Last night was Dad’s birthday and he went to “hang with the boys” at his favorite place called Dave’s. It’s far enough away from the university to have no students, but he says it has fun things like a pinball machine, pickled eggs, and popcorn, which is good because he likes to say that the university people “get to have everything.” When Dad finally got back home, he was a whole year older and it was very dark. He stood around in my room and then fell asleep with his face on the carpet while still wearing his jeans from the night before. It’s a new thing for him, and I don’t really understand it. Maybe he can tell I have been feeling extra lonely this year.
At breakfast this morning, I made myself buttery toast and my mom asked me about how Dad ended up sleeping next to my rock collection. She then said, “I hate it when he gets home so late. Birthday party or not, he knows how much I prefer morning Mass.” I just shook my head and took another bite of my breakfast. I don’t know why she expects me to know the answer to everything. I shake my head a lot these days.
Just so you know, there are actually some really good things that happen at my house too. The best thing about my house is the basement because I used to have birthday parties there. It’s now where we keep the gun cabinet, fishing poles, and all the extra boxes. Boxes are cool because they can also get sent away to places I have never been to. We have shoe boxes, package boxes, microwave boxes, and a few kind of broken boxes without labels. I like to step inside of them and pretend they are time machines or Harry Potter’s closet. Some people at school might think that I’m silly if they knew I do this, but it helps me feel better.
After today’s breakfast, I brought my quilt down to the basement to nap in one of the big huge boxes that the refrigerator came in. I closed the cardboard lid and even punched a bunch of little holes around the top using a pen to let the smallest amounts of light come through. From inside the box, it looked like a full galaxy close enough to touch. I just hope I don’t grow any bigger. I want to always be able to fit into one of my favorite places, but lately it hurts to stay small inside a closed box for too long. I don’t know. Where do you go to hide? It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I usually don’t tell anyone this stuff either. If you want, maybe you can hide this letter after you find it?
I woke up from my nap with an achy back, my legs curled up next to my chest. Every part of my body cracked trying to say “good morning.” I gave myself a pep talk in my head and climbed out of the cardboard box for a do-over. For the second time that day, I went to the kitchen to cook my own butter toast. I made the bread perfectly brown, put it on a nice yellow plate, and then brought it to my room to eat and play pretend with the dog next door.
The golden retriever who lives next door is the second-best thing about my house. They say at church to “Love your neighbor,” and I do. I really do. My family used to have a dog that would sleep at my feet. In our kitchen, we actually still have an inspirational sign that says: YOU’RE NOT REALLY DRINKING ALONE IF YOUR DOG IS HOME. Our dog, Bean, has been dead a few years now, but we still have that sign for some reason. Anyways, Bean was a hard-nosed dog, but he was clumsy enough to trip on a stripe on the rug. Now I pretend that the doggie outside the window is mine. I’m not sure if it’s a boy or a girl, but that dog is named Jax. I think it’s a nice name anyways.
This afternoon, I fed Jax an invisible bite of my toast through the air, and then we both squished our noses against the cold glass. Sometimes I wish the two of us could watch movies together on the weekends. It’s bad to think this, but I’ve thought about stealing Jax so we could live together. I would feel bad, though. Jax’s mom seems nice from what I can tell. She has really, super-long hair like my Rapunzel Barbie, her bedroom has nice yellow curtains, and she always makes her kids say hi to me.
I think that things would be a little better if I also had a dog or a yellow bedroom. I don’t know. I need a change or an even bigger box. Do you know what I mean?
Sincerely,
Ellie
PS, Do you believe in God? I don’t really care what your answer is. It’s just, I don’t know. I hope it’s okay I asked you that. I don’t really expect anybody to write me back anymore, but writing all of this down sure does help. I would like to keep doing it if it’s okay with you.
Anyways, good night.
Friday, October 3, 1997
Hello Out There,
I did a good job on my chores this week, and really earned my dollar allowance. I washed dishes that weren’t even mine. I picked up the American flag in front of our house after the wind knocked it down. I made my bed really nice even though literally everything was on the floor when I woke up. I don’t mean to complain, but doesn’t Dad know that Beanie Babies are expensive? You can’t just throw them around like that. I wish I could tell someone the truth about how bad he makes me feel, especially lately.
Promise not to tell anybody this? But he has been coming in my room more and more since his birthday. He says this is just a part of life, but I don’t know. He also said it’s good that I’m not like other girls. I’m special. It’s true I’ve never really thought about myself as a girl, so maybe what he is saying is right. He just loves me more than before. Sorry, I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.
To be honest, I haven’t said a word out loud for the past few recesses and I don’t feel proud of myself for doing so good at my no talking game. Maybe life will be better when I’m a grown-up. All week long, Sofie and I have been sitting next to that giant rock on the playground just waiting for time to pass. I bet that rock is so heavy that it would take a big storm for it to blow away. Thank goodness that hasn’t happened yet. My dad says, “The whole state of Michigan is riding out a storm with this economy.” I wonder if Sofie’s dad ever says the same things as he does. Either way, the big rock gives me and Sofie a nice place to rest our backs and watch the wind push the leaves around. Nobody can tattletale on us for just sitting quiet next to each other, people get in way bigger trouble for trying to jump off of that rock like a cliff.
The last time Sofie asked me “How are you?” I didn’t want to say too much of the wrong thing. I don’t want to get in the way of whatever anybody might want. I shook my head and bunched up my toes, so I took up a half an inch less of space. She kept her eyes to the playground and buttoned up her Tweety Bird jacket a little bit more. I wish I could have told Sofie “Thank you for sitting next to me no matter what.” Instead, I just kept sitting there in silence. Do you ever have a hard time saying a nice thing?
Just before the recess bell rang, Sofie picked up a small red-brown rock and put it in her pocket. I found another red-brown rock and put it in my pocket. I came up with a new tradition. Now, every morning when Sofie walks to school without me, she walks five blocks out of the way to put a rock on my front porch. And whenever I walk home from school without Sofie, I go five blocks out of the way to put a rock on her front porch. It’s just our way of saying “I’m okay” and “hello” and “thank you.” If more than three days pass by without rocks on the porches or without seeing each other at all, we will know something messy or bad has happened. That way, we don’t have to answer “How are you?” with words anymore.