked downstairs.

  Dad was furiously turning the salad spinner. “I only have until seven or seven-thirty. My new assistant manager called in sick, so I have to go back.”

  I asked if I could help.

  Seemed like an innocent question. Well, not to Dad.

  He opened the spinner and began ripping the lettuce with his hands. “I was kind of hoping…” Rip! “Some dinner…” Rip! “Would have been prepared.” Rip!

  “Sorry, Dad—”

  “Weekend homework again?”

  “No, I was just resting.”

  Dad flung the leaves into a glass bowl. “You know, we’re all very busy here, honey—”

  “I know, Dad!” I opened the fridge and took out a bottle of juice.

  “You don’t have to speak to me that way, Sunny—”

  “I just said—”

  “In a family we all have to pull our own weight—”

  Dingdong!

  “I’ll get it!”

  “I’ll get it!”

  I ran out first. I could not stand being in that kitchen one more second.

  Mom was at the door, arm in arm with Mrs. Mattson. We all chatted for awhile as I helped Mom inside.

  Dad swooped into the front hall, wearing a kitchen apron. “Welcome home!”

  He and Mom hugged, so I let go. Then they walked into the kitchen together. I tagged along.

  “We’re not quite ready for dinner,” Dad said. “I put soup on the stove and I’m microwaving some leftovers. I’ll help you to the bathroom, while Sunny does her share in the kitchen.”

  My share?

  I gritted my teeth. I walked into the kitchen and calmly stabbed a cucumber to death. Then I threw together a salad and set the table.

  Be grateful, I told myself. This will be our first family meal in ages.

  “So,” Mom began as we sat down, “what did you think, Sunny? Can you believe I actually wore that jewelry back then?”

  Dad said something so dumb I nearly choked. He kind of chuckled about how in style all that kind of stuff is.

  All I said was, “It’s a little different, Dad,” and he looked at me as if I’d just said I was going to bomb his store.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you throw them out, Sunny,” Mom said. “I just thought you’d want to look at them. Actually, I think you’d really like my beautiful old madras cotton dresses—”

  “Uh, thanks, Mom,” I replied, “but you don’t have to leave me…surprises. Really.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind—”

  “In fact, I don’t want you to.”

  I had to say it that plainly. Mom just wasn’t getting it.

  She sighed. “You know, during all these hospital stays, I think about all the clutter in my life. I’ve become obsessed with cleaning up. That’s all. And I figure, if you can use any of it, why not?”

  “Well, it’s just that—those gifts, they’re so—” Morbid, I wanted to say. “Unfashionable. I mean, not age-appropriate or whatever.”

  That was when Dad broke in and started accusing me of not being grateful.

  “I am grateful,” I snapped. “I just don’t want any heirlooms, okay? I don’t. I’m allowed to say how I feel.”

  Dad’s face was turning red. “We don’t need to be told what you are and aren’t allowed to say in this house. This is an issue of manners, not free speech—”

  “What’s the difference? No one listens to me anyway!”

  “Sunshine, you are out of line!” Dad thundered. “At a time like this, when your mother is ill, and I’m under pressure at the store, the least you can do is help make our home environment pleasant!”

  I stood up from the table. “You want a pleasant environment? Then renovate! Hire a whole team of daughters you can boss around, and then send them home so you don’t have to talk to them.”

  I didn’t even hear a response. The only sounds I was aware of were my footsteps on the stairs and the slamming of my bedroom door.

  Sunday 10/26

  10:05 A.M.

  I thought I’d wake up in a better mood.

  I didn’t.

  Dad served Mom breakfast in bed today. I ended up eating Cheerios alone in the kitchen.

  I thought about apologizing to Mom. She
didn’t deserve my outburst yesterday, really. But if I did, I’d have to face Dad too.

  Forget that.

  To be honest, I didn’t want to be around the house at all today.

  Dad was going to stay home for half the day to be with Mom. And Mr. Schafer was coming over with Carol to bring Mom a gourmet lunch. Okay, so if I wanted to see Mom alone, I’d have to wait until this evening. Until then, this house was going to be too crowded.

  “I’m going over to Maggie’s for awhile,” I announced.

  Mom and Dad were deep in conversation. They said okay in midsentence.

