Daddy read me Goodnight Moon again last night, but he was tired. He was not excited with the voices like the night before. He tucked me in and kissed me and said I love you. And then I sat up and waited. I waited and watched. I was tired. I didn’t sleep though. My insides were buzzing. It was exciting.
But there was no light in the garage. There was nothing. I think I fell asleep because then Daddy was waking me up and it was time for school.
I wanted to see more of the garage.
It made me think. Does Daddy go to the garage a lot? Is that lady still in there?
I remember a few times when I was younger, maybe five, when I would hear Daddy’s truck late, late, late. But I just ignored it. I was too young. But not now. I’m older. I can figure it out.
I like that Daddy has a game. A secret game. I hope I can learn the rules soon.
This will have to be our secret, Diary. I don’t want Daddy knowing I saw some of his game. He might be embarrassed. And I won’t tell Grandma. No way. She came over today and brought us raisin cookies and salads to eat because she said Daddy doesn’t feed me right. I hate raisins and I hate salads. Sometimes I hate Grandma. So I won’t tell her. I won’t tell anyone.
Ruby, we all need privacy. You have your Diary for privacy. That is what he says.
So I think, Diary, that I should give Daddy privacy. His garage is like his diary, I guess. I won’t tell a soul. I love him. He takes such good care of me. I owe him this.
Sometimes at school the kids talk about their moms. About the snacks they make and about how they wait to hug them when they get off the bus.
I wonder what my mom was like. There is only one picture of her out in the house. Well, only one picture Daddy knows about. It’s on the fireplace downstairs now. She has red hair, just like me. Daddy doesn’t like to talk about her. It makes him sad, I think. She died when I was really young. I don’t remember her.
But when the kids talk about hugs and things like that, I’m sort of glad I don’t have a mom. I hate hugs. I don’t like being touched. It’s an icky feeling. I hate it hate it hate it. Daddy never hugs me. He knows I don’t like it. And he’s okay with that. We love each other but we don’t need to hug.
I’m glad I don’t have a mom to hug me. Daddy does just fine without hugs.
Stay Safe,
Ruby
September 7, 2009
6:57 p.m.
Dear Diary,
Today was Monday, so I had school. Back to being around people.
The weekend was nice. Daddy made me breakfast. Waffles on Saturday. Waffles are always Saturday. We had bacon and eggs Sunday. Bacon and eggs are always Sunday. Mostly, we played outside. Daddy helped me ride my bike. We’re working on riding faster and getting rid of the training wheels.
When I was riding on the lane I came to a stop by the garage. The door was shut. I couldn’t help but think about that lady. I wanted to sneak around to the back and look through the hole. I got closer but Daddy yelled.
“Ruby, no garage. It’s not safe. You know the rule.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” I’d said. I do know the rule. Ever since I can remember, that was Daddy’s rule. No garage. I can use the shed that is on the other side of the house. That’s where bike lives. But no garage.
Daddy doesn’t have many rules. Just ones to keep me safe.
Don’t touch the stove.
Don’t talk to strangers. That’s not a problem. I hate talking.
Don’t wander away from him.
Look both ways before crossing a street.
Don’t go near the garage
Those are the main rules. I make up some of the other rules for us. Like what times we eat and what time we do things. But I like time. Daddy knows that. He lets me be in charge of time.
So I didn’t go near the garage. I didn’t want to make Daddy mad. Once, when I was little, I wandered in the door of the garage and Daddy got really angry at me. It’s one of the few times he’s yelled at me. It scared me so much, I cried.
Now, Daddy is more careful about the lock on the door. It’s always locked. But he still warns me, just in case. I don’t think Daddy would be happy that I looked in there and saw that lady. It’s his secret. We all have secrets.
Like what I write in you.
But this past weekend, it was just me and Daddy. I wrote some poems for on the fridge. Daddy said they were really good. One was about a rabbit. One was just about red. I didn’t tell Daddy I was thinking of the red in the garage when I wrote it.
So much red. So pretty. Red, red, red. Just like my hair. Just like apples.
I like red. It might be my favorite now. Maybe Daddy will get me red rainboots for my birthday. It’s in December, Diary. Just like Christmas. I was a Christmas-time baby.
Daddy is quiet sometimes. This weekend was a quiet weekend. But he was calm. Peaceful even. I like it when Daddy is quiet because I like quiet. It makes me happy.
We sit on the porch a lot out front. The garage is out back. We sit and look into the forest around us, the trees, the lane. We don’t have neighbors. There are no children around to play with. Sometimes the kids at school talk about playing with their neighbors, the kids who live in town near the school. It doesn’t make me sad, though. I like it out here. In nature. In quiet. Town is too loud. School is too loud. And kids call me weird and annoy me. I only go to school because Daddy says I have to. Because he has work. And I need to go to school because it is my job.
I try to do a good job. It is hard.
The kids are loud and yell and I hate it. And the teachers try to make me talk and I don’t like talking, not in front of the group.
Ruby, look at me when I talk to you, they say.
Ruby, stop slapping your hands on the desk.
Ruby, stop scratching your neck and pay attention.
Ruby, stop lighting up your watch. It’s science time.
Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.
I’m the one who is always in trouble. The other kids are loud, but I’m in trouble.
Last year, the school had a lady who would follow me everywhere. To help me, they said. Help me adjust. I hated that lady. She talked a lot and tried to make me talk. She talked about me right in front of me like I was stupid.
I’m not stupid. Just different, Daddy always says. Different is fine, Ruby. Different is good. But sometimes it doesn’t feel good. School doesn’t seem to think different is good. The other kids don’t think different is good.
Daddy made them get rid of that lady. I was in the meeting when he said I didn’t need some aide. I was just fine without her. He wouldn’t have me treated like that. Ruby is smart and fine on her own. She’s just different. She doesn’t like to talk to people. But she’s smart, and she will learn at her own pace.
But I know that’s not true. I’m not fine on my own. I had squeezed Daddy’s hand in that meeting.
I’m fine with Daddy. He makes everything better. He knows what I need. He knows I’m different . . . and he’s okay with that. I love him. He’s the best.
I hate school. Hate, hate, hate.
So weekends are my favorite. Just Ruby and Daddy.
That’s how it should be.
Goodnight Diary. Stay Safe (Daddy always tells me to stay safe. I like that.)
Ruby
September 10, 2009
6:57 p.m.
Dear Diary,
I was late to school today. It was Daddy’s fault. But I’m not mad. I’m never mad at him. He tries so hard.