I dashed back in the house, thinking about all of the red going away, about how good Daddy was with that rag and that bucket and those bags. His garage was perfect, beautiful. All the tools were lined right back up. It’s like that lady was never there. Clean and pure and perfect.
Last night, after I tucked myself in and fell asleep, I had dreams, Diary. I don’t remember much about them, but I know they were of red. I could smell and taste and hear all the red.
This morning, Daddy was in a good mood.
His garage game went well. I’m happy for him.
Stay Safe,
Ruby
Little cat
With soft white hair
With no care
Do you dare
You are rare
Your ear has a tear
Red everywhere.
~Ruby
Part II
2010
8 years old
June 11, 2010
6:57 p.m.
Dear Diary,
It happened again last night.
It’s been so long. I’d almost thought Daddy was done with his game in the garage because he hasn’t been out there in so long. Or I haven’t seen him if he was. Of course Mrs. Lansberry, my teacher, gives us so much homework this year. I am always so tired. Maybe I missed Daddy’s game—but I don’t think so. It’s like something switched off in Daddy, like he didn’t need the garage anymore.
And then suddenly he did.
I hate that Mrs. Lansberry gives us homework. I have better things to do than write stupid sentences with the horrible, dumb words she picks for us. But maybe I’m just angry because I don’t like Mrs. Lansberry, period. Just like last year’s teacher, Mrs. Lansberry thinks I’m an odd kid because I never talk and I don’t have friends. But she doesn’t know about you, Diary. You’re my friend. You and Daddy. I talk plenty—just not out loud.
School is almost done for the summer. That will mean I have to go to day camp while Daddy works. It’s at the YMCA. Daddy says it will be good because there’s a pool and fun things to do, but I think he might be stretching the truth. I think he just hopes maybe I’ll make friends and teachers like Mrs. Lansberry won’t think I’m so odd then. I understand why Daddy would want that.
It will be a nice change from school. It’s better than school because we don’t get grades and the stupid teachers aren’t there. But it’s also not better because the kids are even louder there. At least I won’t have homework. Or speeches. And at least this year, Daddy isn’t making me stay with Grandma. Two years ago, before Daddy found the day camp, I spent the summer with her, and it was terrible. She asks tons of questions about Daddy. It makes me mad. I don’t want her butting in between us. She needs a hobby besides knitting me scratchy, ugly sweaters. Daddy made me wear one once to her house, and she was so proud. When I got home, I cut it with scissors. Daddy didn’t yell. He laughed. He agreed with me when I said the sweater was ugly. I think Grandma makes him mad sometimes too.
Last night, I was drifting off to sleep after Green Eggs and Ham. Daddy bought it for me for Christmas. He thought maybe it would be good to try something new, even though I don’t like new things. But I like the green eggs and the ham. I asked Daddy if we could try green eggs. He smiled and said yes. I don’t know if I’ll like them, they have to be cooked just right. No slimy texture. Yuck.
As I was falling asleep, I heard Daddy slink downstairs and close the front door. My heart beat wildly. I peeked out and saw his truck pulling away. I couldn’t believe it.
He must be playing the game again, I realized. It had been so long, but I still hadn’t forgotten. For so, so long, I’ve waited to hear him go out, to see him working in that garage. It’s been hard to be patient, to not ask him about it. I’ve missed it, in truth. All that red, so pretty I can almost taste it, feel it, hear it.
I hurriedly shoved my feet into my red boots—Daddy also bought me a new pair of those last month. The old ones were tight. My feet are growing, growing. I walked downstairs and outside and went to my spot, the familiar little peeping spot in the back of the garage. It had been so long.
Daddy came back a long, long time later—it was 2:09 a.m., my watch told me— and he carried her in. She was wearing a pretty red dress, her long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail. It looked a little frizzy, like it wasn’t quite perfect anymore. It bothered me. Her dress was pretty. I almost squealed out loud. I loved red. Did she know how perfectly it would match the splotches on the ground? It’s like she must have known. Just like before, he put a rope around her neck. The same rope. He has it tucked in a drawer in his toolbox. He strung her right up in the same spot and took her picture with the camera. Wow. Maybe Daddy wants to be an artist and this is his way of capturing the moment? If I were him, I’d rather take a picture of the red splotches. They’re prettier.
If I could, I would also take a picture of his face when they’re strung up. He always looks for a long time, really sad but also happy somehow.
After a long time of staring, he took her down and put the rope away. He carried her across the garage. I saw him place her on the table, pull out the tools, and start working on her. Once, Daddy was watching a doctor show on TV. They were doing surgery. It looked like Daddy was doing that. Maybe he was a doctor once. I should ask him.
There was blood running down her head and into her hair, coloring her ponytail. I noticed when Daddy went over to get his tools. Everything was the same. He carried out the game perfectly. I won’t bore you with the same details even though I love replaying them in my head, even when I’m at school. But here’s the exciting part—I got to see what happens after. Like after, after. The whole thing.
I was scared because I knew Daddy would be mad if he saw me. But I couldn’t help it. When Daddy finally was done and loaded her into the wheelbarrow at 4:32 a.m., I crept behind. The wheelbarrow is a rusty red color, not shiny like I like. Daddy loaded it up with the bags and then started wheeling it away, past the garage and into the woods. His muscles bulged as he pushed the wheelbarrow. There’s a little trail. It’s bumpy, but I know where it goes. We walked there sometimes when I was younger. Daddy likes the field at the end of the path. It isn’t too far back, but it’s a beautiful little clearing. The grass grows high, past my waist. The field is peaceful, and I always liked picking wildflowers there. One time, we even found a lost dog out there, a big, brindle dog. It looked like the dog in the book series I love to read at the library. They’re called Henry & Mudge books, but this dog was speckly unlike Mudge. Daddy said he was called a mastiff. Daddy had leaped between us when it came near me, though, and the dog ran back into the woods. It was scary, but I liked how big the dog was. I asked Daddy if we could get one, but he said he was too busy to take care of a dog. Maybe the dog could’ve helped him, but maybe not. But the field was always so beautiful. Peaceful, serene, and quiet other than the time the mastiff was there. Just how I like it.
I didn’t know it was where he finished the game. That changes so much, but also it changes nothing. It’s still beautiful, I suppose.
Last night, I got to see him work in the field. I knew I should go back in to the house, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see it all. The moon was shining down, and it was so magical looking. It was chilly and the air bit my cheeks. I had to wait for a while, give Daddy a head start so he didn’t see me. It was so hard to wait because I wanted to walk with him. I love the trail on a regular day, but at night, it was even more exciting. More quiet.