  I packed my blades and a bathing suit, and I left.

  This bus stop is much more crowded on the weekend than during the week. I almost got on the one to Anaheim by mistake. It’s a good thing I didn’t.

  The bus to Venice Beach is due in two minutes. I think I see it.

  Already I’m in a MUCH better mood. It’s a perfect beach day.

  If Mom and Dad call Maggie’s house, I’m in big trouble. But I’m sure they won’t even think of it.

  Robo Slave Daughter—out of sight, out of mind.

  Sunday

  11:53 A.M., Venice Beach

  I really have to do this more often. I am having the BEST day!

  I thought I’d be nervous sneaking away. I wasn’t. When I arrived here, I felt as if I were returning to a favorite old spot.

  Venice Beach is so cool on the weekend. I bladed up and down the boardwalk, but I kept stopping to see things.

  A guy juggling beach umbrellas. A women’s weight lifting contest. A dog Frisbee throw. Jet-skiing. Parasailing.

  I body-surfed. I drank a papaya shake. Now I’m stretched out on my blanket, occasionally reading On the Road.

  The weather is perfect. The sun is toasting me lightly, but the cool breeze makes it comfortable.

  You know what? I am not devastated that Carson isn’t here. Yes, I looked for him. No, not a trace. I was pretty upset at first, but now I feel: If he shows up, fine. If not, it won’t kill me. I love being ALONE.

  I absolutely MUST have one more ride on the waves. If I do it now, I’ll have enough time to dry before the bus ride home.

  Sunday

  2:07 P.M.

  The house was silent and gloomy, as always, when I arrived. Mom was asleep in her room.

  The first thing I did was call Maggie. Her dad answered and said she was out shopping with her mom. I know he would have told me if Mom and Dad had called him.

  I had pulled it off. Cool.

  I took a quick shower, then called Dawn. I was really missing her.

  “Sunny!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I wish I could have come to lunch with my parents and your parents! I was soooo busy! Mom and Dad said you weren’t there either.”

  I made some dumb excuse. She told me she was going to her step-grandparents’ for dinner. And that was that.

  Okay, so I didn’t tell her about the beach. But she didn’t ask.

  And I do NOT feel guilty.

  Monday 10/27

  3 P.M.

  Why does everything have to change so fast? Why couldn’t it have stayed the way it was last evening?

  I mean, everything seemed cool. After Mom woke up, she asked about my homework (which I hadn’t started yet), but I changed the subject. Fortunately she did not ask about my trip to Maggie’s house.

  Dad came home for dinner, then went back to the store.

  Your basic boring evening. I’ll take that over arguing any day. Besides, when I started to get bummed, I would just think of my little secret.

  It’s amazing how well that works.

  I remembered my homework at bedtime, and I started a book report about On the Road. But that made me think of Carson, so I tried to sketch his face by memory. And eventually I drifted off.

  It could have been my first full night’s sleep in weeks.

  It wasn’t.

  Around 3:00 A.M., Mom’s voice woke me up. It was coming from her room.

  I went to my door. Dad was in his pajamas, heading for the bathroom. He looked so groggy, his eyes were slits.

  “I’m getting your mom some water,” he informed me. “She’s not sleeping well. Go talk to her.”

  I went into the bedroom. Mom was on her side, her eyes wide open. “Hi, Sunny. Is it cold in here?”

  “A little.” I pulled up a cotton blanket that was folded near her feet.

  Dad came shuffling back in and gave Mom a paper cupful of water. She swallowed it fast and then said, “Will you read to me, Paul? That always puts me to sleep.”

  A joke, I think, but Dad didn’t laugh.

  First he read to her while I went back to bed. Then he started falling asleep, so he called me in to read to her.

  Soon Mom fell asleep too.

  But I didn’t.

  Breakfast this morning was brutal.

  My eyes were closed through most of it. My skin stung from sunburn. I could barely eat. Mom and Dad were upstairs, fast asleep.

  Or so I thought.

  I was just about to leave for school when Dad called down: “Sunny, could you get Dr. Merwin on the phone? Your mom’s running a fever, and I can’t get through!”

  I picked up the kitchen extension. I must have gotten a busy signal 20 times before the phone finally rang.

