I waited for what felt like forever, Daddy pushing the wheelbarrow down the path. It bumped along, and I watched from around the garage, wondering if the bags would fly out. They didn’t. Daddy walked slow. It seemed like he knew exactly where he was going.
When it was safe for me to come out, I crept along the trail. My feet wanted to kick the dirt, but I didn’t. I didn’t want Daddy to hear me. I didn’t think he would like me following him. I was tired when I finally got to the clearing. I had to creep behind trees so he wouldn’t see me. I leaned on the scratchy tree, watching him work in the middle of the field. It was too dark to see the prettiness of the wildflowers. I wished I could see them better.
Stay quiet, I told myself. I hugged up to the tree, squinting to see Daddy in the dark. I wished he had a light out there. I wanted to see better. He was in the corner of the field, a shovel in his hand. Digging, digging, digging. What was he doing? Was it a treasure hunt? I almost ran to him but stopped myself. This was his game. His alone. I had to just watch.
It was dark, dark, dark even with the moon, so it was hard to see. I wished I could be closer to learn, to watch. After a long time, Daddy pulled the bags out of the wheelbarrow and plunked them in the Earth. I was amazed. I wanted to watch more. But I knew I had to beat Daddy back. I took one final look at Daddy, smiled at how hard he was working, and ran back to the house.
I was in my room for a long time. I peeked out the window. He was back in the garage. I heard him come into the house much later.
It was 6:02 a.m. What a long night. Soon it would be time to get up. We would both have a long day. At least it was Friday and the last day of school.
The kids would be loud though. I hated the loud. At least I had the fun night in the woods to think about.
All day at school while the kids played stupid games and screamed about summer, I doodled on a piece of paper. I drew the tree that Daddy was by when he worked in the field. I drew its tall, leafy branches.
I drew it in red. Red like the woman’s hair from the blood. Dazzling. Beautiful. Daddy is an artist in all ways. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.
Stay Safe, Diary, and happy summer,
Ruby
June 14, 2010
6:57 p.m.
Dear Diary,
Summer camp started today. It was terrible.
The kids were loud. We made paintings. I got in trouble. I hope they don’t call Daddy.
They told us to paint nature. I like nature. It’s peaceful and pretty and the birds never chirp too loud. Well, once there was this bird outside my window driving me crazy. Daddy called it a woodpecker. He said it was visiting. But I hated that bird. Usually, though, nature is pretty and peaceful and I like it. I like it way better than the peopley part of the world.
The camp counsellors took us outside to some picnic area. The other kids painted sunshine and rainbows and pink grass and purple clouds. It was so dumb. That’s not what the world looks like.
I tried to go to my happy place, to watching Daddy. So I, of course, made my painting red. Red like my boots. I drew a tree in red, one of the trees from the field to be exact and decided to put that bunny under it from long ago. Then I put a red puddle around the bunny, just like Daddy puts around the women in the garage. When I was done, I was proud. I liked my little painting. But the boy next to me started shrieking.
“What’s that? Oh my God, look at her! She painted a murdered rabbit!” he screamed.
The other kids came over. I started scratching my arm, and then my neck. I scratched and scratched. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want them crowding around.
They started screaming over my painting and calling me a weirdo. I covered my ears, squeezed my eyes shut. I tried with all my power to disappear. They were so upset. Finally, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped, pulling away, even more anxious.
“Ruby, it’s okay. But we don’t paint things like this, okay?”
I looked at the ground as the girl with a brown braid tried to comfort me and explained things about dead bunnies and killing and wrong. I shook my head. Did they know anything? This wasn’t wrong. It was pretty. Pretty like the garage. Pretty like Daddy. I didn’t understand why no one could see that. It was just one more thing to make me not fit in. But that was okay.
For the rest of the day, the kids pointed and called me rabbit killer. Some stayed away. That made me sad but also a little happy. It was better to be alone than to be making people upset. If it made them stay away, I’d paint dead rabbits all day. Why were they so upset, though, Diary? Dead isn’t so bad. It’s peaceful. And Daddy gets happy when the girls are dead—is that what they are? Dead?
But when Daddy picked me up and I looked out the window, I started to worry. The kids thought the dead rabbit was wrong. Did that make what Daddy was doing wrong, too? Was he doing something bad?
No. I was mad at myself for even thinking it. Daddy wouldn’t do something wrong. Daddy was nice. He fed me and bought me red boots and read to me. He helped a little baby bird just last weekend who had a broken leg. Bad dads didn’t do that.
I heard kids talking sometimes at school about their dads hitting and punching walls. Daddy didn’t do that.
Those kids were just dumb.
I looked over at Daddy and smiled.
Everything is okay now. As much as I hate to admit it, Grandma is right. We all have bad days. We just have to learn to cope with them. Although Grandma’s bad days usually involve losing at Bingo or her neighbor Cindy coming over to gossip—she hates Cindy. Of course, Grandma hates a lot of things. I’m pretty sure she hates me. It’s okay. I hate her, too. She came over tonight to make sure things were okay at camp. She offered to watch me if Daddy thought camp was too stressful.
Thankfully, Daddy said no. He loves me too much to torture me with another summer at Grandma’s. Plus, he’s been trying to distance us from her. I guess it’s because she’s so annoying. Her voice is like a whining mosquito in your ear that you just can’t ever kill.
I’ll make it through camp, even if I hate it. Because that’s what Daddy would want.
Stay Safe,
Ruby
June 21, 2010
6:57 p.m.
Dear Diary,
I’ve made a deal with the camp counsellors. I write poetry in the corner, alone, and they let me. I don’t have to play any of the annoying games or do any of the sports. I get to just be alone with my words.
I did do one of the activities today in art. They made bracelets. Friendship bracelets, the girl with brown braids said. There was pink and red and orange and green string and beads.
But my eyes caught sight of the red. Perfect, bright red.
I made two bracelets, no beads. Just red, one for Daddy and one for me. Our favorite colors. I put mine on right away.
The counsellors were happy I made bracelets but they seemed even happier when I went back to writing in my corner after it was done. I think they worry after my painting. At least if they’re nervous about me, they leave me alone. I like that. I’m happy, sitting and writing instead of playing basketball or making birdhouses or whatever the kids do. I like just sitting in the quiet. It’s nice. I don’t have to worry about scratching my neck too much or if the kids are going to think I’m weird or if I want to count out the time out loud. I can do it all and no one is upset or making fun of me.
There’s another little girl who sits by me sometimes. I don’t know her but I like her because we don’t talk when she sits with me. She sits and draws. Sometimes she hums, which bugs me a little bit especially since it’s always off tune. But I tell myself to ignore it like Daddy and me talk about sometimes. We all have to endure annoyances sometimes. That’s what he tells me. I wonder if I ever annoy Daddy.