  When I explained everything to Dr. Merwin, he said, “Bring her right in.”

  Next thing I knew, Dad and I were helping Mom out to the car. She was hunched over and coughing.

  Dad drove Mom to the hospital, and I ran to school. I arrived in the middle of homeroom.

  Mr. Leavitt yelled at me. I yawned. He yelled even louder.

  I fell asleep in science class. Ms. Carter was not amused.

  Ms. Newell wasn’t either, when I told her I hadn’t finished my book report.

  Mr. Hackett gave me another long lecture about commitment. I couldn’t help yawning in the middle of it, and he sent me to the principal’s office again, where Mr. Dean sympathized with me so much I wanted to puke.

  I flew out of that office and ran right into Dawn and Maggie, who were talking to Ducky in the hallway.

  I was totally blown out. I did not know what was going to come out of my mouth.

  “What were you doing in there?” Dawn asked.

  “You didn’t hear? About Mr. Dean and me?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s serious.”

  Ducky burst out laughing. Dawn blushed.

  Maggie, however, was staring at me. “How did your face get so burned?”

  “He has a deck out behind his office,” I said, walking away. “We were sunbathing.”

  Dumb questions, dumb answers.

  Well, Maggie did not speak to me the rest of the day. That girl cannot take a joke.

  Dawn kept giving me weird looks in the hallway.

  I guess Ducky has a sense of humor. Before last period, I saw him in the hallway and he was as friendly as could be. “You were at the beach this weekend, huh?” he said.

  “Yup.”

  “Me too. Next time you go, call me. I’ll give you a ride. We can all go—Dawn and Maggie too.”

  What could I say? It was nice of him, but I couldn’t say yes. And I couldn’t exactly tell him the whole truth. So I said, “Well, I didn’t go to that beach.”

  Before he asked another question, I was gone.

  After school I avoided all of them—Maggie, Dawn, and Ducky.

  Wait a sec. The answering machine is blinking.

  Oh, great.

  More later.

  Monday 9:45 P.M.

  WHY IS HE ALWAYS YELLING AT ME?

  I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

  He acts as if everything is my fault. He gets so angry about life and then he takes it out on me.

  Even that message—that answering machine message I started writing about before—even that was rude.

  “Pack a bag and take it to your Mom. She’s in the hospital with pneumonia.” Click.

  That was it.

  I mean,
hit me over the head a little harder, why don’t you?

  Not only that. Didn’t he CARE? Sure didn’t sound like it.

  Me? I cared.

  Cancer. Bronchitis. Pneumonia.

  WHAT NEXT?

  I put together a backpack in record time. I flew to the hospital on my bike. I was nearly killed when I went through a stop sign.

  Mom was on oxygen when I arrived. She couldn’t really talk, so I gave her the pack, held her hand while babbling on about who knows what, and left.

  I was pretty calm on the way home, until I passed City of Angels Pottery Studio. I thought about how I used to visit Mom there after school when I was little. That made me depressed.

  Soon everything—stores, streets, smells—began reminding me of Mom when she was healthy.

  That did it.

  I started crying. Like a baby.

  I never cry. What is happening to me?

  I was acting as if Mom would never be healthy again. I was giving up.

  When I arrived home, the house was dark and empty. It was like walking into a room without air.

  I had to talk to someone.

  Dawn? Not after the way she was acting toward me today.

  Not Maggie, either. She was mad.

  I didn’t know Ducky well enough.

  So I started writing. THEN DAD HAD TO COME HOME AND START BOSSING ME AROUND.

  He’s mad at the dirt in the house. He’s mad because he has no clean shirts. No raisins or nuts in the house.

  AND IT’S ALL MY FAULT, OF COURSE.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I think I will explode.

  Tuesday 10/28

  9:30 A.M.

  Good-bye.

  Off to you-know-where.

  Tuesday

  2:35 P.M., Venice Beach

  Stop shaking, Winslow.

  Write it all. Every last detail.

  Savor it, kid.

  Okay. This morning. The minute I arrived here, I strapped on my blades and took off. The boardwalk was so open. Much less crowded than it had been on Sunday. I was flying.

  I wasn’t thinking about Mom or Dad or school. My head was clearing by the second.

  I did not expect Carson to speed by me in the opposite direction.